Fragrant grasses, white clouds,
and to go where my mind will.
This idleness, day-by-day grows old.
And when winter’s scene,
and the frost comes.
I will stare deep into the world,
a weary pilgrim on the road.
Emptied of shade and light,
and beyond the limits of mortal fame.

A poem I wrote whilst walking in the mountains

In a dream, I asked the questions
they had been asked before.
Shells broken off and discarded.

The sky outside promised a shower
Everything looked strange, another
place….just memories to keep us on our feet

Today I awoke, a spirit no longer trapped in a body.
My questions answered, I see what
I see, nothing more….how ordinary

Warmth and humanity are all around the city. Most days I find this. I wrote this poem this afternoon.

The world forever,
is there a thing?
Over my body,
the clouds go by
drifting through
two worlds.
A radiance of
the mind itself.
These trees, these flowers
fall like blessings.
And knowing the end of
birth and death,
my life is fulfilled.

I often walk along the banks of the Weihe River. A simple pleasure, yet meaningful and mindful in many ways. I wrote this poem yesterday.

All is bright,
under the autumn sun.
Over the weihe river
a flute singing,
tender as the ocean vast.
Each step along the trail,
selfless and virtuous.
For seventy autumns,
our river rushed by
nourishing to grow well.
The water and the clouds long.

September dusk, 
ashes drifting 
beyond bare fields.  
Still no words 
between father and son. 
To calm the fire's hiss.

Today then, I came to the day,
to write, erase and rewrite.
Into the broad bright air,
the smell of autumn chives
cut in the morning dew.
White -rice already cooking
in a special way.
I am still alive, vibrant with life.
Here it is – right now.

Under the brooding sky,
nameless and empty
I leave birth-and death.
Breath after breath, I dwell.
A light into my mind.
Not a thing appears before me,
everything, just as it is.

I know this place well,
DingGuo Temple.
In morning’s small hours,
they come to adore.
Osmanthus trees,
now and then interrupting
a butterfly’s dream.
A lotus flower,
greeting the morning sun.
And me….
a dropped-off body and mind.
Bound firmly with the word,
and everything from the
inside out.

No electricity for many hours. Reflecting a little, I wrote this short poem🙏

We sit together,
the Buddha and me,
until only the
Buddha remains.
A gentle breeze
of compassion.

No electricity,
and soundless sounds.
I can still see the high birds,
like ribbons upon somber branches.
Embracing the silence,
in the streets below.
Pouring emotions
down from the sky,
We are laughing and crying