Warm rain

I would be angry
If the light were not so soft
Warm rain lashes down


Patch of wildflowers
Next to the roundabout
Wind blows
My heart moves with them

The discontent

The discontent I call it
Great or small
The only constant
In this roaming sea
I call a mind

Cursed beast

Time, that cursed beast
That makes you trade an ocean
For a muddy pond
Every moment of your life gone too soon
One hundred thousand little deaths a day
And once again tomorrow

Clouds in May

Let all the world blow by in despair
So long as I have my blossom tree
And the clouds in May

A quiet grief

A quiet grief
The small bunch of flowers
On the dirty lamp post
A thousand drivers a day pass this place
In third gear looking for fourth
Do any even notice
So small and tragic a thing?

Clever concepts

All clever concepts close but no cigar
For when the field is in the field
It is no longer the field

Silence becomes a sound

This can never be held on to
For then nothing is represented by something
Then silence becomes a sound

No thought

Can you hear silence
Or see darkness
How about think no thought?


Watch the body breathing
The heart beating
The brain thinking
See the spoiled plans
The frustration
And behind it all find something
Perfectly ordinary
In suffering as much as in pleasure

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