Musical Notation and a Zen Mystery

The rest is silent contrast

It even has its own musical notation
And a Zen mystery will be solved

For whose genius composer
Some contrapuntal silence

Sings like birds’ wings

PR-138 (Published in Ascent Aspirations)

Opening Stone-Henged Doors

Open sesame speak friend and enter
Roll the stone from Jesus’ tomb

There is always a latch trick
To opening stone-henged doors

When they work the tricks
Are slap your head simple

And when they don’t work
It’s at least amusing excusing proof

You’ve let the situation get
Complex on you

When you’d been warned
Not to get any on you

Complexity that is
The opposite of Zen


The Difficult Business of Watch Repair

“I cannot dream that this watch exists and has no watchmaker.”

I am fascinated by Vipassana Buddhism
I believe in that one merely observes:
No worries about changing

About guilt about ought
Just be caught aware
Of what you are thinking

What you are doing
Maybe too with a little thought
About the projected payout

I said to myself how practical
How easy a first step:
Become aware

Then of course you can fix stuff kind
Of like getting a new pair of glasses before
The difficult business of watch repair

But I now believe it’s easier than that
If you watch it
The watch repairs itself

Cosmic Time

Rock Becomes Sand in an Hourglass

The waves have been coming
A long time

Straw penetrates brick
In a tornado

Rock becomes sand
In an hourglass

How gentle its breath
In my ear

The ocean
At night under silent stars


An Opal to Suddenly Remember

My holy man introduced me
To a friend whose name is Equipoise

He deserves more respect
(I keep him in my pocket)

A fine way to treat a friend!
Though he stays affably unflappably there

(A Steinway unplayed yet
Unoffended for unattended)

Equipoise and I we don’t go way back it’s
True as do I and alabaster

Turquoise moon or sapphire’s star
But I admire the unhand of mire

When I greet Equipoise like an old pal
An opal to suddenly remember

(Who somehow also forgets
About who treats whom how)

When things are scary disaster
He simply cuts through to the blue sky

Asking me why do I care?
Is the sky not still standing?

Aren’t amethysts still pretty purple
And banded agate geodes

Aren’t they still
(As in silence)

Hollow inside
And hallowed?


New PR-308


You debunk love
(You kick it out of bed)

You say they
(Love stories)

Are fairy tales but why
Don’t you believe in fairies?

I have seen them smiling
(In your eyes)

PR-476 (Published by Word Catalyst)

At the Window Pane

“The natural initiation may come to a person at any time of his life. It does not come to everyone, but only to some. And for this initiation one need not go to a teacher; it comes when it is time for it to come. It comes in the form of a sudden change of outlook on life; a person feels that he has suddenly awakened to quite another world; although he remains in the same world it has become totally different to him.”
–Hazrat Inayat Khan (Three Aspects of Initiation)

The wide-eyed boy lingers at the window pane
Looking out at slants of raining sadness
But there’s rhythm from a dark
Symphonic horn and yes a gladness;
A basking-in from rose and thorn
Blood vermilion dance
To eclipse such sadness
As descants close the arc
(Like the ocean does the sand)
A divine madness brings round the circle
(It’s romantic when the Ring does the asking)
Which band symbolic born
Slips around his finger
As he holds his own hand

New PR-189

An Apt and A Priori Pristine Axiom of Love

Here’s a reality:
Nothing exists except that’s just beyond
Your finger tips your lips

The golden thing you stretch for
The phosphor of thy night
Aka your zone of proximal development

And that varies both from person to person
And to vantage to advantage point
But beware:

Judgment has crept hidden
Into an apt and a priori pristine
Axiom of love

PR-496 (Published Shine Journal)

Pass for True, Pass for Know

I like the old ways:
To do the dance then decide
For how rhythms flow
Or if they don’t and when
They don’t they do

For yet showing through
The light upon the issue
The merely more of which must always
(In this Icarus precarious universe)
Pass for true pass for know

New PR-206

A Clever Trick of Light

Surely hometown sunlight
Is like any other?
That would be nice

So I don’t have to think twice
About my just now
Walk in the garden about how

Maybe I am hoarding sunshine
Shone shafting through something
I couldn’t name because I can only see it

In dreams with eyes unaccustomed
To words but which recognize
(By its feeling)

