Winter

December 7th 2009

Love Poem to My Heart from My Mind

The machine of Me is many mouthed
Chewing the ends of whatever I place within my understanding
Love of My Heart
Your shape I fondly nibble every which way.

Your blood, marbled within me paints
Universes that illustrate
And foreshadow the plot of my life so vividly
I cannot close my eyes
From the pressure pounding behind them.

The great eminent darkness
You cause when you stop
Gives me enough mystery
To contemplate every paranoid thought possible.
I can never truly be bored,
But I imagine it’s terrible.

This certain uncertainty you give
Warms Me, gets Me humming in the morning
Cleverly avoiding everything leading up
To what you’ve cooked up
OOOO oooo OOOO!
Stimulation!

The KNOWING of us together, my heart
In spaces of thoughtlessness
Vast timelessness where there are no machines
Because there is no work to do,
No where to go,
And no use for you to beat on
Your march so fuddlesome and delicious!

I still haven’t quite figured out
Where this knowing comes from
When I see how we work together
But, I trust you
You let me be Myself:
A machine that goes on and on
My heart, My heart
I love you so much.

February 20th 2010

Tiger Woods

Such a naughty fellow
Popping into the most desired mound
With one small hole at its center
Grass rolled over tickles the lower half
Of the spectacle sport

Bystanders never hear the sigh of the wind
Through the ever watchful sky
While one white insect eye lidless, silent, eternal
Flies through the great green trees encircling

With sandbag heavy fingers sifting from the slightly underside
I give one swift crack up the back
One big hit with that clubfoot stick
Of my swing-hipped smile and
Verdant celadon stretches the curves so far beyond
The boundaries of our sight.

Over Easy

You get to know the pleasure it is to swallow
As I glide down your throat so
Over easily

Much like your own insides
Simply moisture, solid, and space
I gush all over

Poked by the tine of a fork
Plumped by the heat of the skillet
My heart a tame and yellow yolk
Runs all directions unpredictably
Across your plate

Slowly undoes itself

For the kiss of your tongue
And the fullness of your belly

February 23, 2010

Snow Day

Quiet, cold, white bits of cloud fall on the ground.
Everyone is too afraid to go out.
No work. No cleaning,
Just movies, cooking, kitty, and hot chocolate
Wanting enlightenment is a mistake.
If I sat in the snow concentrating
On melting it, I’d only be prone to illness.
Whether it liquefied or not has little to do with me.
Ice turns to water every day. No big achievement.

To be on purpose realizes our vacant efforts
And lack of audience when you give it up
Better to observe my cat’s green almond slice eyes
Slowly closing in contentment, marshmallows
Melting into hot wet chocolate powder,
My head woozy, sloshing like a bowl of water from
Reclining on couches for hours staring at a blinking box.

It’s better not because it will awaken me faster,
Certainly not. Neither will sitting hours on
Well waxed floors and washing bowls with pickle slices.
Nope. If I and a Zen monk changed places,
We’d be equally uncomfortable.


He in my heavy velvet pajamas, me in his itchy robe,
He ignoring the cries of my roommate’s lovemaking,
Me prostrating over-eagerly to his Roshi for wisdom
Serve only to annoy.
Irritation only causes a crisper intimacy of distinction
Between that which bothers and that which soothes.
It is better to do what you don't have to tell yourself to do.
It just gets done. Still, no liberation occurs.

If enlightenment is beyond concept,
It could be that easy to just switch-a-roo
And be done with the whole nonsense,
But I doubt it. Ease and struggle
Must be far away from one who is shattered by the falling of a leaf,
Put back together by an earthquake, unmoved by the promise of death.

My cat side to side twitches her tail
Adding commentary by her unembarrassed purring
On a pillow. For her, the middle way is natural.
Moved by her gentle suggestions,
I wallow in guilt that I was swayed
To pretend frozen H2O will harm me
And truly anxious of whether it is OK
To curl up warm, still, and mellow
On a day when no notice or difference is made.