|
I.
Sound of rain
Falling from the evening sky
Listen to the wind
In between the drops
Amidst the activity
Emptiness
Peace
II.
Cabin the forest
The stars shine brightly
In the night sky
Like flickering thoughts
You up there
Shining in the chorus
Of lights above
III.
Afternoon wind blowing
Across frozen lakes
Life breath mingling
Across the distance
Hinted by gentle whisper
Of leafless trees
In the nearby forest
IV.
Clouded heavens
No star in sight
Just the sound of fish
Playing under a layer of ice
Mystery images dancing
Behind your closed eyelids
V.
Via train at 18:50
To arrive at Union 22:33
Winter stripped flora obscured
By the blanket of night
Gentle rhythm of the tracks
In consciousness caressed
An echo of the beating
Of your heart
VI.
No stars no silence
Car horns at sunrise
Sound of wheels
This body like yours
Like the fog in the air
Existing in the world
Of muddled minds
VII.
Stubborn eyelids
Repelling slumber
The sound of gentle rain
On structured wood
A thousand thoughts
In every droplet
Leading to one question:
Who are you behind your eyes?
VIII.
Morning sun hiding
Above cloudy skies
Wind blowing dead leaves
Clinging to cold branches
Random hopeful images flashing
Like the now-forgotten dreams
That danced behind your lovely eyes
While you slumbered
IX.
Confused mumblings
Words shining without context
Insistent of substanceless importance
A woman drinks from a bottle
Scratched glass singing
As it rubs against her ring
She seems lonely
Sad or maybe just tired
She stares at her reflection
From within the streetcar window
X.
Water droplets within
The dancing night air
Transcendent silence present
Behind the sound of rumbling pavement
An indescribable liberation from chaos
A small desire arises
To offer its delicious flavour
Like a slice of cake
To you
XI.
Chamber windows
That welcomed sunlight
Now greets the invisible moon
Mind residing in all three realms
Your body in graced motion
Like the silent passage of time
XII.
Spring thaw visiting
With warm weather
In the house of Winter
Raindrops drumming
On umbrella surfaces
Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat
The mango looks ripe sitting
On the fruit market display
While you are on course
So far away
XIII.
On the eastern horizon
A mix of white and gray
Branches swaying close-by
Partnered by moist wind
Your voice echoing
In memory
XIV.
In dark chamber I lay
Eyes shutting
To close the day
In dreams you might be
If not then images flow free
Like the evening breeze yonder
Window sill welcoming
Surprises that bring wonder
XV.
Sleepy eyes at the fourth hour
Legs still stiff from slumber
Exposing sleepy skin
A splash of winter-cold water
And silent screams dissolving
Into an badly sung aria
First-degree murdered opera
"Vincero!"
I am now awake
May the beginning of your day
Be gentler
XVII.
The smell of incense
With the gentle flicker
Of candles on the altar
I sit in silence
Worldly winds flowing
Resting in the spaces
Between thoughts
Tiny echoes of you
Somewhere in the void
XVII.
Rain soaked pavement
On pre-sunrise city streets
Reflecting car headlights
Like ten thousand mirrors
Rain and wind entwined
In a silent dance
Like lovers in snuggle
In above-ground rooms
The electric kettle boiling
Hot water for my tea
XVIII.
Bach in my ear
As the train pass me
Red and white lights
In opposite lanes
Decorate Yonge Street
Uphill and downhill
My feet take me home
A stick breaks under my boot
Snap!
XIX.
Peeking sunrise to the east
Blast of winter on naked skin
A desire for warmth arises
As evergreen trees gently sway
Flesh-yellow horizon
An imagined vision
That greets only in a fool's fantasy
Your gently waking eyes
XX.
Trees decorated
With a thousand lights
Illuminate Nativity scenes
As the bus passes
A squirrel crosses the road
Into backyards behind fences
Suddenly gone from sight
Like your passing smile
On a Thursday night
Existing only in memory
XXI.
