the lost poems of 2012

i)

a few poems linger

like

a wisp of smoke
in the hemlock trees

ii)

an unlikely sonnet
lodged behind the shed
covered in drifting snow

iii)

turn the dials
tweak the reverb
one more poem
rattles in that old amp

Tired Monk's Christmas

temple dog snores
a low rumble from the hall
even the temple cat sleeps
bathed in Christmas lights

tired monk blues

thin disguise
beat n'dirty trucker cap
old lumberman's coat
30 or so extra
Tuckish pounds
rock steady flat top

no give away robes
just the Birks reveal
the tired monk





Sorta kinda by request.  Novice Emmett and the Tired Monk play a bit of blues.

Rock n'Roll Saints

no Christmas tunes,
no - not even yet
Maybe a few sacred choruses
from brother Cash
on the cusp of the holy day

For now
this old monk works
rockin' the sweet humbucker reverb
snow gets stack high
frozen ice chips fly

thanks to

Neil, Jimmy, Gord, Fred, Ryan, Jimi, Eddie, Dave, Jeff, Matt, Joel, John, and all the rest of the Saints of Rock n'Roll

Monk's Music

headphones rest
tight on tonsured head
robe sleeves rolled high
deep in monk work
praying, raking, sweeping


Novice sees and ponders
  What holy music fills those monk ears?
   Tibetan horns?  deep and rolling
   Holy brothers chanting? those most ancient prayers
   David's Psalms?  sweet sweet praise


no

remember these are humbucker poems


 -------------------

I'd love to hear your guess...

the Tired Monk

on poet monks

poets got work
stopping
seeing
capturing moments

monks too
those robed wardens
watching
that ritual doesn't
slip to routine

the working poet

we don't pay poets
to write poems
no hammering out
beauty
in eight hour shifts

Lingering Dreams

heads a bit foggy
reach for my robe
  stumble
still morning clumsy

go to fill the kettle
a second time
this old monk brain
awash in a final
flurry of dreams

the monk's fourth wall

are you a monk?
    really
          really a monk?


I've got a bowl, a robe,
I pray

last night
I really shaved my head -
but can one tonsure a persona?




please accept this ever so subtle nudging of the fourth wall  - some days...the fourth wall is all I got

and yet one sneeze shatters...

Demons

i)

demons are circling
just behind the fence
waiting

the tired monk sees 'em
pretends not too
waiting


ii)


the tired monk
walks his temple

checks the doors
stout staff thuds
with every step

coupla monk poems

i)

an acre of leaves
aspen, maple, a few birch
raked by one monk

ii)

wind picks-up
could cuts right through
     these monk's work robes


Monk Warmth

layers...sure,
but the secret lies deeper
my old SFDCI sweater
ragged n'warm
tucked under
flapping robes


Leaves

wrote a few poems about these leaves
when they were green, then red, then fallen
now wheelbarrowed forest deep
to nourish new monk poems

Sandy Poems

birch trees creak
shed door blows open
temple dog jumps


robes whip n'fly
rain blast batters
bare monk head


white pines
grip deep n'sway
more roar than whisper

a Monk's Morning Music

i)

searching
seeking that song
the one that compels

that song
prompts, no demands
you turn it up


ii)

tonsured monk head
bald n'bobbing
to big bass beats


iii)

even amidst
the stoplight stares
the tired monk sings



Bruce Fish: Hero

Frost Warning

radio warning
killing frost they say
predawn creeping cold

the tired monk hears and heeds
covers his pumpkins
digs out his wool work socks
chooses the biggest mug
brimming coffee warmth

monk's work

temple dog shivers
her sacred forest duty...done
she waits
wonders at the tired monk's delay

he's thinking on monk's work
daily duties:
unbreaking hearts
turning songs to prayers

night guitar

these old strings ring
a touch a rust
but true n'tuned

chords beat big
the usual heavy
hammers n'pulls

songs soaring out
deep into the night

fall morning

cold floors
seeping drafts
darkness

summer robe
all too thin
this morning

first coffee brewing
as the furnace clicks on
basement deep

a burst of heat
up through the vents
a monk smiles

song of glory

the guitar top
chipped worn
cracked

pick mark laced
rusting strings
nagging fret buzz

the tired monk
adds a few more nicks
working on the song of glory

a monk's perception

i)

he talks
           proud

- the end of graffiti,
and broken glass

he smiles
            proud
                    so proud


ii)

but

the tired monk knows

bits of painted hate cling
untouched
missed in sandblast haste

iii)

the tired monk pauses
brushes tiny shiny
glass shards
from worn sandal soles

the timeworn monk

graying temple tonsure
clicking knees
sun faded robes
ragged hem dragging
on well raked paths

the Tired Monk

beer prayers

the lawn chair
leans
crooked
under the hemlock

old monk
stretches out
birkenstock feet

takes a cold pull
of frothy lager
prays

just summer

i)

coffee steam
circles up
drifting through
hemlock
    aspen
       maple


ii)

coffee cups
washed and stacked away
ready for tomorrow morn

iii)

monk ponders today's duties
flips through Proverbs
reading
   praying
      meditating

iv)

rake, mower, broom and brushes

soon...

hockey equipment needs sorting

a new time

the battered boots
in need of new soles
the well worn walking stick
that weathered cloak
all stored

out come work boots
brooms and brushes
leather gloves
the old paint flecked robe
a new time

David at 34

i)

he's still the same David

built of whispered promises

 earnest ones

lingering memories

regrets

yes

this year he's still the same

David

ii)

the monk robes suit him

he wears them as a rib

a joke - his joke

on me

he laughs and rubs

my grey temple stubble

To my good blessed brother.  

