Happiness, Human, Life, Peace, Poetry from The Well, Time

Happiness Forecasted

Diets, mantras, bedtimes,

doses, meditations —

happiness has been forecasted.

A million rules later

one unruly mind, one quarrelsome heart

refuse to be coaxed from orbit.

After all,

what can overpower their chemical dance?

Well, a sunny day, a groaning violin,

or a tender smile.A million rules laterand I’m still on trackto surrender to the twisting winds.Happiness Forecasted

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Body, Life, Peace, Poetry from The Well, Poetry I like

Perfect Harmony

Without warning the familiar pull

to speak and smile in perfect harmony

lends me the grace to dip my tongue

into the silvery pool of conversational talk.

It ends the same. Two voices deliver

the harvest of their minds, thoughts unraveling,

into a heap. The conspicuous

absence of beginning and end. I wish

to bend and twist with other branches,

but out I stick, taut, serious, too much my own.

Peace comes when that pull to combine with

the others passes – I am again centered

between ground and sky, calm and contained

inside these four quiet walls.

 

This was inspired by the poem reproduced below from Cold Mountain Poems, the Zen Poems of Han Shan, Shih Te, and Wang Fan-Chih. The bitter taste of an unfulfilling interaction is familiar.

XX

I’m used to living in some hidden, shaded,

mountain place,

but once in a while I walk straight into the

Kuo-Ch’ing Temple,

and sometimes I pay a call on old Feng Kan,

or go to see that honorable sir, Shih Te, the

foundling.

But then I come home, alone, to my cold cliff.

No one’s talk makes perfect harmony with mine.

I search a stream that has no source.

The spring dried up, but the stream water’s still

flowing.

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Anxiety, Life, Mental Health, Poetry from The Well

Disordered Trust

Symptoms include sputtering breath

and high winds behind the eyes.

Possibility of sudden dizziness

and eyes blurring at the sight of memories.

High risk of forgetting the graceful sheet

of stars and moon above the clouds.

May coincide with severe boredom

and perceived inability to move the limbs.

Treatment consists of forgetting yourself

and tending to the rest of the garden.

Common side effects involve a flip flopping heart

and the desire to fold back into oneself.

For help please solicit the love of everyone

needed to calibrate the mind.

garden

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Exploring, Hiking, Life, Photographs

Autumn Walk

The trees have grown naked quickly this fall. But still there are splashes of bright reds and oranges that glow warmly beneath the evening sun.

IMG_1827There is a peaceful stirring energy in the woods as dusk sets in, when bats begin to swoop and owls blink the sleep from their eyes.

IMG_1834As nightfall arrives sooner and sooner, we have the chance to squeeze more out of fewer hours, bundling up and moving through the vital air, letting go of the tension in our minds. IMG_1839

If you will welcome in the clean air, the woods will gladly merge living space with living space.

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Life, Poetry from The Well

Everything’s a Gift

Between the racks move muttering moms

and pleading kids.

Crouching low the helpers pull out shirts and hangers

stuffed in the wrong rack, wrong department,

forgotten in the face of a better price

or wave of guilt.

On her tip toes a helper wrangles and lifts down

a milkwhite mannequin man, one hand under his

crotch and the other squeezing his smooth ankle.

A stoic fleshy man needs those pants in that size, please.

Across the store two teens have slipped into a fitting room

trying each other on for size.

A boy sits on the edge of a table, his arm draped across

a stack of cashmere sweaters, crying patiently.

His mother is lost in the Levi’s, comforting someone on the phone.

The new girl carefully steers her feet down the aisles,

blisters growing bigger by the hour.

It’s the first day of the Christmas soundtrack.

Everything, everything’s a gift.

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Life, love, Poetry from The Well, relationships

Shadow of the North Star

penns cave

In his eyes

there is no horizon in sight.

Two lush pools watch you

from the height of the moon’s

mother. Dirt from underneath

his feet clumps and crumbles

the same as the mascara clinging

to your lashes. Raindrops mix

easy with tears. The clocks spin

round as loyal blood passes

through cave after cave

of your insides –

in his eyes

sits a shadow of the North Star.

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Daisy, Life, Moving, Photographs, Poetry from The Well

Allergic to the New Apartment

We sniffle

I press my face into

milky white tissues

 

The sterile ceremony

a fluttering pile

towers toward the ceiling

 

Meanwhile she rubs her face

across every patch

of carpet

 

Dirt and fuzz

cling to her sticky nose

for a free ride

 

We sneeze

I sigh in misery

feet dragging

 

She licks my face

sharing dusty kisses

just glad to be home

girly

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