Three trees guard the temple
Their branches like arms
Spread above wet pavement
Momentary refuge from the rain
In the Fall, Spring, and Summer
One cracked by a windstorm
Stands defiantly
Strength through hope
Close to mortality this
More alive than most
XXII.
The scent of matcha green tea
Flavoured with a peach
Greets my senses
As the remnants of rain
Litter the concrete outside
Peace amidst the sound
Of rubber rolling on Vaughan Road
Three arbor sentinels
Steadfast in their positions
Standing silently without motion
A family of squirrels
Leaping between branches
XXIII.
Baking in the kitchen
The fragrant smell
Of avocado brownies
Fills the air
In anticipation
To be served to friends
Tomorrow at noon
Wishing one day
You will partake
XXIV.
Donning temple robes
I feel soft cotton on my skin
If they live they would remember
The tears, the joy
The traumas, death, and births
That it has been present for
In others
Another set of minds
Muddled by karma
Veiled behind smiles and pleasantries
I look deep into their eyes
And I see them
Even if they can't
XXV.
In dark chambers
I lay in bed listening
To the faint sound of sirens
The furnace turns on
Interrupting the phrase
My toes wiggled
Under my soft blanket
Tiny reveries inserting
Momentary interludes
XXVI.
Meditating before dawn
A flicker of candlelight
And soft hum of the heater
Accompanies the silence
A cat walks past my cushion
Purring contently
It sits in patience
Waiting for breakfast
XXVII.
Sunset hiding behind clouds
A ribbon wrapped
On a solitary tree
The streetcar horn blares
Startling a distracted driver
Break lights shine
Leading the way home
XXVIII.
Store shop displays lit
Devoid of people
Early hours still in slumber
As the bus descend a hill
Lights lining the avenue
Only a brief cough in front
Interrupts the silence
Until the bell rings
Ping!
XXIX.
With weary eyes I enter
The temple which I call home
Mind filled with the day
I stagger into my chambers
Struggling to write
A few verses
Before slumber overtakes me
Amidst the chaotic swirls
A tiny sliver of you
Breaks the whirlpool
An interruption most welcomed
Anicca
Impermanence
XXX.
Droplets of rain illuminated
By the gentle glow of streetlights
A hundred thousand thoughts
Collecting like puddles
In concrete indentations
A metaphor
Fantastical musings
Amidst the stillness
Of a pre-dawn canvas
XXXI.
The image of the teacher sits
Guarded by candles lit
To the left watching over the dead
To the right offering compassion
With them I spend the sunset
Clearing the mind
For the sake of all beings
Before I lay my head to rest
XXXII.
The smell of marijuana
On a crowded bus
Legalized distractions
That muddle the mind
An escape for the restless
And the lonely and angry
The anxious and scared
Only the empty streets
And multicoloured lights
Of the urban landscape
Liberates this sleepy mind
From the object of aversion
XXXIII.
Like a blast of ice water
The morning wind greeted me
Filling me with gratitude
For the uncomfortable pleasure
Awakening my senses
My mind shook
As a solitary sparkle
Met my gaze
In the pre-dawn sky
Like your eyes reflecting
The setting autumn sun
XXXIV.
Meditation outer robe
Fluttering in the evening breeze
A monk's satchel on my shoulder
A child and her mother
Walk past temple grounds
They stare
Little girl waves
I wave back
She giggles
The innocence of childhood
Cuts the humdrum monotony
Of conditioned reality
XXXV.
It is a curious thing
That wheels on concrete
Sound like wind
Caressing the earlobe
All the associations
This mind creates
Seeming real
But only for a moment
As the sound of the clock
Signal the passage of time
Also imagined
XXXVI.
Loud music in a gym
Festooned by lights red
A group of people dancing
Others trying to connect
With words in conversation
Masked only by the volume
While a young woman sits
Alone in sudden anxiety
Until comforted by friends
She didn't dance once
Connection in different form
A moment of peace
Amidst the activity
XXXVII.
