Make it poetic

make it poetic they said

no I said

I don't care if it's not poetic

I don't write this stuff

it writes itself

then edit it later, they say

so that it becomes more poetic

what do you mean, edit?

the wind comes, blows stuff around,

then goes.

Sure, you need to tidy up

but you're not tidying the wind

just what was lying around

let someone else tidy up

says the wind

if it's not poetic

it's not poetic

it still is

and that's good enough for me

The Water's Gone

The water's gone

there's none left

how do we survive when the water's gone?

empty cup

we realise too late

the water was priceless

and now it's gone

the only water is tears

when the water's gone

we are all parched

Talking to Myself

Am I just talking to myself?

I said to myself

Am I just talking to myself?

I said to no one else

and then a wee voice whispered

no

no

you are speaking to everyone

who ever lived

but they are hard of hearing

you are speaking to the ghosts

the angels

the demons

you are speaking to God

the one who doesn't exist

who oversees the universe

and all of time

this is who you are speaking to

and although they don't listen

they hear your every word

you are them

and all of them are you

and we are always just

talking to ourselves

and therefore to everyone

all of the time

Purpose

I am here to be here

to surface when it is time to surface

and dive when it is time to dive

I am here to serve the master

that has no name

no body

I am here to question why I am here

even though I know there is no answer

Indeed, no question

I am here to not be here

in the end

but the purpose

always remains the same

Plea to Fate

Please do not let

the cold

silence the birds

(After a John Guzlowski line 'When the cold will silence the birds' from the poem 'What's in my Hands?'

The Green Tea Man

I am the son of the Green Tea Man

he, who planted the first bush

millions of years ago,

nurtured it to maturity

gently plucked its leaves

so that it would flourish again

next harvest season

dried them in his experimental cave

invented fire so as to heat

the water he brought from the river

in a bowl which he invented for this sacred purpose

I am his son

he who still lives

in the sunshine on the bushes

in the rainfall on the soil

in the majesty of existence

I sip my green tea

from a small ceramic cup

with no handle

specifically made for this drink

I am having today

I am the green tea man

I am his son

I am the green tea

I am the cup

and the water

and the taste

and the enjoyment

and the moment

when there is no more green tea

to drink

The Broken Buddha

I had a little Buddha

that was a candlelight holder.

I used it as a bookend

but the books slid one day

and knocked the Buddha onto the floor

breaking its base.

Still, the Buddha just smiled

didn't flinch

or show any anger

at my clumsiness

Smiled as if he wasn't real

just a candlelight holder

in a suburban house

far from India

far from enlightenment