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Tag Archives: Poem
The Doodah Man
Here lives half a person. The other half is visiting relatives at the half-people’s home for retired fragments. If some of them could club together he’d be pretty good company. After all, everyone has a few extra bits sticking out. … Continue reading
Posted in Orizon, Poems, Poetry, Uncategorized, Zen
Tagged Charles Brownson, chi, Ocotillo Arts, Poem, poetry, Zen
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Poetry is dead
——————————————————————– Poetry is dead. They say. I suppose we know what that means. What poetry is, what dead is. Maybe not. When people say something like poetry is dead they mean not buried in the ground, maybe with one of … Continue reading
Once
once (upon a time) or (if) we fall under time upon the tracks of once
Fish
Down in the river the fish are making a list of what to pack for the trip. The authentic fish, the old one in the mist, went that way. The trek over the riverbank’s lift is where the real fish … Continue reading
Five a.m.
Cold coffee in the microwave, half a once-frozen bagel. Five a.m. There are shrubs needing to go into the ground to hide their roots from the sun. The finches are awake, breakfasting on thistle seeds. Five a.m. There are holes … Continue reading
The People
Marta was one of The People. Everyone is. There’s us, the People, and everyone else, not People. They give us a name in their own language, but that’s not us. Marta’s understanding of the origins of the People was a … Continue reading
Somewhere
From my window waiting train. Watching, which of us is slowest?
The search
Left behind. The others went to find beauty. My scraps of peace become whole.