Early morning city sounds
Muffled by fresh snow
As sleepy beings walk
Under leaf-bare trees
The welcomed scent
Of coffee and bread
Teasingly fill the air
As the sun slowly smiles
Over the eastern horizon
XXXVIII.
The snow was falling
When a young woman
Wept before me
She talked about loneliness
In a world full of people
Of being told of love
But with the teller being absent
The presenter of a present
Who in awareness and connection
Un-present
Pain and disappointment
Lingering through time
Through memories
Shaping time now
Past and future copulating
Like the sunrise and the sunset
As the snow continues to fall
Outside temple windows
XXXIX.
Dried tears decorating
My meditation outer robe
Remind me of private sorrows
Hidden from the world
Always present
Liberation within reach
Since the time of birth
Clouded by the self
This impermanent entity
Existing only in idea
Insisting on its importance
Like the throbbing
Of an aching tooth
XL.
Christmas music in the air
A box of chicken nuggets
Warms my left hand
A wave of pleasure arises
With every bite as I walk
Sparking memories of pleasure
Like a smile on a Thursday night
All senses connected
Tongue with eye
Eye with mind
Memories indistinguishable
In pure experience
The sweet scent
Of matcha latte suitable
As this capping verse
XLI.
Flashing left turn signal
Next to an island of snow
The white and red merging
In the sun-less urban silence
The morning star shimmers
Alone in the dark sky above
What wondrous dreams come
In the hours before waking?
XLII.
Rough patches of ice
Crunching with every step
Reflecting the light
Of the setting sun
As people wearily drift
Towards the thought
Of reaching home
While this fool lay ready
To venture blindly
Into unknown dreams
XLIII.
Contorted beads of light
Like Baroque figures
On an ebony canvas
Sway in the wind
A figure walks to and fro
Awaiting a tardy bus
Seeking unavailable shelter
As a ballet of moving specks
Of red and white headlights
Passes closeby
Un-noticed
XLIV.
Like water pouring
Into a tiny container
People rush to enter
A crowded bus
Ten directions closed
They travel only to stop
Like sardines in a cannery
While leafless trees in a ravine
Stand in limitless space
Proudly under the sky
Ten directions expanding
Into ten-thousand
They more freer than we
XLV.
Howling sound of wind
Outside single pane windows
Like hungry ghosts
In search of a meal
Warmth devoured
By the cold winter air
An old woman hums
A mournful lullaby
On a sidewalk edge
XLVI.
Multicolored lights
Flanked by strands of blue
Guarding above
While in a sea of empty tables
A gray haired man
Checks his phone
XLVII.
Yellow streetlights
Reflecting water and ice
Undestinguishable
Until Interrupted
By careful steps
The only activity sighted
On a five-o-clock landscape
Listen...
Do you hear the whisper
Of a gentle breeze?
XLVIII.
Weary skies above
Rouse from slumber
Weary bodies below
While a rabbit etches
Little footprints
On undisturbed surfaces
Of freshly fallen snow
XLIX.
Surrounded by figures
Paintings and pictures
I spent the afternoon
With dead Leonard
Through his songs and poems
His deep voice on screen
Dear Mr. Cohen
Through your art
Honest and raw
You live
L.
Solo chanting heard
In temple halls
While the skies decorate
The world with gray
A moment of sunshine
Interrupted by passing clouds
Filling the heavens
Like a cold blanket
On naked skin
LI.
The sun sleeps
Early in winter
While the mind wanders
In the passage of time
Asking questions
Wondering and thinking
While the body feels
Subtle manifestations
Of minute fragments
Like torn pages
From an old book
LII.
Streetlamp light
On gray pavement
Dancing left
Swaying right
Emanating from an arm
Wind-loosened on a pole
Wooden and old
How fascinating
How the rusted staples
From ancient ads
All flow lengthwise
LIII.
Bare branches pointing
Upwards to an absent moon
Greets my gaze
As my breath scatters
Like smoke on the wind
Floating like bubbles
Reaching you
In the silence
LIV.
