Culture
Confusions of the mind.
Some pictures I took today.
To see a world in a grain of sand,
and still the mind
in moments of darkness.
Is that not something.
Standing in the temple,
loves pain remains with me.
The sun shines intensely
piercing the air, to be born again
One flower, two flowers,
one bird, two birds.
This is my total existence,
a perfect way – to be born again.
My dream goes wandering
A poem I types this morning
Nights grow short,
barren branches left behind.
From here I will speak to the moon,
and become a spirit.
Because such men,
have no death spot on them.
Just shadows from a lingering sun.
Within your life, and mine.
As lightly as it fades
A picture a friend sent me. A poem I wrote this morning.
You’re crying here,
silence but in darkness.
A thousand poems,
grafted from
the waves at dawn.
My dreams, hold more solitude
than noisy crowds.
A single echo returning
as it came – a life of moon,
sun and flowers.
I’m amazed there’s still
all this space inside me.
One summer moon
Pictures taken on my travels.
Not even for a moment,
do things stand still in my life.
A cool breeze sweeps each path,
as conversations grind away.
The moon never hides, and I never wait to live
– or to be born again.
And somehow, with death and love behind me
even the dark clouds show the ways.
Walking on the beach
A picture I took in South Korea and a poem I wrote this morning.
The woman is alone,
walking on the beach.
Is she a kind woman?
What happened to her yesterday?
I thought about saying ‘hello’,
and finding out.
But that’s not polite, and I
don’t know anything about her.
In the end…
I said “hello”, in Korean.
She smiled
and walked on.
Beauty is a shell
My pictures: Taken yesterday evening
By the river,
I saw the water lilies swaying –
and the dragonflies
sweeping the sky’s edge.
But soon this, too – shall pass.
As far as summer is from winter,
so am I from you now.
I have not come easily this way,
but painfully and with death
scored in every step.
Half- minded to escape,
I looked for something familiar.
A man’s life with a woman,
and the flowers I once spread
at her feet.
But memories of wails and anguish
are always there.
Half-sunken, but crying out in the old.
They bring back suffering,
until love has its way – again.
An empty space
A picture taken yesterday evening.
One sky, one moon….
There is no one to talk with,
all through the night.
My solitude is now deep
and snow covered.
For what moments
have I been living?
A few quick sounds
and distant echoes.
Until the frost comes again
Tattered memories
To be lonely, and raise my face
to a mirror on life.
To gaze at the stars every night
and lament for nothing.
Is to waver between
life and death – and
become a single-body.
That moment, when even
the rushing streams cease
all their flowing
And the hills and mountains,
overturn.
A door to yesterday
A picture I came across from my trip to South Korea. I wrote this poem a couple of days ago.
A Wandering Poet 