There’s this little book,
the title is Zen Seeds,
given to me by a monk,
and it’s all anyone needs.
She told me not to rush,
to not be too greedy,
just a page now and then,
no need to feel needy.
So I read that book,
every word, some with tears,
all one-hundred-plus pages,
filling a fulfilling nine years.
True-Love survived
the upsets, the rages,
saw us steadfastly
to our now golden ages.
Breathing in with love,
I absorb your pain,
exhaling peace,
I send you love, again
Blessings and grace,
love overflowing,
joy in our place,
our contentment showing.
If you can’t stand the heat,
says the one with the fan,
but even he is an hallucination.
Had I missed this turn of the wheel,
what matter?
Someone else would have gone to war,
another might have written peace haikus,
many more could have done my work,
it is all simply chopping wood,
it is all no more than carrying water,
it is not mysterious,
the thing we call our life.
I think for a moment
on my poetry fans,
on my own eventual nonexistence.
Does the earth fall from my feet?
Must I reach for my balance?
No, I go on.
Trees tremble in fear,
as Earth’s fever drains the lakes.
Spring lambs still sleeping
Soft light from afar,
the new buds need attention.
Bees remain divine.
Spring’s colors fading,
Summer blooms soon in season.
Seedlings need water.
Epi’s bloomed briefly,
cactus flowers much the same.
I must call my Friends.
Turning toward others,
living with an open heart.
Peace will come with love.
I’m told
I’m in a twelve week
healing process.
Spirit arrived sooner.
I’ve been lighting
one candle.
Maybe I should light two,
live more brightly.
Cleaning up my
spiritual windows
allows me to see the Light.
Today, I am aware,
once more, yet once more,
that wars are fought
by our children,
and by theirs.
Today, I am reminded
again, yet again,
how no one
hates war more
than the warrior.