A four-forty-two bus
Arriving five minutes early
Brings glee to my mind
For in doing so
I know
It will be empty
With pleasant smells
And not-often bells
Will interrupt
My reverie
LV.
How curious it is
How fascinating
That muddled minds
Produce muddled movements
Clumsy decisions
And un-harmonized actions
How truly awkward
Is a herd of people
Running to and fro
Like blind rodents in panic
With nowhere to go
LVI.
Shall I carry a war fan
Or a sword hidden in a cane
Perhaps pretend I'm invalid
And carry a walking stick
Memories of bad neighbourhoods
Feels like I was twenty-something again
Teenagers hazing the homeless
Stabbings on transit
A stranger slashing faces
World turned topsy-turvy
I should stop listening
To the morning news
And have tea in silence
Instead
LVII.
The gods in quarrel
Bring a chill to the earth
Pitting water with wind
Provoking the argument
Of light and shadow
Producing a dull gray
While December embers in ice
Linger in the heavens
As nature silently awaits
The far distant Spring
LVIII.
Reveries of Thursdays past
On a misty Friday morning
Tiny droplets swarm lamplights
Imitate smoke from a candle flame
Catch my eye like shimmers
On a calm lake in a summer day
Much as your smile does
When on pre-Friday nights
With harmonies in twirl
We play
LVIX.
Glass windows rattle
With the wind sounding
Like the wailing
Of ten-thousand harpies
In search of food
Gliding on winds south
With east in congress
In a maelstrom of ice
While evergreens stand
In solemn defiance
LX.
The sound of the clock
Unmoving on the wall
Distracts my attention
From the frigid scape
Noises absorbed
By newly fallen snow
Beautiful stillness
Sits in the present
I hope you slept well
I hope those dreams
Gave you pleasure
To frame your mind
That all is well
Or at least mostly
With this restless world
LXI.
This day ends
With a glass of water
While a perfect crescent moon
Hovers in the sky
Words in verse
To reach you
Whispers in light
In finger flicks ignored
LXII.
Fire and Ice
Brothers opposite
United by their obsession
With the maiden Pain
This trio in passionate embrace
Under the fifth hour
Ante meridiem sheets
Of howling winds
In a cheap motel room
Of Winter
LXIII.
Snow flurries dancing sideways
Like kapok in the tropical wind
A curly-haired child giggles
With snowflakes on her nose
Disappearing like thoughts
Conceived within a memory
Of a passing dream
Amidst the company
Of concrete giants towering
Over buried grass
LXIV.
A cup of cheap coffee
Distracts my mind
From the winter wind
As a late bus approaches
A shiny piece of plastic
Dances before me
As though saying hello
LXV.
The sound of my walking stick
On snow covered pavement
Brings my mind at ease
Through the rhythm of strikes
Mindfully striding to a point
To meet a friend for dinner
My long wool coat flutters
In the wind like a wanderer
On an Alpine mountain
While people stare
LXVI.
Dirty bus windows
Obscuring urban landmarks
Sight switches to listening
To the sound of pavement
Beneath rubber tires
Creating image locations
In the mind's eye
How wonderful
How wonderful
LXVII.
Clouds hiding stars
As silence envelops night
Within empty chambers
Intentional drips accompanying
A cheap clock on white walls
Ticking a lonely lullaby
Like dry branches striking rock
Out there
Somewhere
In a faraway forest
LXVIII.
Concrete bridgespans
Over great ravines
With distant lights
Shining between branches
From trees therein
In sight at random
Fro and to
Like an infant's game
Of peek-a-boo
LXIX.
Springlike breezes
Exposing dead grass
Beneath days old snow
Canine tracks erased
From hidden parkettes
Like old monuments
Etches eroded by wind
Buried
Beneath sand dunes
No trace
No memories
Nothing to remember
LXX.
Gentle morning showers
Tickle my sleepy skin
As I stand
On pre-dawn sidewalks
A fox crosses the street
And our gazes meet
Before we continue on
Fox in graceful gait
Seeking breakfast
And I
Un-moving
In my wait
LXXI.
