Arbutus Berry Breakfast

Rust breast robin
bounce upon damp arbutus branch
dislodge droplet splash moss.

Black bright eyes
mirror grey forenoon.

Sharp beak plucks another
orange berry.

Heavy

Heap pile mouths wagging wishes
                              wishing wants    
                 scurry boulevard.
                 Clutch to me my brush, my
                 mobile, my perfume, my gin, my
                 shaver, skittles, tribe team cap, my
                 silver spoon, my fame, my
                 résumé of imagine dream.

We've got to rattle, spin, clip up
                 more greed coupons
                 truck load more tar paper
                 make more golf grass mansion
                 barge up more China coke trash tanker.

Sqrew tomorrow -- I've got ducks to choke.
                 What's your thing you do?

This is a song of the seeds of time

for Jascha and Laura Beth

I invite you, now, to fill the bushel basket of your mind with acorns, overflowing.

Or, scoop up in your palms a fine mound of poppy seeds.

See how the sun glint sparkles in these myriad grains of life.
                     tiny seeds carried forth from generations past.

                     Within these seeds are locked the blueprints of eternity,
                                          designs of intricate grace
                                          hues of the amber hearth,
                                          the turquoise isle,
                                          the violet star,
                                          the corn flower,
                                          the apple rose.

These seeds have not been cast to barren ground,
                     It's a fertile loam, rich and warm,
                     anointed by a gentle rain,
                     suffused with fresh
                     clean breath of oak.

Here, the coiled helix sprouts,
                     leaping downward, extending filaments
                     lifting high its vital spine,
                     unwrapping hard shell,
                     unfolding green wings to drink the sky.

Aligning herself between Earth and Heaven,
                     she reaches higher, stretches sinews,
                     radiates a flourish of branch, twig, leaf.

Beside her boughs, there grows another.
                     sprung from seed of distant lands.
                     Tentatively, he spreads his roots,
                     extends his copper arms,
                     uncurls his many fingers
                     to make music in the wind.

Stronger roots venture further, now,
                     investigate subterranean springs,
                     calcium chambers,
                     phosphor veins,
                     miccorhizal pathways.

Tapping in to a hidden aquifer,
                     their tender roots make first contact.
                     Then, they mingle, intertwine
                     weave a tapestry of partnership
                     within the pliant earth.

Enriched by sun, by sky, by stars, by dew,
                     by frost, by bone, by loam,
                     by stone and mould,
                     by summer rains,
                     by springtime seep of winter snow,
                     by song of bird in twilight's glow,
                     this young couplet of old souls
                     grows hale
                     and supple
                     and blessed by Jove.

Leaves bask, and split the sun to shade.
                     Then dry and rust.
                     Then lay worn threads down upon the land
                     to rest a winter's night.

Branches ch-ch-ch-chatter
                     in an ice-hewn February dawn.
                     But, look closely:
                     the slumber rustles,
                     sap begins to climb
                                          from root to limb to swelling bud.

Longer light and warmth of Spring
                     now spur these buds to burst.
                     The many-petal'd flurry pink
                     perfumes the land,
                     invites the many daughters of the queen
                     to drink deep draught of nectar,
                     partake of tiny pollen cup cake feast.

By and by, the blossoms curl,
                     the wind hooks tug them loose,
                     to scatter, swirl,
                     pile up in great soft drifts.

Throughout the long, strong season of the sun,
                     our cherished pair
                     creates a magic alchemy.

From the many-folded fragrance of their love,
                     they offer fruit
                     that's crisp and bright,
                     tart and sweet,
                     bursting with the goodness of their happy hearts.

To you two radiant children of the garden,
                     I offer this toast:


                     May the golden sun and emerald rains
                                          enrich your every season!
                     May your tongues be blessed with words
                                          to talk through every consternation!
                     May your eyes be filled
                                          with every brilliant palette of the rainbow!
                     May your hands hold tight,
                                          may your feet stand strong upon the Earth!
                     May the flags of joy
                                          always sparkle in your heaven!
                     May your hearts of hearts
                                          hold true to all that's wise and wondrous!
                     May your love grow ever deeper, stronger,
                                          sweeter, fonder!

Cricket Alley

No ball playing in Brown Brick alley.
      Where fig crickets chime
                      sequined song
                      shimmers thinly in
                      needle glint cascade.

Heavy heavens pile purple,
       fomenting deluge
                      pausing crow calls
                      beyond compressor's drone.

Tar, slate, corroded downspouts
      stand poised, to
                      conduct sky's blood
                      splash it into moist thickets,
                      where insects
                      strum their thighs.

Eye blur local punched to Wilmington

We got the tickets to the track
       alongside Darby discards.
       Click punch confetti tumbles
                      in conductor's wake.
       We shuffle down to Delaware.


Heavy humans in P caps
       trudge the concrete stair at
       Crumb Lynne.
       The corn floss tangles dream threads
                       on this yellow blue moon.


Fork lifts crowd the lot outside
       House of Plows.
       Heap stacks aluminium hubs nearby.
       Ant Boy'z tag on brick.

       Sunday Breakfast Mission.

How could be you have grown into this day?

                                             for Tessa

Such rush such crush
         of daze
How could be you
         have grown into
         this day?
Cannot come to terms.