A healing fog of light
Yet which is no fog rather it’s
The clarity of a bright purity:

Some sun of sanity which
In a clever trick of light seems
To radiate from my blood and bones

PR-485 (Published in Word Catalyst)

Logic Is the Mystic’s Best Friend

Contrary to fascist rumor
Logic is the mystic’s best friend

I will now demonstrate in the streets
This interesting metaphysical truth

Let’s logically examine this world
And the hypothesis
That it actually exists

Well if it exists I say that it then
Has to be measurable
Yes on its own solid terms

(Because internal contradictions at the core
Are a symptom of irreality)

All right let’s go for simple
We won’t measure the coastline of England
Let’s just measure a normal circular candle rim
Before it’s lit of course

So right off the batty
(Pardon the foreshadowing)
You have to decide at what level
You want to measure
Or how small does your measuring tape have to be
Because things change direction on the way down

I refer of course to the obvious fact
That under a magnifying glass
Or certainly a microscope
What looked either a straight line
Or a measureable gentle arc
(Reducible to an interesting equation)

Turns jagged edge on you
And when you zero in
(More foreshadowing)
On a given surface to be measured

It’s hard to resist the temptation of a bigger blow up
For more precise jaggedy measuring
Okay the trouble is
Where do you stop?

At the molecular level?

And here it gets really confusing
Because on the sub-atomic level nothing holds still
The electrons and leptons are zipping around
And one moment the measurement is from
Here to here or was it there?
And the next only God knows where it is

Always assuming that God would bother
Knowing such a thing if as I suspect
It has less proximity to relevance
Than the sex of a stapler

So back to measurements
If it isn’t pinnable down
Down to the last lepton’s leptons
Well then clearly it’s impossible to measure


Reminds me of the was it Hindu creation tale
Of the turtles stacked up on each other’s backs
Until finally the last turtle holds up the earth
And some wiseass asks

What’s holding up the bottom turtle?
And this angers the turtle priest
Who impatiently insists
It’s turtles all the way down

So unless you fancy a hypothesis made of turtle down
Let’s just quite logically dismiss this creation
As anything to be confused
With anything non-mystic scientific


The Pure Joy of Lucky and in Love

Even within our worlds
Luck reigns above
Supreme in esteem

The fortunate rich know what that’s about
And the man with his wife in his lap

So we don’t need to serpentine anything
Or stretch perverse any proof of truth
Or harbor any doubt

To stipulate that luck’s a lot
That luck is fine:

It’s wheat and yeast
It’s lavender wine on the table
More it’s a myrrh treasure map:

It’s finding golden with no beholden
Both the oysters and the pearls
Because here’s what we’ve got

On our universe: two possible choices
Two logical voices

Either this world is too good a fable
Too grand a stance
To be just by lucky chance

Or on other hands if it’s roulette at least
We won the spinning jackpot

Which right there’s enough to make a person move
In fact turn corny cart-wheeled dervish whirls
For the pure joy of lucky and in love


This Pair of Pantheist Pants

The Master said pardon me
While I put on airs
Es decir this
Pair of pantheist pants

(One leg at a time)
Ok now
I am in costume

Watch this!
I can escape velocity


PR-700 (Published In Ashe: the Journal of Experimental Spirituality)

One of Those Simultaneous Dichotomies

I don’t know the sorrow
Of the ambient light perhaps
Where yellow gets infused like flames are
In the autumn leaves:

They burn you brandishing
Your soul and you cry
And you’re not sure why:
It’s one of those simultaneous dichotomies

New PR-143

Down to the End of the Rainbow

Just saw a magazine article titled
Would it be boring to live forever?
I doubt I have the attention span
For that but then I’m a poet

Not a War and Peace novelist
In fact I write short poems
So I can keep track of the arc
Of the story and as it winds down

To the end of the rainbow to
The last line the important dichotomy
Being bang versus whimper but
It’s true I do like reincarnation

A succession of manageable poems
Where just what we need are last lines
Which are a denouement regnant
Pregnant with destiny

New PR-290

Life on This Planet

I love subtlety like the flower it imitates
And smells out then spells out
Like in a compass rose window

A pistil path a pregnant
Mystery to me but whose clues
Are easy to remember

Fixed like stars as they
Are to the heart
What air is to life on this planet

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