post game

grit fire
hard on the puck
short tough shifts

a win

post game:

helmet unsnapped
layers of sweat
bloody nose snot

you okay?

...yeah...I'm good...great game...

poem fuel

back cracking
pain etching

same old shattered glass,
grass, undumped trash,
sticky food fight floors
dirty word graffiti doors

hovering pink slips
red tape mess,
work, headache stress

ain't you mad?
ain't you angry?

no man

this all just fuel
for tired monk poems

David

such a great dream
now stuck
in this day lit reverie
lingering blessing
from the night

my brother
      bigger now
sweet quiet companion
our feet just
skimming early sun beams
from the lake

our double gaze
swinging out
over misty lake silence

Extra Duties for the Tired Monk

dishes dirty stacked
pots soaking
broom leaning - dust swirling

the tired monk
sets out
seeks these novices -
these neglectors of duty




first novice
laying down the final
bass line
headphones humming deep
bassy notes

second novice
carving big ice poems
skates and spraying snow
as the light fades
over the pond

third novice
dreaming early
and sleep sighing

the tired monk
work roles his sleeves
a night of humming and sweeping

work boot poets

some tasks
are all hammers n'nails
some tasks
are all pens n'flowing ink

    maybe we are all
    working on a building

us work boot poets

a tired monk tea house storm

summer storm has left

tea house roof sags

garden sand rains

shadow robes

long lingering
night watch duty
outside
the temple gates



little glow
out by the forest

novices  - muffle their coughs

a few hot puffs
from the master's pipe

the tired monk waits


smiles

lost deep
in shadow robes

empty temple

early morning silence
a few clicks n'cracks
expansive pops
in the slow sun glow

coffee perks

one temple dog sleeps
too old to roam
the back forest

she looks up
at the tired monk
closes her eyes
returns to her
slumber task

a fine pair
for this
empty temple

your place

your place:

scary movies
first couch kiss

school skipping
out front step sitting
holding hands
listening





walk by
cross street
looking left

still your place,
but you're not there



http://magpietales.blogspot.com/

tired monk walks

walking stick
leaning on Hemlock tree
ready always ready
for forest walks
quick stream vaults
this old steady
gait keeper

Basho's Will

to the next tired monk
i leave
everything i own:

    one robe
    one bowl

tired monk: winter katana

snow falls, piles,

drifts dune deep

cars buried

wheels spin

sink deep

over the white banks
big monkish snow yeti




robes flap
leggings tight wrapped
to his back
a shovel strapped

his winter katana

digs and digs down
tires grip road
red shovel waves
in rearview mirror

off message

i.

temple halls, rooms
all drafty chilled
snow rips
fast under door cracks

lil'novice monks gather
hot tea
kitchen fire light tales

ii.

tales of the tired monk's
fighting days
all back lots, taverns
field party fists
beer bottle bashing
novices lean forward
lost in gritty details

iii.

the abbess looks in
steaming disapproval
...off message?

iv.

the tired monk
finishes the tale
"young ones:
move from punches to poems"

step

step into - onto
rugged beauty

perfect pattern of wear

rough handed
craftsman task

a remnant in this
asphalt world

On Discourse

two young monks
       novices
stand - split lip
throbbing hand

tired monk waits
the silence beckons
for answers

"we did nothing"

nose blood runs
free  - curls - flows  - over lips

knuckles swell

more silence

"we were having a discourse

with our fists"