POEM: What Lies Beyond?

End of the wall —
End of the world?

Who can say what lies
beyond one’s line
of sight?

If you tell me,
“Thar be Dragons!”
in that sad, gray mist —
I can’t well argue the point,
but it doesn’t mean I won’t keep an ear open for wing flaps, and my skin tuned to flashes of heat.

Poem: Waking

Waking up — but uncertain from what…

-awaking from sleep?
-awaking from wakefulness?
-awaking from life?
-awaking from death?

All one knows is that a threshold has been overstepped.
Something inside feels new.
Something else feels ancient.

But nothing feels the same.

POEM: Yoga

The moment when you’re everything
and are, at once, nothing.
Time exists, but is lost to you —
no lagging, nor rushing.

Space is the world that expands and
collapses with each breath —
the infinity through which you
stretch beyond life and death.

And in quiet moments of mind,
when no voices call out,
it becomes still enough to feel
something within you sprout.

Breathing Haiku

I

the mountain
sets my mind on each breath —
thin-air teacher


II

air rushes in,
but the sinuous seedpod
merits no gasp


III

in the stillness,
my body skips breaths —
sometimes I notice…


IV

in balance —
my mind clear and at ease
stomach gliding


V

watching each breath,
none is the same, otherwise,
all of them are

POEM: Day’s End Dance


Patches of pink on army green —
the rhododendrons bloom.
In the hills of Himalaya —
gone the sad winter gloom.

Gone the weight of weary sinew —
the soul begins its float.
We feel the fire of shining skies
as we shed pack and coat.

The body, so still and silent —
nonetheless takes to dance.
The hike’s exhaustion falls away
and one tunes in the trance.

POEM: Bone-joy Resonance

A sage, throughout his cave days,
whiles away the summer nights
in a darkness within darkness.

The tomb-like silence fades into
a faint resonance.

Musty earthen scent becomes
the dominant sensation.

A tomb within a tomb within rocky ground.

And — slowly, at first — his mind spills out,
and spirals beyond the bounds of all constraints.

Until it reaches the cave rock,
and then it sets into the stone.

Whether the rock starts vibrating
at the frequency of bone,
or bone oscillates from contact with rock —

I don’t know —

All I know is that this cave
that was empty save some flesh and bone
is now full.

POEM: Modernity Killed the Monster

In ancient days, the monsters spoke,
but were no less scary.
We’ve made pitiful things of the
unicorn and fairy.

No proud, strong beast of horn and hoof —
No spinner of magic.
Our monsters turned into creatures
cute, feeble, and tragic.

Our monsters are now neat, orderly
and oh-so obvious —
in swank suits and epaulets with
delusions of godliness.