Modern Discman Tanka

the old discman churns
little mechanical whirls
mix tight with Neil's
battered pick-ups -
crunchy power chords

On Lunch and Basho's Bowl

lunch is left
down long paths
back in the distant dojo
today the tired monk
is the hungry monk

where is Basho's bowl?
    or a matted beard
filled with locust wings
sticky honey twigs

oh to be a Saint
ascetic beat and blessed

the black

the black: Some deep coffee black early morning tired monk haikuish poems.

up snap and out in the black
rolling garbage cans
rain soaked blowing lids

robes soaked heavy wet
darkest country night
temple dog huddles

wet leaves cling
deep robe red
fall to temple floor

Abbess always wants to know.
Is it cold? For now...
winter robes wait

the ten dollar wrestler

10 dollar wrestler
low on the card
blood lank hair
blackened eye

payday reluctantly pulled
from deep in the till
two crumpled fives

swollen fist shoved

soft left nostril dabs
slow the red trickle
hurting...beat...hoping
to be booked next week

another Tired Monk morning

still head shaking early
laundry hums  - whirs
and clicks of tumblin' robes
first sips of pre-dawn coffee
slow foggy pondering
triggered by baby novice murmurs
one last "hot-up"...or two
before slow temple dog walk

haunted hall

little ghost
I see you
you old hall ducker
you old door banger

you see me
I see your fear

little ghost flees
through double doors
glides down the breeze-way
to hide and haunt
deeper halls



The Tired Monk

A little ghost afraid of a tired monk? Must be the billowing robes.