hdrpl

So I found myself in tears,
with grey hair shining.
Belonging to the beginning,
belonging to the end.
Side-by-side with nothing,
I cultivate for seas of
endless time, and my
ordinary self.
A narrow gate of name                              and form.

I pour the tea,
and everything changes.
Nothing either good, or bad.
Thinking makes is so,
going deeper and deeper.
It waked with me,
as I walked on.

rhdr

I was happy,
and then…I was sad.
Some days, I took action.
Some days, I did nothing.
The world, moonlit
and drop shaken is all I have.
Do not tell me how
difficult the way.
There is no poem that I write,
that is not a farewell poem.

qrf

Declaring the spirit,
the winter sun rises slowly,
illuminating the light
of wisdom.

With rendered mountains
of compassion, I walked
with silence – looking for
a place to land.

I question myself,
are you there?
are you there really?
And an emptiness
fills the space.

Dead trees
and a bite to the morning.
The smallest moments
bloom bright.
Clinging to a desperate sun.

A troubled day,
I found no listeners eye.
Just a cold path home,
and a dark silence
wanting to be free.

Walking shortly,
before the beginning.
Each day, holding
on to the edge.
If this is my last dream,
I write, and the wind sings.

rhdr

Leaving,
standing or sitting,
going or coming.
Our dreams
breaking upon
ancient roads.
And still the
flowers hold the air,
a final dream.
I am glad I
knew you when.

I look now,
at the morning life.
Clouds drifting
and moonlit heavens.
Since I was born,
I have to die.
When I am gone,
will someone care
for the poems I leave?

It’s two thousand and nineteen,
and I don’t know anyone,
from east or west who
doesn’t loath the numbers.

A city full of crawling sledge hammers, digging up the streets,
and observing the moments of silence.

Just a fragment of what is to come, headlong and headlong.
Everything is now, now, now –              a  wrong urge has taken hold.