acrid smoke seeps
from below
ancient furnace heaves
in a slow, sputtering
basement death
the tired monk
makes his rounds
double covering
dreaming novices
layers the winter robes
for starlit work
swings
splits
stacks
stokes the hearth
savors new heat
Season of Winter; nice write
ReplyDeleteHave a good Wednesday; warm wishes
much love...
Expressed very well. I like the arrangement of the last stanza.Does this particular style of writing poetry has a name? I would be glad to learn. :)
ReplyDeleteSomehow I have never thought you really are a monk but this makes me think perhaps you are. This poem took me to your warm and cozy place.
ReplyDeletesomeone, a monk, a master to some perhaps, has been up late studying the teachings of Gary Snyder. A lineage past down, a transmission if you will. Great stuff Tired Monk.
ReplyDeleteNice and too real
ReplyDeletevery nice description of winter work
ReplyDeleteVery nice. Evocative of the season!
ReplyDeleteI love those tender s's...like smoke rising up and keeping the soul warm
ReplyDeleteTending tenderly and selflessy, like a guardian and steward, like a person on God's errand. Thank you!
ReplyDeletesmiles...what heat...in just taking care of his mates...compassion carries its own warmth....
ReplyDeleteNeed to double cover all those novices indeed to protect them from the all-encompassing chill!
ReplyDeleteThose novices are blessed by this tireless caretaker, and the warmth he assures. I love this one.
ReplyDeleteThis has an ancient feel of darkness and winter.. I feel the smell of wet wool in your words
ReplyDeleteit's the love i feel most here... yes, there's peace in tending to what needs tending, no matter how tired - but it's that little bit extra given for the comfort of dreaming novices, that makes me feel warm all over
ReplyDeleteBeautiful. Not a wasted word.
ReplyDeleteI see him, in his robes, making his nightly rounds, doing "starlit work". Loved this, Ollie.
ReplyDeletereading through it was almost doing the work with you
ReplyDeleteVery visual with such simple words. Well written.
ReplyDeleteThe seasons march on, bitter Winter rages, but a monk's work is never done!
ReplyDelete