poetry, photography and reflections on life, aging, and dharma
unbounded, indifferent space the sun, the moon, the stars this silver globe of sky each cloud, each breath of wind, these mountains the sea, all creatures and every impossible flower, all of this is me — the loss of a single leaf, a breath the death of a single bird and I am forever … Read more
if I slip a word
beneath your door
could you read it?
stones
upon the shore, count
the skips one, two, three – more
then silence.
The Shambhala teachings speak of “effortless effort,” the quality of effort without struggle. I’ve never been very good at this myself – at one point in my career my nickname was “the bulldozer.” But I’m workin’ on it…
In another reflection on where poems “come from,” sometimes one encounters a place so intense that you need to write about it. Problematically, when it’s a place as iconic as the bottom of the Grand Canyon, well, it’s almost impossible to do so in anything close to a fresh way. This poem and the accompanying image came from a photo trip down the Colorado in April of 2014.
Note- some poems are prompted by a word or a phrase, perhaps an experience. This was suggested by an impossibly beautiful tree deep at the head of the unfortunately named “Negro Bill Canyon” off of the Colorado Rive near Moab Utah. red stone by the time we reach the top of the canyon we’ve … Read more
on hearing the voices of children late at night from our riad deep within the Medinah…. last night last night, just as I closed the door to consciousness and stepped into the cool blue anteroom of sleep, I heard the voices of small children, rising, falling, echoing through the house, familiar voices … Read more
Costa Brava here’s to tits. And hot sun, beaches and sand, oil and oversized towels. To skinny tits widely spaced on broad strong chests, and to pendulous breasts swinging like the balls of great bulls, to pointy tits and to … Read more
