POEM: Surrender


The arrogance, shoving words into rows,
try to describe someplace only god knows.

A cube of rock, turned edge skywards,
loftily defying each, and all, of my words.

Jolie laide in its craggy perfection,
free from all vanity and dejection.

When it shrouds itself in cloudy veils,
it doesn’t do so because it quails.

It demands no awe and yet has mine.
It is the sacred, sans the shrine,
and, before it, I bow.

POEM: Rush

Rushing water carves rock and clay away,
gouging out a statement in nature’s hand.
Water spatter creates a misty spray,
stinging sharply as pelted with wet sand.

A foamy ridge takes a serpentine form
on the glassy warp field glazing brook stones.
This wild water isn’t born of savage storm;
it’s the effortless effort of Zen koans.

My camera fails to capture the calm scene,
but blurs it into a tiny tempest,
transforming a mundane forest stream
into a world scarring menace.

In these rapids I see a tsunami
washing over isles of Izanami.

POEM: Lonely Oak





I
lonesome oak on a hill



having outlived your peers



your progeny denied the light
by scythe and mower blade alike



II
it’s said you speak by pheromone
but no whiff is caught when alone
your words disperse unsmelt
lost across a manmade veldt



III
if it’s any consolation
you have our unflagging admiration
you’re the model of stately poise
to all the little girls and boys



who swing about your stout limbs

POEM: Kashmir

Green, the mountain meadow
White, the wall of fog

Lakes of trapped glacial runoff —
aqua gemstones in dim light

Lines of sheep crisscross
the part lines of trail
that segment the pasture
in Cubist form

Curfew is on again,
“How do you survive with the roads closed?”
“We remember from years ago. There are ways.”

Such a beautiful place
trapped in a cycle of human ugliness

Barren gray mountains —
more than verdant pastures —
echo the Kashmiri struggle

POEM: Fog Monster

fog followed us down the valley
in a relentless glacial flow
ahead lea, aft a soft white wall
lost, the mountainous tableau



who is chased by a dragging cloud
pulled over the land like a cover?
it’s not mustard gas creeping in
just water drops caught mid hover



well, i can’t speak for one and all
but i found my pace did quicken
when sound roams free, but sight ‘s restrained
the old nerves tend to kick in