The Violent Swan

The voiceless lake 
lay in close calm frozen 
in borrowed time ambrosian
moments as the new dawn
peers over the far distant pantheon.

Creatures of rest
awaken from nocturnal nest 
yawn and stretch and amble
to the glasslike lake through bramble
to refresh old bodies reborn 
into an unfamiliar bright morn.

Old owl and coyote
like a Don Quixote
still sleep soundly
after midnight hunts profoundly.

A sinless swan 
swims slow and wan
slicing a gaping wound 
through still glass like a sharp harpoon.       

Glass now shatters,
Raven alone chatters
sitting high on a tree
observing all wanting to flee.

Past wordless poems now slowly
all life moves sadly unholy.

morning mandala

quiet flows from
the mandala valley 
resting below sacred mountains.

dakas & dakinis play hide & seek,
through green sage & pinion they peek.

goddess tara watches and smiles
with love at such antics and wiles.

red robed figures move silently as one
quiet through mist before the sun.

dew from midnight’s cool desert rain 
giving desert growth a new green refrain.

a new day peers over the tall east wall
to shine on the new morning call. 

so it begins ---

gate, gate
gone, gone ---

to the golden temple before
for meditation to explore
empty minds to find compassion 
in an infinite deep silent ocean.

gate, gate 
bodhi svaha

gone, gone, gone to the further shore ---


Is there perfect silence?
A truism of the meaning?
In a noisy bustling world?

A baby’s cry?
Music on every corner?
Cars & trucks & motorcycles and trains?

A footstep in a rain?
A chattering t.v.?
A dog barking closely?

A teapot’s shrill whistle?
A jet plane in the sky?
A banshee’s cry in the forest?

A salamander on a rock?
An eagle’s hunting cry?
A wolf howling in the mountains?

A meditation 100 
miles from anywhere in 
an empty sage desert stillness? 

A fly buzzes in my ear. 

The Bus

A lone vulture circled 
carrion now quiet
along a lost desert road.

Carmen played her guitar
singing a lugubrious song
of desperate lone lands
where blue sage grew 
for my Shaman’s magical wands.

She cannot strum.
Wind does not blow.
Rain does not come.
Rivers can’t flow.

Tarantulas silent under 
their rock for cool.

The vulture had long ago left.
The blue bus was leaving.
Carmen finished her song.