Pink sky descending, yellow crow rising

Pink sky descending, yellow crow rising.  Towers, black, glistening, mute, needles of glass from the crushed dome of night fallen to earth, waiting. Constellations, old gods, having lost their homes, whirl and wail in a colorless void.  Now, red waters of darkened, fallen sky run in the dun prairie.  Native souls sing by water’s ragged edge, heedless of debilitating grief.  A tall blue sky stands firm inside the heart, filled by a relentless sun of warmth and grace.

Raven

Raven against the blue sky

   his dark shadow flickering

over green pine boughs.

Simple Sound Solution

Start with principle
     And understanding,
End in love and
     Reconciliation.

Let it All Go

You can’t write happiness or fulfillment.  You can’t write meaning or truth.  All of these words are like footprints in the mud along the great Sea of Life.  You have to dive in yourself to realize It’s All.

Ineffable, splendid, loving, all-encompassing, singular and multitudinous, melodious and silent, profound and humble, magnificent, gracious, forceful, yielding…  the words are endless to describe, description itself is from ineffible experience.  Shared internal awareness… well, that’s the goal of the writer — futile in the extreme, except for those special days when mind walks behind Soul, giddy and drunk with the fragrance of Its splendor!

It Grinds Exceeding Fine

From the skies
   grist pours
onto the world mill-stone

From time’s ovens
   fired by thought’s illusion
bread of the gods

Haiku for Eclipse Day 8/2008

Fog in the valley

   carressing pines –

beauty walks

Whence Commeth My Help?

Why torture one’s self with the imagery of failure, letting dark incantations emerge from the shadow of the small, dimly lighted mind and submitting indiscriminately? Soon, one seeks relief in small things: physical pleasures, someone else’s suffering. A vicious cycle implodes, spiraling, black-hole-like. I created this! I can un-do it! I look for the hand of a true helper, because the pit is deep. There is no help in the world, for all suffer the same self-in-folded gloom — except those who have pierced the shadow and seen the light in its heart. Though glorious beacons of sonorous melody, they quietly walk unnoticed in a world of veils and illusion. The walking dead all around are really in the mind’s blinded eye. All are glorious souls, many yet sleeping. I am a sleeping king of my own kingdom! I listen to the true Voice of the One who knows and loves. Gradually, melody replaces malady. Music fills the darkness with Sound.

Some Haiku for… What?

Like flowers left
on the desk
of a hopeful friend…

Dear Sen. Obama, I thought you might appreciate these Haiku:

Three AM
quiet tears –
people suffer for truth

***

work-a-day
head down –
storm gathers

***

The weary soldier rests by a stream.
The tired employee pauses from work.
Silently the loving voice of truth speaks.

***

The words of the Founders
lift themselves from dusty books
and firmly clasp the hands of the people

***

at the podium
the politician suddenly quiet –
open, waiting eyes

***

Self Discovery

Ok, I found what I
     was after –
let’s just call it “laughter.”

… beginnings…

…you are looking
for something
that isn’t here…

…but if you don’t look
you cannot find
that which you desire…

nor can that which you desire
find you…

 

 

 

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“If you don’t know what you want, buy something to be part of the exchanging flow.” -Rumi

 

 

 

***

Creation comes from action.