the serious mind tends to be blind
to the things in life that are nonsense but kind
It can be so much a pious old bore
Say far too much and then add a lot more
the serious mind should switch off and stop
and just enjoy a wop bop aloo bop
bal lom bam boom
... and no more doom
oh too serious
give it a rest for fuxache
bores with chores of poetic scores
just give the rest of us headache.
some seek acclaim outside themselves
others
seek understanding inside
neither is better than the other
as ultimately we die at the end
but one nurtures, while the other depletes
we are separated by experience
bound by experience
confused by life
made clear by life
lost and found
there is a sadness within
the vase looked dynamic on the table
half cast in shadow
its pattern seemed like waves on the sea
or the raked sand in a Zen garden
I felt I could step in
and paddle in its waters
spiraling out of control
the robin hits branches, one, two, three
lands on a soft mound of yellowed tufty grass
hides till the hawk stops circling
A heart repaired
glowing clean and fresh
grace becomes you
and you have become grace
the worm wriggles up from the soil
the blackbird is on the prowl
Fate sits on his indifferent cloud
and awaits the result
the psychology of the people
crazy travelling monk
the present doesn't hang about
pass forth into the unknown
into intuition of Reality
a profession of peace
the solitary anger
desires to make a choice
to pass the stringless crisis
and no fish do sing