Harpsichord music roused me
As the rain tapped on my windows
With eyes shut
A smile formed
Last hours of the year
The ending is important
In all things
LXXII.
This morning's silence
Doesn't feel any different
Than the one that came before
Even if the worlds insists
That it is
And it should be
But who am I to argue?
I have a spinach-omelet
Some cheese
And an orange
A self-made breakfast
Right on cue
LXXIII.
A peaceful night
Interrupted by moktak*
And gentle chanting
As the fresh morning air
Entered my open window
Welcoming my day
In the silence
I whispered
"Sadhu"
LXXIV.
Streets grow busy
With the return of routine
Tired faces on a Tuesday
Going somewhere
Within the pattern
Going nowhere
Motion absent
In gesture
LXXV.
Late bus moving
In the morning mist
Sound of rattling windows
Like falling blocks
From kindergarten shelves
Thoughts landing
On last night's walk
When we spoke
A maiden and I
Along the avenue
LXXVI.
Three degrees with fog
I walk to my destination
On glistening pavement
From rain that fell
The night before
Early bus and empty seats
Lulls this active mind
To a state of peace
LXXVII.
The scent of coffee
And light drizzle
In darkness greets me
As I ponder
The strange dreams
Of the early morning
Now slowly fading
Into forgetfulness
LXXVIII.
Gray skies looming
Over empty paths
Waves singing
On a winter morn
As sky droplets
Land on dry bricks
LXXIX.
A smile of understanding
From across the room
With eyes brightly illuminated
By common experience
A oneness rarely found
In a world of duality
LXXX.
Bright white lights
Over empty train tracks
Alongside empty streets
And dusty pavements
A lost coat rests
Wet and abandoned
Like a Victorian orphan
On an empty sidewalk
LXXXI.
Disturbing dreams
From the night past
Disturbs the thoughts
Of the morning present
Heavy legs propel
Without purpose
On a Tuesday empty
Of chrysanthemum petals
LXXXII.
Between lunch and dinner
Is my one meal of the day
Staving off hunger
Only for maintenance
Sustenance for practice
Not for enjoyment
Nor for beautification
Contentment conditioned
Through discomfort
Opens the gate
To liberation
LXXXIII.
Embrace of wet wind
And tardy buses
The scent of cheap coffee
A momentary refuge
From the movement
Of an agitated mind
LXXXIV.
All sense input tainted
By a troubled mind
Like the fog floating
In the spaces
Between skyscrapers
As my beret slowly dries
In the room behind
LXXXV.
A frigid wind blows
Over freshly fallen snow
With the sound of boots
Crunching on pavement
As a cardinal sits
On bare branches
Unfazed
LXXXVI.
An army of steel blades
Gliding over shimmering ice
With the laughter of children
Lovers and friends
I stood on salted pavements
Reminiscing the decades
Conditioning suffering
When a blast of artic air
Sends me back home
Suffering transcended
In suchness
LXXXVII.
A silent afternoon
Surrounded by books
The scent of cinnamon
From tea in the kitchen
Nothing to do
Nowhere to go
Noone to be
The self dissolving
Like incense smoke
Into the sky
LXXXVIII.
Silence inclusive
In the air vent hum
The desire to be
The desire to not be
Both nowhere present
In the present
The only defilement left
Is the thought
Of ice cream
LXXXIX.
The ground seems to shimmer
Under the gentle streetlamp
As ice pellets fall
From a darkened sky
While you under the sheets
Wander in dreams
Still blissfully unaware
Of the universe
XC.
The morning star
Hidden behind the clouds
Like feelings in secret
Silent declarations -
Un-worded
Its hesitance born
From raging torrents
In the distant past
XCI.
Grey skies mirroring
Sleepy eyelids
At the hour of nine
The sweet sound
Of kettle boiling
In anticipation
Of strong tea
XCII.