Traipsed in tartan jumper.
Tramped gumboot on ice crack puddle.
Giggled Mrs. Mitchell's underwear.
Tackled Collingwood striker.
Bumped hard wood volley.
Peddled breathless McRae Mountain.
Swum sparkled potholes.
Smelt Goldstream spawn.
Swallowed mouth full blue berries.
Imbibed Nut Cracker on a Christmas eve.
Towered in Wonder Woman's golden boots.
Drooled clot of swollen jaw bone.
Held hand of Holiness.
Witnessed Rio politic.
Dodged whack of Nongte nettles.
Climbed down into magic Little Prince igloo.
Lounged in Ruckle's tree of books.
Danced circle of the snow children's spirit.
Traced phosphor fingers in Galiano moon tide.
Drank the stars' song up past Squamish.
Slid a slide of summer snow 'neath Olympic summit.
Swam the clear draught of Buttle Lake.
Flipped a many seven joker five two three.
Slurped a thukpa, chewed a chewy ting-mo.
Pranced the pounding shores of Nootka.
Snuck the polished isles of Chicago Public.
Clattered black pebbles of Waianapanapa.
Soared cross jungle chasm at Arenal.
Sampled gelato in Ganges.
Suffered slings of court of law.
Cheered brilliance of Usain Lightning.
Chomped juicy bowl of Okanagan cherries.
Shared golden sunset on Sidney Spit.

"Do not give up!
Never give up!
We believe you will find a beautiful
future."

Chore List

Stuck in a dead end.
Death stalks me
           ever closer.

And my stink self still reeks.
           the reek is the
           smell of my own nose.
(only stopping breathing stops the stink)

Lost in the doing,
            my being is undone,
            like half the list
            of this week's chores.
            Chores languishing
            on tomorrow's back order,
            back from embodiment

            into
            falling
            apart.

Descent

Light at the edge of earth
                                           expands.

Blue dust piles, swirls at sky foot.

Flown far now, from heat and filth.

Bonny bonny banks of BC beckon.

Waiting to see Rinpoche

Soft cantation spheres
        glow, radiate from these chocolate walls
Sapphire and turquoise butterfly
        flits above lizard lawn.
Dog patrol trots through
        brick yard rust.
Mahindra tractor, bright red with glittering flags,
        bumps dusty wagon full sand.
Six men follow, five in black pants,
        two topping pink head scarves.
Lusty dove coos woo
        near Sujata Bye Pass.


We wait, flapping incense wind.
I sit next to Aku, reposed in grace.
        his robes maroon and peach
        he swirls beige Mani fan
                        embossed with blossoms
                        encircling a man and a woman.


I ate full potato curry roti egg masala
chai breakfast shortly ago.
But my stomach pits, heart wobbles.


I had not courage to see my guru.
Courage supplied by Aku's serene bearing
                             and Goddess Tara's
                                    bright brown eyes.

Waiting for the Ganachakra

Waiting for final Ganachakra
              pregnant caress of fecal perfumed
              breeze is welcome
              in this happy bake patio
              where yellow dog heaves ribs
              six times a second.

Many money showers from fingers
              of our jet borne retinue,
              clad in flowing drapes:
                            white cotton
                            red cotton
              swirling round maroon bastion.

Time is now shimmering, on boil's verge
              this mandala will soon scatter
              the soft toothy boy monk troupes
              will again have these pattering grounds
              evacuated.
              Foreign murmur tongue
              hushed.

              This heart red dream
              vanished.

Outdoor Dharma Patio Lounge

Here at Earth's fulcrum, baking
         the homeless puppy pants on right side
                                                    in dust hollow
                                                    beneath parasol trees
                                                    strung with wind horse
                                                    and Christmas wires.

This is the outdoor Dharma patio lounge.

We Dharma seekers seek respite
                                 from knife knee Dharma
                                 talk.

Rinpoche sits fully present, unbudged,
                       golden Buddha relaxed in poise.
While audience fidgets and shuffles
                       cross my legs then re-cross then
                       fold one under then switch
                       back crick not easing
                       eyes drooping down
                       mini dull slumber
                       wake then strain
                       to hear through layers of echoes
                       and bird chatter.

Dogument shrieks lash court yard.

Shoo, dog.
Let me be.

Lufting

Space     chimes     sparse     songs
Air         mattress   lufts
                                  this
                                  stack of strangers
                                  upon black heavens.

Our    intercostal    cages
                                  catch soft circles of breath
                                  then release.

                                  catch.
                                  release.

Knotch a furry dart of sky
Spear the stratosphere straight through

                                  'til morning.

And that vagrant thought:
                                                              [why this         
                                                               comes to pass?]
               lingers
               just beyond
               the periphery of my concern.


               like a shy coyote.

Not at my most productive

Dint do much
Don't feel do muching
Woke with snorethroat
                   fading verbs of espionage.
                   The dream is hid.
                   Mouse squeak bluster
                                      scatters twigs
                                                         drink lids.

The many mounting laundry
                   list insists:  respond
                                      reply
                                      review
                                      revisit
                                      respite

  but me don't.
  duck down to dally books and bibliocafe
                                      chug chocko
                                      mental masticate
                                      sling slack leg from
                                      high chair.
                                      flex me rib cage
                                                         like the slender sole.

As me bloated viscera
                   droop and pine for fir spiral

1 plastic gator lounges long on moss mound.