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.
While others ask,
can we still speak to God,
I prefer to sit in silence,
listening for my stage directions
from the Universe.
My body might be bruised,
sometimes broken,
but my spirit remains
healthy, whole, complete.
No matter the temporary condition.
there need not be
collateral damage to my soul.
Identify with nothing.
Nothing is
a good thing
to achieve.
Nothing to wish for,
nothing to crave.
Only our memories
are worthy to save.
Things change,
power passes.
What a waste of time
to place one’s name
on high.
There’s so much need for Good,
for helping selflessly.
What a waste of energy
to leave the high road for
the low.
I’ve been poor before, really poor.
No food, no money, no job, no ideas,
always been afraid it could happen again.
Careful as I am, it’s not going to show up soon.
How, then, will success be measured?
Perhaps it’s in how well I manage change.
Maybe it’s in just letting the change occur.
Whatever’s coming, there are a few things I know.
I would like to laugh too much.
I will allow crying when it’s necessary.
I wish to be happy, healthy and at peace.
So, it’s not really change that’s due, at all.
It’s simply transformation.
What new opportunities await
my yes?
What more do I have
to offer?
Welcoming newness,
mastering new lessons,
awaiting willingness.
Spirit is always with me,
directing my feelings, and I
know that it leads me
to where I need to be.
My inner voice has never been
ambiguous, rather clear and direct.
The way is obvious and open.
I never hesitate or introspect.
I hear often the sad opinion
That Spirit no longer talks to us,
that Spirit is not in its dominion,
and one must be autonomous.
This is not true for me.
Spirit is often guiding my
life and behavior, and I often see
clearly the path, my destiny.
Memories might fade.
Good friends remain steadfast.
I’m so grateful I have a few.
Everything is impermanent.
Everything, except true ohana.
Hold tight to family.
Giving from my Good,
I find the most happiness,
I experience greatest pleasure.
Some friends give me things.
I see joy in their faces.
I welcome each gift.
I joyously give.
I happily receive too.
Circulation rules!
Grace, gratitude and generosity
seem to work
just fine for me.
I now live the life I choose.
It has friendship and Spirit.
It holds the center.
I breathe in with grace.
I exhale with gratitude.
I find life is just too good.
There was a hardy row of bushes
behind my boyhood home,
annually filled with scented lilacs,
whose colors varied from year to year.
Likely something to do with the pH
or the changeable Midwest weather.
I mostly liked the light purple ones,
would cut a few for a tall glass, placed
on the yellow formica kitchen table,
so when my blue-veined, fragile mother
came home from being on her feet
at our IGA grocery store,
she might smile at the gesture.