Strong sweet tea
As remedy for a tired body
Only time will tell
If the concoction works
Last night's disappointment
Weighing on my mind
As fanned air tickle
The hair on my head
XCIII.
A bowl of soup
And a cup of tea
Technical conversations
With men at bike shops
Crucial information shared
All filed in my head
For later use
Productive
XCIV.
Snowflakes falling
From gray skies
Reflecting on puddles
In the urban landscape
Bringing peace
Like a flickered smile
Anchored in a memory
Of a Thursday night
XCV.
Yesterday manifested
In blankets of white
Fluffed flakes fall
From leaf-bare branches
Decorating silence
With silence
XCVI.
Vapours from faraway oceans
Travelling on the morning breeze
Moving ribbons of plastic
Tangled in nearby bushes
Forming decorations of refuse
Of multicoloured strands
While a retired man struggles
To put on wool gloves
XCVII.
A cup of Colombian
Its sweet creamy taste
Distracts from the gray
That blankets the morning
While a hunched-back
Elderly father
Brings cooked food
To his adult daughter
Ignorant of the Way
Of the kitchen
XCVIII.
Mounds of ice crunching
With every step
Eyes focused
On one destination
As the shadow of branches
Fall on canine pawprints
Without the sign
Of a human master
XCIX.
Twitching corners
Of my tired eyelids
Offers entertainment
As one of the funny quirks
Of being short of sleep
On a Friday
C.
The sun descends
And excitement rises
As I await the hour of eight
For revelries of times past
At a concert like 1599
I in my own bliss
Alone and unattached
CI.
Hour of nine approaches
And slumber will follow
A day filled
With coy glances
And gliding steps
Of tiny pleasures
Disappearing
Like smoky arabesques
Rising
From the incense bowl
CII.
Nature's frigid song
Echoed in my ear
Stomach grumbling
Seeking breakfast
While sole on ice
Brings awareness
Into high alert
This is Winter
The stern teacher
CIII.
Thus I have heard
That a cat jumped
From the eleventh floor
On a cold Sunday
Just before noon
Accelerating downwards
At 9.8 meters per second
No amount of superpowers
Can prevent the inevitable
Physics
The eternal equalizer
CIV.
Winkies and mumblies
Bag men and ladies
Caricatures on trains
And slow moving buses
Having arguments
With invisible foes
Speaking with God
Or aliens in tutus
(Maybe Elvis Presley)
Who knows that goes on
In the mind
Of the insane
CV.
Cold glass window
Resting against wool
How comforting it is
When pain and pleasure
Arise at the same time
Underneath the glare
Of the afternoon sun
CVI.
Strawberries and bananas
Communing with milk
Such tiny pleasures
On a day of toil
Gray skies above
In an instant
Appear less sad
CVII.
Disturbing dreams
In the early morning
Accompanied
By frigid skies
A woman I once knew
Caresses
The rotting corpse
Of her lover
Who awakens
And I questioning him
"What is it like to be dead?"
His reply (with one eye):
"It's no different than when living
Only in a more comfortable bed."
CVIII.
Fluffy white orbs
Moving sideways
In February winds
The sweet scent
Of fresh croissants
Accompany images
Of bookish types
And colourful bonbons
In a French cafe
CVIX.
Where do your eyes fall
During the rising
Of the waking moon?
Starlight hidden behind clouds
In the momentary spaces
Winking at you
As you look elsewhere
A present unknown
Forever offered
Like the soft glow
Of an incense stick
Burning without end
CX.
Weatherman said
It was to be mild today
Mother Nature declared
That this was not to be
And called North Wind
Still moist
From nocturnal slumber
While we
Under-dressed
Wonder
CXI.
Flickering red and blue
Reflecting on folded metal
Two vehicles asunder
Like lovers after a quarrel
Amidst the activity
And confused looks
A solitary racoon
Crosses the road
CXII.
Sunlight made its appearance
In the minutes before noon
Shadows between buildings
Dancing silhouettes
Of branches
And dead weeds
To the soundtrack
Of silent winds
CXIII.
