Towards A Renascence of Nothing

For us old souls

Tending to flat

Preparing for

The worst of it

Including the sky’s

Eventual collapse

We must learn

To navigate sightlessly

Just like a bat

Through space time

Dimensionless and

Devoid of meaning

Into the stillness  

Of the evening

Pushing our

Ventricles open wide

Neither pinched or pained

Nor by gloom constrained

But held and sustained

In the durable mesh 

Of Indra’s net

For there

Where East meets West

Let our hearts take rest

With worldly knowledge

From all sides blessed

A Few Questions for William Butler Yeats

Who will arise and go there

Who will go to Innisfree

Not by poetic incantation

But in harsh reality?

Who will plant bean rows

In self-sufficient quantity

Who will hoe all day with hunched back

And pull weeds on bent knee?

Innisfree as fantasy

Is easy to possess

It’s much harder to go there

And in the heart’s deep core

To know of the soil’s duress

Monkey and the Blue Flower

Monkey and blue flower

Depicted together

Riding on the back

Of a giant snail

What could better capture

A romantic poet's quest  

For the Holy Grail

This image comes from a medieval manuscript

Paris, Bibl. Mazarine, Ms. 1581, f. 349v

Poem for My Father

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February 5th, 2012

It's because of you Dad 

That I feel compelled
To continue concocting 

Plausible explanations

For the absurdities of life

Even though we both know

There will never be enough

To address the substantial

Balance still outstanding

Spending time among men

So indeterminate of fate

Some darling some not

I've learned to find

Behind so many

A would be Hemingway

There stands a similarly

Murky Oedipal plot

And with fathers such as we are

Crystal clear as to intent

But cryptic as to meaning

A glass ever near at hand

Yet utterly silent

As to whatever it is or was

We are fleeing or feeling

Thus I came to possess

But a slender thread of wisdom

About navigating through

The choppy seas of life

By taking good reckoning

Of the prevailing winds 

Before turning back 

To confront the demons

Imaginary though they may be --

Turning back face into the wind

Is the only way to be rid

Of those demons for sure

A Dream Much About Suchness

Of the 3,000 worlds

In each moment of Suchness

There’s enough to fill your head

More than can ever be said

Of the sores and afflictions

That define our condition

Riddling the past

As well as tempting

Us with pleasures

Yet to come

When the curtain

Is drawn and the water’s

Nice and warm and

The attendant smiles

In a comely fashion

You may grope for your cash

Or submit to the bath

With a smile all your own

As befits a fallen state

Now is the moment

To decide between

Arousal and panic

Or else you might choose

To rise from your bed 

Waiting for the light
Of the coming dawn