He is 34.

a purge

i)

few quick j-strokes
keeping steady
on early lake waters

battered shoe box
rattles and slides
as the canoe leans

the tired monk
glides, slows, drifts
by the cliff side

they shear and plunge
cold water deep
night dark deep

the tired monk
shakes the box
over the side

ill gotten  - ill made
compasses sink
into walleye depths


ii)

only one compass remains
wrapped in tired monk robes

Elbow Lake

last echoes
of guitar string prayers
flow across Elbow Lake

heads tilt  - eyes scan
canoes slip into the mist
seeking the source

night watch patrol

getting dark,
as dusk slips away

the tired monk
takes up his staff
wanders the night

shooing raccoons
as the novices sleep

questions

novices:

are you really a monk?
why are you tired?
where is your monastery?

tell us

we really want to know

the tired monk:

take off your shoes
and pray with me
       
       

monk's prayer

one more prayer
a monk's prayer

added

to the saint spoken
multitude

blessings break the brim
flow free

the Tired Monk: on fishing

i)

fishing
zinging lines
across the bay
sinking bait
deep

ii)

pre-dawn
pre-bell
tea
sandals
robes

mist is low
thick

curl up in deep robe silence
just a few dock creaks
and one bobber splash

iii)

no line
hooks
or ancient tackle box

no pond
lake
or cold river bend

just some koi
waiting to be fed



The novices wish me to mention their video - please watch, please click like, please help us bring brother Joel and his music to the Monastery.

Oh...the thumbnail is indeed my koi pond.

love

love was lost
scattered bits
along the path
just out of sight

the tired monk
steps from the path
seeks...gathers
all the lost love


a film my novices made... 

They are trying to get brother Joel to visit us at the Monastery.  So please like and share.

on robes

the tired monk
steps into
dusty dress robes

loose prayer beads
saint's coin
a cross

milk bone crumbs
Marc's funeral card
a folded fiver

yes
even monk robes
have pockets



Still trying to get Likes on this video.  Help us get brother Joel to come visit the monastery.

the story

they like that story
like the telling

how your dad was
murdered
when you were two

how my dad left
the night
I was born

oh

they like that story
like the telling

but we know...
we connect
     outside the story



for Nilame  - one of the saints out on the path

40 Days

40 days
walking, stick swinging
no touch of the pen
just a poet's lent

On the Brink of 300...

Hiatus...

The Tired Monk is heading out on a Pilgrimage; after four years and, oh so close, to three hundred poems.

Just out on the road looking for saints.

Thank You

first step

trees are budding
the old forest path is dry
a pilgrim takes his first step

A Tired Monk Ponders Escape

i)

didn't I already escape
up from the world
into the temple
and deep
into monastery halls

ii)

some days
I ponder another one
another escape
away from robes, duties,
and the razor nicks,
and stings
on this old tonsured head




A short short story...

temples empty

temples empty
fewer novices sit out by the gates
humble
waiting to be let in

they used to sit out there
cold n'cloaked huddled
tight under the hemlock tree

makes for quiet halls,
but the dust still gathers
the tired monk sweeps

the edge

some days
so early
staff leaning  - crook of my arm
sipping coffee
astride a dark path

dim light
of a crescent moon sky

are there any more poems
out in that forest

today
even the temple dog
stays on the edge

coffee light

slow creaking bones
in creaking chair
the tired monk waits

deep in an early morning stare
thoughts blurred...unformed
eyelids sink....

...til the coffee light flicks on



Fresh Olsonomics Blog Post...check it.

a lesson?

novice monk
brimming with anger
loading bitter blocks...
caustic shoulder chips

they'll stack high
eventually break your spirit
before they break your back

tired monk ponders - what words to give...

...change your mind - change your path



Checkout this fine post.

yellow headphone meditations

i) tired monk icons

Buddha busts, crucifixes and stained glass...nah
at most a leather Bible tucked
elbow deep under the truck seat

ii) tired monk icons

yellow twisted wire headphones
boxy tape deck whirring
battered cassette case
rock n'wrestling posters faded
but tacked tight to garage walls

iii) tired monk music - (Sony Walkman Sport Edition)

a monk's sacred music:
chanting monks from Tibetan mountain tops,
Gregorian masses, Handel...Bach?

no

just heavy beat sermons
by Beastie Boys, and old master Downie



Visit Olsonomics

Morning Monk Work

that morning work
that morning monk work
readying and rousing
a temple

like monks world over:
prayers, poems, fire stoking,
tea brewing, sacred breakfast prep

in the tired monk temple
there is snow shovelling,
morning weight bench meditation
temple dog walking
and a dark forest coffee

