What will you remember?


When you hear thunder.
Will you remember:
that all I wanted was words.
Honest words.
Rippling around our sky,
until they become
pleasures of the mind.
I think not.
But, at least the
flowers wave and nod.
A passing breeze, leaving
their love upon my forehead.

Distant hills echo


​Unable too say goodbye,
your breath freezes
like fine lace.
I leave, with strength
and words of love
from my soul.
And while the clouds
hide the sun from sight.
There is no better home,
that sad memory’s forgotten.
And a woman to call my own.

The end of my story


Yes, I remember
the cage you provided
for singing birds.
You spoke of a
shelter from the sky.
At the very the end
of the hardest day.
But the doubt roared within me.
And I wondered, how is
everyone still sleeping
and still listening for love?
Even though I wasn’t dead,
chest heaving and eyes weeping,
you said a mantra, or two
at my grave stone.
As if you were a re-spun sinner,
redeeming your soul
at the very end of the hardest day.

Buddha and the peony flower


The cool breeze
with all her strength,
to take me away from here.
With your words,
the temple bell tolls-
even among the insects.
It’s enviable, the beauty
and gracefulness
of a magpies love.
Its spirit plays,
like faint footprints
on the sand.
I am no longer
waiting for the end.
Or the dreams of
sheltering sleepers.
For my dreams are fertile,
and full of stars that stir.
Come with me tonight,
and you will shiver
under my caress.
And I will drink your
perfumed kisses.
Then, we will fulfil the night.

A surreal summer


The sky felt like a marble tomb,
and indifference sends
creepy feelings inside my heart.
In nothingness, it was hard to care.

So, I chose a sea of fire,
and my collection of
Bukowski poems.
What’s life without all that?

Behind me invisible webs
that trap ghosts.
In front of me, a fusion of hope
and twitching trees

How will it end?


​It will finish, soon enough.
​Engineered by a few good friends.
​And a magpies love,
​a single hope in a vast sky.
​Now I know, that from the
darkness ​of the poison plants,
​a new day begins.
​After all, we are summer people.

A bamboo gate finally swings shut


My work here is done,
but you could never speak of it first.
And as the last flower petal drops,
few notice the sea kiss the crimson sky.

But there are some of us
who hear the shrill of the cicadas.
And the owls repeating sweet nothings
to the blushing moon.

Live well and leave well, I say.
At the end of the day,
silent meditation and words of love
feed my soul, and you?

Love a shadow past bedtime


Under a summer sky,
we watched a film together.
The one about ancient times.
Outside, cicadas sang the night away.
And swimming towards essence,
you let me touch your body.
The weight of your
soul in my hands.
A tender lust, no longer forlorn.
And heaven grew wild, once again.

When I could do nothing


​A zen master said
​’ There are ten thousand
things ​called delusion’
​I don’t know about that,
​maybe there are more.
​But how many know the way?

​Once, when it seemed
​that no green earth remained.
​You appeared, a vision of
​a great travelling revolution.

​And wasted no thought,
​to open everything skyward.
​Showing me the way,
​to new raindrops of love.