Category: Poetry

Do you think, or
Are you thought, or
Are you thoughts?
Are you caught?

Do you breath, or
Are you breath, or
Are you breathed?
Is there death?

Do you age, or
Do you climb, or
Are you always?
Is there time?

Do I lie, or
Do I rhyme, or
Do I hide
Behind thoughts on line?

Jesus died on the cross
And become Christ
At the hand of the Romans,
Who were ignorant.

Jesus first died
In baptism
At the hand of John
Who understood.

Jesus died by his own hand –
Gathering Fishermen,
Raising Lazarus,
Walking on Water,
On the Mount
Giving a sermon.

These were not by choice,
He protested,
“My time has not yet come.”
Then died.

The cross stands for Jesus’ story.
Yet, the cross is always and everywhere.
May these words mark a cross accepted.
Finish now.
Another is prepared with your next breath.

Everything is Nothing.
Nothing is everything.
Everything in Nothing.
Nothing in Everything

“Nothing comes from nothing,”
Some mockingly say.
To reorient ignorance, we say,
“Nothing neither comes nor goes.”

Love and Nothing,
Identical twins,
Preside over and inundate
The pantheon of everything.

Love and Nothing,
The heart of everything,
And everybody,
Overflow continually.

See and feel
Your true heart
Shared by everybody and everything,
Overflowing everywhere.

“Verily, verily, I say unto you, еxcept a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.”

Some call it separate self,
Some ego.
Some, “What the hell are you talking about, this is who I am!”

For those who feel that something is amiss
Who hear the prophets’ warning as their gist
They look for the culprit now and then
Catching glimpses of impermanence within
But with each glance it vanishes
Replaced by claims of vanquishes.

The game continues with now and then
Becoming more and less
With warnings becoming mindfulness
And vanishings becoming emptiness
Vanquishes, “The quiet space within.”

So, is death due for the prideful one
Or quiet fading like last night’s dreams?
Is there one which could die,
Or many which evaporate, as
With thanks to the sun,
Does the puddle in the afternoon.

For any who know, let them know.
For those who are wondering,
Best keep wandering,
Appreciating the game,
Of sacred to-and-fro.

“In the beginning was the Word.”
In the beginning was emptiness, the implicate and things.
In the beginning was the shadow of the hawk flying overhead;
In the beginning was the four-year old’s taste of ice cream,
              and being the last to finish,
              being tickled,
              finding a frog,
              running in circles;
In the beginning was the cool moist autumn morning;
In the beginning was walking over Ambassador Bridge,
               and feeling it move when the rail is over-looked;
In the beginning was the traffic jam, the long line, the late doctor, forgetting,
               and quiet felt;
In the beginning was crepuscule light, and
               Monk and Nellie,
               and the minor key;
In the beginning was the Heiliger Dankgesang eines Genesenen …;
In the beginning was Duino and the Elegies,
               and Da Vinci’s smile;
In the beginning was the silence of the aged couple,
               and the look between them;
In the beginning was the cross
               with its torture and death,
               adoration and return;
In the beginning was the messenger,
               in resonance with emptiness;
In the beginning was the seeker, seeking the beginning.