Saturday, October 30, 2010

Tired Monkness

he is the late night monk
deep in night knowledge:
stars swinging overhead
the stumble bum drunk
reeling in beer bottle ditches
swinging home after
bending many taps

yes the monk of dark moons
baby cries, bottle runs
"glass of water" called down halls

holder of many titles:
he's the door rattler
the noise checker
pitch black forest walker
early morning arena sitter

he is the tired monk
embracing his essence


  1. Love this poem of the tired monk, in all his many guises. Love the "monk of dark moons". Well done. I am always in anticipation when I click on your new post:)

  2. I quite enjoy your tired monkness. I'm sure I've said something like that before.

  3. moon poetry.
    always delightful to read.

  4. But this is the TRUE monk. A true monk empties himself for others but at the same time doesn't let them take shit from themselves.


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