steal your face right off your head
some people have ‘that’ smile. so damn believable they are. and then they just fly away with your heart your cash and your lover. well my smile is just a silly smile. i would rather give you my money than take yours and your lover you can keep. i have one of my own you see. your heart is all i want and in return you can have mine lock stock and barrel. you cant steal intangibles they stick to your skin like grease in an old iron pan.
in my kitchen
the tea kettle whistles
let your soul spirit fly
the way wind blows through our mind. i feel the tension of my body slowly leaving me. it is all right. it really is you know. on the other side freedom is not fleeting. it is a permanent state you know. dont ya know.
of every past storm…
innocent when you dream
i dream very little. at least i think that is true. who can really tell. if you wake with a warm and happy feeling was it the result of a deep dream or are you just thrilled to have checked the box for one more morning. sunlight through the blinds in our bedroom always seems welcoming. i believe it is the closest we can come to resurrection.
i see my footprint
in front of me
every child of the sixties loved kerouac but wanted to be gary snyder or maybe lew welsh. kerouac lived with his mother. hell we all wanted out of our parents house. me. oh i loved lew welsh. until he committed sucide (allegedly since they never found the body but the gun was missing and he left a note). anyway your gods all have to die. it is a rule.
flies and buddhas
i love hanging out. just being. people are a great species. all of us. we kill the flies and ignore the buddhas. why you ask. because we are stuck in the web of finding ‘ourselves’. the flies must die. and buddhas must leave their bodies to be rid of US. and now i have to leave to write the poem at the end of this haibun. bye.
the soul of buddha
follows the fly
slow like honey
dont rush. just watch every millisecond unfold. the seeds of milkweed just hang onto the edge of the pod. waiting for a breeze. the perfect breeze. i would like to capture that tenacity. oh the way things happen just when they have to. the wait until next year will involve cold wind and snow. but then…
out of something~
birth and death
like a scent in the breeze
fall. and everything is about to change. not forever. just for a season. the way we rely on the seasons matches our lives. each moment has meaning. for me one thing. for you another. but we should not fail to accept the gifts each fragment of the seasons touches us with. the changeless verity of the seasons is one thing worth clinging to.
the sunset leaves me
with crackling leaves