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Poems of the Introverted Yogi Now Available
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DAILY PHOTO: Masjid Jamek & Background, Kuala Lumpur
Taken in Kuala Lumpur in 2017
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POEM: Instantaneous Change of Fortune
The muddy cotton clouds
that shouted threats of rain —
packed in shouldering crowds,
oh, will they, won’t they drain?
I blinked and they had ripped,
growing a gap of blue.
How quickly fates were flipped,
and sun was shining through.
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DAILY PHOTO: Himalayan Sand Dune
Taken in August of 2016 in Nubra Valley
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POEM: The Zen of the High Mountain Pass
Each step through the scree field must be judged on: angle, stability, slipperiness — but the flat, dry, and robust rock is the one that will roll on you — heaving you headlong, rolling over brick and boulder.
Crossing the glacier, each step is taken both like it won’t fail and like it inevitably will.
The former because one can’t fear one’s hips will slip out from under one, but the latter because one needs to be ready to stab an axe into the snowpack without the other end puncturing one’s ribs.
When you reach the altitude at which stepping is a series of singular activities — not a seamless sequence — you will love breathing like you haven’t since that time you were dangling upside-down outside the womb being smacked on the bottom by a masked man.
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DAILY PHOTO: Monsoon Palace, Udaipur
Taken in November of 2018 near Udaipur
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POEM: The Veil
They call it the Veil —
an invisible world scaffolded against our own.
The thin space between is as a two-way mirror —
from the Veil we can be seen with crystal clarity,
but, from here, the Veil is obscured
by our own reflection.
Everyone wants a ticket to the Veil,
but it’s a dimensionless dimension
so your meat vehicle can’t be folded inside.
Veil-dwellers could come here,
but our world makes them agoraphobic —
tormented by the feeling one gets in a sci-fi movie
when the astronaut’s tether is severed,
and you imagine what it would be like to float
in a vast void until one’s oxygen runs out —
or one’s high-tech diaper catastrophically fails —
whichever comes first.
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DAILY PHOTO: One Funky Iris
Taken in Himachal Pradesh in the Summer of 2015.
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POEM: One Flower, the Sunflower
If you can keep a heavy head high,
and facing that bright sun —
you’ll be able to lose, but still
feel, in a way, you’ve won.
Sunny, still, when the clouds crawl in;
gay though the day is done —
And in the dark hours you’ll have the
time to become unspun.
In a field of festive flowers
there’s one that’s lost its line.
Its face droops down, shyly twisted —
its sun refused to shine.
But its sun is surely the same
sun as is yours or mine,
though its coy stance speaks its own truth,
and follows its own sign.
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POEM: Landscape, Ancient & Alien
It was an alien landscape,
in red-brown Martian hues,
but built of boulders older than
the skies have known the blues —
or so the locals always said.
But no man knew those views.
They date to days primordial —
before artist or muse.
