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Tag Archives: Existenlism

Breakfast Before Their School‘s Mid-Terms

          In the foothills of New Hampshire, on the threshold of the White Mountains, the sun began to warm the valley. The warm spring morning sprayed glistening frost into fog. Another growing up season had passed. The children were getting dressed with some apprehension.

            I looked out the kitchen window and I could smell, feel spring, and see it lightly, loftily, taking its place. The morning greeted me with multiple shadows getting more confident and larger behind cereal bowls and warm buttered coffee cake.

Budding on branches

Spring’s new born generation

Peaks beyond shadow

dVerse~ Haibun Monday: The Shadow Knows 4/3/2017

 
 

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Dried Flowers In A Seasonal Antique Jar

Dried flowers in winter’s light— brightened by an antique jar.

Flowers picked in the fall, after waiting all summer, to bloom—

Jar dug up, on the other side

of the “tell tale” opening in the stonewall;

an old, late 18-hundreds’s dump, left there —

Many lifetimes’ ago.

I go about my seasonal chores,

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

My soul curls up in intimacy on the frosted windowsill

Embracing the jar of age; having kept its beauty

 and displaying with pride, its content.

Teach me your resilience, your beauty

From your past, to the presence.

 

I find hope’s secret smile

 In your colors of dried flowers

in winter’s reflection held in my antique jar.

(Helping me understand all the promises, winter carries.

From it’s off Spring, to this coming year’s honeymoon…to its encore.

 

Shorter days and longer nights cannot sustain its post

Against the emergence of summer— and longer days.

 

Unannounced by frost melting into dew

the first wave of spring—

Then, trumpeted through picnics and summer parades—

And, the last wave leaves,

with colorful banners exiting through Fall.)

I sketch this last season’ thoughts— dried flowers

reflecting winter’s delight— smiling this evening,

Looking forward to another beautiful tomorrow;

As reflected in an Antique jar.

I go about.

I Watch you— waiting for you to fade.

You never do.

Until I put you out where we first left

And clean the jar again, in late May.

dry-flowers-winter

Charcoal and colored pencil sketch by R.K. Garon

 

 

 

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Notes Found On The Refrigerator: Autumn 2016

Don’t run away, unless you know where you are going.

Everyone should have an acceptance, and, an exit plan.

   *****

Bottom Of The Glass: 

…as long as I could see the bottom of the glass,

I would pour myself another drink;

Seeing my reflection

At the bottom of the glass

Sometimes dithered me though.

So, at some point,

I would leave the glass half-full.

*****

Love’s Encouragement:

(Inhale)

It is time we move on

from where we met

 to where we were suppose

 (exhale)

to  meet.

(Breath)

Hold my hand, we’ll search our memory,

and find our way.

(Inhale)

It is time we move on

from where we met

 to where we were suppose

 (exhale)

to  meet.

*****

Enlightenment’s Rock And Roll:

Often,

Silence is a noise we try to avoid.

Whether in conversation, in loneliness,

Or worst, when we are bored.

Yet,

When it is present, it opens the windows

With no mind. To a space quietly making music

To no one, in no place, for nothing.

So, before accepting it,

We kiss our mind gently good-bye;

And escape through the window, with our soul,

To join the dance, to the music of enlightenment’s

Rock and Roll.

 

 
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Posted by on December 3, 2016 in Experimental, Love, Prose Poetry, Spiritual, Zen

 

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True Lovers Past

(Mid-town)

Wine, whiskey, and roses—

In alcove with three large windows

Straight lace tablecloth on heirloom table

               (Across town)

Barn-board counter top, single sink,

Hand pumped water

Red-checkered vinyl tablecloth

 

Two shot glasses, acapella— on each table

 

(Mid-town)

Vase, decanter, and a blue corked bottle

One in the Yin—

Another in the Yang

 

A well-rounded glass globe—  

Wine circling in small waves

Well below the rim.

 

The toast is the same.

 

(Across town)

Mason jar with whiskey and ice

Raised above a drying rose

The toast is the same.

 

Salute’ to the empty chair

At both their tables—

“May you be well, happy, and peaceful.”

Note: True Lovers Past

 

 

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