Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days,
Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes,
And marching single in an endless file,
Bring diadems and fagots in their hands.
To each they offer gifts after his will,
Bread, kingdoms, stars, or sky that holds
them all.
I, in my pleached garden, watched the
pomp,
Forgot my morning wishes, hastily
Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day
Turned and departed silent. I, too late,
Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Fish mill about the koi pond --
No hooks or fishnets;
Just falling leaves to break up
Hours into minutes.
There was a time
when time was real --
when a traveler might head out
for a destination with every
expectation that he would
arrive to such a place as
was lodged in his memory...
Only to find a desolate place --
overgrown and vacant --
cold ash long blown from the fires,
intermixing with the soil.
If one's journey was long enough,
one might wonder whether everything
had been fine when one set out,
and whether tragedy had struck
and nature reclaimed during those
long days on the trail.
The first week of October.
sprawling tree,
laid asunder by its own weight:
a crack plus time
What’s your favorite time of day?
Mornings. I’m a lark. It’s when I’m at my highest energy level.
the clouds retreat,
revealing hilltop ruins:
a ghost in stone.
Forever -- is composed of Nows --
'Tis not a different time --
Except for Infiniteness --
And Latitude of Home --
From this -- experienced Here --
Remove the Dates -- to These --
Let Months dissolve in further Months --
And Years -- exhale in Years --
Without Debate -- or Pause --
Or Celebrated Days --
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies --
chartreuse Spring leaves
tick their way toward matching
the evergreens.
Reading, thinking, and learning.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 