..temple cat demands a break from
all this nasty scuttling work
she needs attention, warm and purring
on monk robes

the main duty
the key duty

set the novices on the path

Uniform

uniform is just that
one...oneness...in a sea of others
a sea of monks
but - there is only one tired monk

in these parts anyways

hair cropped skull cap tight
no locks of vanity
but everyone asks..."can I touch your head?"

big flowing robes
prayer beads swaying...swinging
wool socks in sandals...these winter days

the tired monk fades into one last aspect of his uniform
the ancient yellow headphones
of his sony walkman



Olsonomics: New Post

death, burial, resurrection

first told about being
reborn in a blessed baptism
in the midst of a dump run
deep and dirty

what better place?

...You should get baptised...even Jesus did.

oh sure
I had old lingering monk vows
but my robes remained dry
but flecked with twenty more years
of dump heap dirt

thoughts kept flowing back
to garbage dump wisdom

more and more novices looked
to me
to lead

I repented of sin and religion
changed red robes for white

being reborn
can be a process
slow to sudden like any birth

a tired monk work out

got this old robe
cinched tighter than a title belt
cinched up Jacob tight
and ready to lift

old tired monk muscles wake
dormant no more
woken by the same
bars, and weight stacked bench
from those novice years

steam

that beat up bald
nicked up tonsured head
it steams
hot and heated
from morning monk work




Olsonomics: Read this Tale Friends

first bell

up at first bell
legs a swinging
reacting
as the first toll ends

deep in first light duties
water, rattlin', grinding, setting, and sorting

alone

'cuz...even the temple dog sleeps
'til the coffee is brewed



the Tired Monk

going home

the match was tight
no faking
no pulled punches
no step back ducking
even when the ropes became chains

30 minutes slips to 60
sweat slips to blood
no more smile just gritted teeth
set up...for one more counter...
a voice

take it home!
go home!

isn't that it?
isn't that all we're doing?




sorry...obscure...today, just let the tired monk vent

morning meditation

morning meditation
thoughts collected
settled and sorted
as 1080 candles flicker
baby monk rubs his face
deep into tired monk robes

forest shadows

slow snowy forest walk
amidst the shadows
cast by a Cat Stevens moon


the Tired Monk




Link: This Blog's Older Brother

what there isn't

there's no steal cage
no grapple busted sweat stained mats
no square circle room strung with boxing gloves

out by the gate...no keeper
sweeping your feet out
with a learned staff

there's just paper and pens
forms with forgotten numbers
these things do snap
the tired monk from his slumber

on Novices (a meditation)

sometimes novice are just done
they step away from studies
    
monk robes become dusty...discarded
tonsured hair grows out

duties fall away...neglected
cigarettes held in bully fists

slow slide from fireside whiskey
to garage bursting with empties

the Bible left unopened
forgotten and lost

pursuits of virtue swing to vice
old life temptations linger

the tired monk was a novice once
he remembers

yes

yes is stepping forward
sliding between the ropes
getting girded in a low
           fighting stance

then...

a quick bow as the bell rings

iced in

tempted
to walk empty temple halls
no novices on this iced in day

wander to the common room?

i would
but the tired monk knows...

the coffee tastes burnt up there

converse...

why?

why do I have to?

novices ask, and ask
this one...the most

the tired monk wants to
dig zen deep
but he's got no roshi response

a back and forth of technique

tweed jacket teacher...no
fatherly love
pleas, emotion, logic,
a converse of silence

the tired monk responds:

duty

getting to the road

the road is so busy

M.Scott and Robert
heads down debating

Jack flicked his butt
into my ditch
            waved

Paul and Luke
hurried west
gathering

Basho stopped
on his journey
wrote a poem
slept on the porch

a tattered father and son
stopped  - end of the drive
fixed their shopping cart wheel
with borrowed tools


the tired monk dragging
empty roadside bins
back up to the temple

pauses

ponders

somedays...it is just getting to the road



Proverbs 3: 5-6

so called

these halls
are empty
dark

fewer novices
fewer monks

at last count: two monks
and one of them is tired

wait

there were a few more
so called monks
overseeing detention
of so called novices
caught pen-handed
writing
so called haiku

double robed haiku

morning bell rings
cold seeps in the windows
day of double robes

a monk's choice

a perfect prayer silence
  
   invaded

banging thudding
garbage cans flying
yells shouts
fists thrown high

stop prayer?

the tired monk walks
into the fray

Christmas Lights

lights left hanging
now just dark strands
coming free from the eaves
flapping against the house
as the cold front moves in

tracks

i)

first sound was the train
now there is just
white snow silence

ii)

mice tracks
tiny by the tree

rabbit tracks
big and bounding

fox tracks
tight on the hunting trail

monk tracks
weird robe swirls

on new year's day

some huddle
fearing Mayan math
resolving hurting and hung over

the tired monk
sink lingers
sips coffee and benedictine
drying towel sits ready
on robed left shoulder
pondering poems