Rain melting snow
Into ten thousand puddles
Forming droplets
And ripples
Like tiny oceans
An imagined image
As though soaring
On blues skies hidden
Above the clouds
CXIV.
Silence heavy
Like a thick blanket
On a cold night
Pines on evergreens
Dancing in the soft breeze
A formulated question:
What dreams invade
Sleeping chipmunks
Until they wake
In springtime?
CXV.
Stopped bike
At the Distillery District
Caffe latte conversing
With two pork sausage rolls
Enjoyed in solitude
The little pleasures
Sometimes I wish
To share
CXVI.
Sleepy eyelids partnered
With tired legs
An afternoon sunlit journey
Into the urban jungle
Under blue skies
And smiling faces
A perfect cadence
Tapering a Sunday
CXVII.
A blanket of fog
Diffusing city lights
Like an impressionist canvas
Turning lit apartment windows
Into square shaped moons
Concrete towers obscured
By the absence of the sun
CXVIII.
Good wishes
"May you be happy"
"May you be well"
All I can offer
On Valentines day
Flowers meant to bloom
Shouldn't be plucked
All deep feelings
Must remain un-worded
Like the sound of smoke
From an incense stick
CXIX.
Springlike winds serenade
Glistening pavement
While bushes sway
Like a funeral cortege
A small dog halts
To shake off the rain
CXX.
The sour crunch
Of a sour dill pickle
Awakens my senses
Better than the sweet taste
Of a morning coffee
Like Master Dogen
Jolted into Satori
One early morning
CXXI.
Dangerous beauty manifest
As icicles festooned
On drooping branches
A gentle blanket of white
On urban pavements
Covering films of ice
Awaiting absent minded steps
Like a hungry archer fish
Stalking a curious fly
While in the distance
A yellow plastic strip
Caught on a wire
Dances in the winter wind
CXXII.
Gray skies and soft winds
Icicles from the wires
Litter the streets
Like broken glass
A Hasidic Jew
Walks Bathurst Street
With a big furry hat
Suddenly like lightning
The urge to touch it
Arises
CXXIII.
Sunshine on a holiday
Workplace as silent
As an ancient grave
Undisturbed
The mind follows
Floating on stillness
CXXIV.
White powder
Like kapok blowing
In a summer breeze
Fall from the sky
Fusing the cold
With warm memories
Of childhood innocence
Forever gone
CXXV.
Salted sunflower seeds
Require much work
To get the tiny seed
Out of the shell
Small return
For large effort
Much like the toil
From birth to death
A lesson in humility
There is much dharma
In the mundane
CXXVI.
The heart opens smoothly
When the defilements are cleared
Much like my front door
Hindered by the snow
From last night's storm
Sweep sweep sweep
Knowing it will return
Tiny moments of peace
Is better than none
CXXVII.
Morning sunlight reflecting
Off a blanket of white
Striking sleepy eyelids
Turning the world
Into a landscape
In a dream
While melting ice water
Like raindrops fall
From silent eaves
CXXVIII.
Ten thousand snowflakes
Passed my gaze
Like ten thousand thoughts
Of everyone
Of everything
And no one
And no thing
A brief moment
Of distraction
CXXIX.
Great is the matter
Of birth and death
Like left and right
And up and down
The sunset conditioned
By the sunrise
Or a smile
Conditioned by a frown
As branches move
With every breeze
Inevitable
CXXX.
Moonbeam on snowflakes
With the drizzle of light rain
In the early morning
Soft patting sounds
Droplets from branches
On a snowy cityscape
A few metres away
The pavement shines
Like an abandoned mirror
CXXXI.
Thus comes the end
Of Verses in Winter
Borne of the gifts
Of snowflakes and ice
In worldy chaos molded
Like splashes of water
On sleepy eyelids
Words ignored
And maybe forgotten
Much like the mundane
Melting of fallen snow
Only to be resurrected
As gentle rain sprinkling
In Spring's warm glow
FIN
|
