buddhism

Decay

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The picked flower dies,

but not all at once,

it must first live

with what you’ve done.

It will spend some time travelling,

wrapped in plastic sheath,

until dropped into a beautiful vase,

filled with stagnant water.

And it will hang on,

hang on for dear life,

it will take in what it can,

it will persist.

Home is where

you are

and the rain isn’t.

Yet even with the niceties of climate-control,

the roots have nowhere to go,

in this final resting place.

Leaves shrivel and brown,

like they’ve been fried.

The stalk curls,

turning brittle and bald

in time.

Petals fall,

one by one

and crumble to dust.

Another day of atrophy.

Time heals all,

as it lapses,

until you too collapse.

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Carrion

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Cherry blossom petals

blowing daintily,

landing scattershot

carpeting the lawn with freckles

all the way down —

ashes to ashes.

Mounds of blushing porcelain

find rest

atop

a tire-marked

fox carcass

by the roadside.

“I will bring you home.”

The vulture does no harm,

it does only what it must.

Soaring high

with a keen eye,

for the wary.

An unending journey

to find the lost,

and guide them

back to the origin.

All long walks

must end

somewhere.

Carried on updrafts,

petals blow past

grazing deer

gazing fondly

at napping fawns —

dust to dust.

Verbena

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Soothing clover,

Smoothing over,

Lingering soreness.

Warm tea,

Is all your senses

take in.

You can’t find it in you to panic,

About the day,

Anxieties melt away,

Nothing left to say,

Just watching the morning.

Sometimes meditation 

Is part of your routine–

Sometimes you do it 

as soon as you 

awaken.

Sometimes you do it,

In the middle

Of an intense run.

Sometimes you do it

while you eat

your morning oatmeal.

Just being there

For right now

Is all the relief

you need.

Here and Now

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When you pass time, and things have passed you by-

You hesitate to say that “time flies.”

When you look up, it’s the same sky,

then one moment it’s February, the next it’s July,

then summer’s almost over,

then the leaves have died.

Sit when you sit, run when you run,

Think not of snow when standing in the sun,

fear no sharks when you swim in the ocean,

and don’t hit the brakes if you’re looking for momentum.

The world whirls at its own pace, and does not mask this,

in this we are hapless.

Like it or not, it spins on its axis,

and you are not Atlas.

Make the best of this game of chess,

It takes finesse not to obsess,

It makes a mess to regress-

When you compress your experience,

you end up with less.