April moon—
black butterflies
making love
The truth beyond words,
beyond silence—
her big grin.
flowers flying
in the breeze—
sweet scents of spring
two mares snoozing
in the tall spring grass—
cold north wind
Reading Issa—
sipping tea
smiling
Backyard rock garden:
my mini Yunnan Stone Forest—
beloved odd pointed stones.
weeds in bloom:
bright red, yellow, white;
mowed down!
Sea and creek meet
over rocks and sand—
noisy reunion
Dirty hand, callused palm,
black fingernails:
Green Thumb.
The Mind is a vast Bodhi forest,
The body a Bodhi tree.
Dirt is in every cranny,
Flowers blossom, leaves fall.
The Bodhi Trees
have been cut down,
The Bright Mirrors shattered.
Beginning with nothing,
Replant the trees, remake the mirrors.
Make one's mind like a mirror,
One's body like the Giving tree.
Reflect accurately and impartially;
Give fruit and shade.
Mother's Day
an old man—
hugs his granddaughter.
A killdeer fans its tail and peeps,
luring us away
from the nest she keeps.
The cows have vanished
down the road,
and the last clouds floated away.
We sit together, the Valley and me,
until only the Valley remains.
Cherries and berries
ripening fast—
her sweet lips are red.
Sunday rest
on shaded grass—
sermons by cherry blossoms.
The dark pines edge
the deepest shade,
While cherry blossoms
set and fade.
Lines of baled hay
yellowing in the sunshine—
dry May day
Dead cat
one leg up—
the magpies hop closer
Purple and pale blue
vetch blossoms festoon the pond—
draped by the black sky.
The growl of trucks
edges off
the silence of the night
Up and down, up and down,
up and down;
two hummingbirds fussing
round and round.
A few molecules awry,
madness beckons:
Flooding visions,
no mind that reckons.
Robust grape vines twine and climb
on the sagging fence
that never whines.
Cloudless morning,
pale blue skies—
lonely meadowlark's cry
In downtown Portland,
the sunlight shimmers
On walls of glass,
mirroring steel and river.
cool night
watering the orchard
in the moonlight
Weeds turn yellow
as the days grow long;
we move the sprinkler
on the lawn
Last day of Spring
ripe purple plums drop—
form is emptiness.
First day of Summer
ditch completely dry—
emptiness is form
covered with ants
dead lizard
disappearing ........ bit by bit
Eastern sun
between Cascades and clouds—
glowing red hollyhocks.
No flowers, no bees;
No bees, no flowers.
Blooming and buzzing,
Buzzing and blooming;
Married and still in Love.
My son's old friend, tall and tan,
a different person, now a man.
I dreamt I died—
Followed by
Sharing the wind-streams—
cattails and cottonwoods
casting cottony seeds.
The Illusions of Nine O'Clock
TV is deceiving
On episodes of sit-coms
(But few are funny),
Or news with political scenes,
Or sports fans cheering
teams,
Or
on ads on buying things
Or on shows on alien beings.
These are hardly strange
With colors and graphics galore
And narrators
so melodious.
People are going to Dream
Of fake heroes and heroines,
No matter how odious.
Somewhere, a tired older man,
Stoned and asleep in his shorts,
Dreams of tortillas and tomatillos,
Eating in foggy ports,
Catching flies with chopsticks,
Reading Wallace Stevens' Quartz.
Raccoon up the willow,
dog nearby—
both tensed: eye to eye.
Full opal moon
rises above Lassen forest—
laughter around campfires.
First day of Spring
Narcissis in bloom—
form is emptiness.
Last day of Winter
peach branches bare—
emptiness is form.
