prayer - 4

early Christmas baby
too new to this world
labouring
in this cold day light

tuck her up tight
cradled behind
this guitar neck
as gentle chords ring

prayer - 3

walking
 - some would say trudging
down the forest
valley path
light snow
dusted robes

heavy white boughs
a monk on bended knee
offering winter prayers

prayer - 2

a few more steps
crunching
through the cold layers
deep icy snow

pause  - pray
enfolded deep
in bending
hemlock boughs

offering a moment
not asking
no
only abiding

prayer - 1

smoke clings
to these old robes
wafts of incense
and prayers

early morning sounds

crackling
of spinning vinyl
and fresh
hearth flames

soft gentle
distant background
noise

on lost brother, and fathers

gone lost
somewhere
moving
to the beyond beyond

missing brothers
brothers missing
their fathers

so much more
than diminished
numbers

it is missing
every word they
don't write,
every song they
don't sing.




Here at the monastery we've lost a brace of brothers, and fathers.  We've decided to take practical action; in the hope that it'll be the answer to prayer.  Us monks love music, so we'll try to use this vessel to raise funds and awareness to save the lives of brothers, sons, and fathers.

Please check it out, join, support, and pass it on.

https://ca.movember.com/events/view/id/LkwW

on rain falls and flames

waylaid sunrise
a "rain fall warning"
dashing all hope
of morning light

lamp flame smoulders
flickers quick
sparks to fuller life
with one deft
adjustment
venting in sweet air
and sweeter light

unboxing

i)

oh this cloudy lens

peering up and away

through galaxies

(200 per they say...)

counting and measuring

from this most dim

perspective

ii)

boxed in tight

bound in matter

absorbing energy

locked in space

creeping in time

iii)

older than God

-yes us

we are older, aging

He is "I am"

abiding 

on demons

demons linger
outer edges of parks
deep in the woods
right on the crossroads
or under basement stairs
 waiting
for generations
if needed

once they're forgotten
they'll  slither out
ready
with their
ancient dusty tricks

the problem
with demons
is that they
don't get bored

a third way

high road  - low road
nah
it isn't some dualism
to ponder
to choose a path

no big clear cut
sea change
swapping out
religion for rebellion
rebellion for religion

a third way
a middle way
brothers sisters
 a relationship
strong like a
mother's heart
abiding like a
good good father

tiny temple dog

autumn wind
lingering cool breeze
cold isn't a front
just blowing through
no  - not this time

the mice know it
they sneak under the deck
seeking any tiny crack
up under the siding
and in

the tiny temple dog
hears 'em coming
chases
them all the way
back to the wild

burden

walking the path
in these heavy robes
soaked
in fall rain

doing the work
performing
the tired monk duties
praying, reaching out
serving

lessening
the burden
that distance
from God

farm table

boots are kicked off
bit of a jumbled mess really
signs of the rush
to sit up
eat

thick turkey chili
heaped up with barley
and fresh garden spice

washed down
with crisp
hopped
farm table ale

night walk

sun is down
just the slightest
of lingering light
through the white
pine boughs

quick short-cutting strides
through the park
flickering temple lanterns
aglow on the path
lighting the way home

present

rebuked
with one word - "absent"
and one stern look

I was wandering
a lonely path
thick and grown in
with new ferns
and old fallen trees
deep in the forest
with my old
temple dog
present


the tired monk

New Temple Dog

new temple dog
wag spins
scatters kibbles
across the floor

chases toys
whirling through
papers
of half penned poems

the old temple dog
looks on
ambles back to bed

Light in the Forest

there is light out there
coming through
the new spring leaves

a lost meadow
a deer filled glade
a huge beaver pond stocked
with bass - - -?

the tired monk pushes through
a gnarly hemlock stand

stumbles
into desolation

reads the signs
 Private Road
 No Trespassing
 Luxury Estate Homes

a spring walk

striding deeper
down a grown in path
by the dry creek bed

something moves
out in the clearing
just a corner eye glimpse
move in a little closer
peer through
the new birch leaves

a raccoon playing
with her spring kits

tired fox

tired fox
flicking through
the early morning shadows

bone weary
from moonlit stalking
yet sated
on mallard flesh

nestled
down deep
in her musty den
as the sun
breaks the ridge

talk

I don't
want to
talk
about it.

let me think
on the lost lyrics
spinning out
of crackling vinyl

no words
just strumming
what you feel
chords
hammered pulled
dashed
with vibrating notes

Early Spring Forest Poem

thick icy drip falls
  plunges
from white pine heights
gaining velocity

clips a frozen leaf
sending it spinning
moving like a mouse
fooling a young
pouncing fox


the Tired Monk 

winter lights

Christmas light strands
hang down dead n'dim
clattering
in the north wind

power flickers
with each cold gust

low rumble
out beyond
the curve
blue lights flash
whirl into view

the county plow
pushing back
 deep snow
 and darkness


the Tired Monk

temple gates

no need for locks
or latches hooking
the gates tight

no footprints
will disturb the new
dusting snow

oh this lonely temple

tired monk's courage

courage

to face the razor
don the robes
nights of hard duty

to take on most
 holy vows
to retreat deep
tend the hearth fires
walk the walls
guard the sacred gates

to pray
look within
find the strength
to walk down
from the temple
and serve

winter duties

snow sifts in
stretching out
in neat little lines

wind whistles and lashes
the darkened light strands

the tired monk
shovels the walk
pushing back the cold

evening

light fades
dimming forest dark
cold seeps
through the temple walls

cast a knit blanket
up over my shoulders
stoke the hearth fire

wait
for morning light

SG Poem

electric crackling
humming feedback fades
with the turn of a dial

slow steady
just six notes

no whirling robes
windmilling
no hammering
of the gods

a touch of vibrato
more punctuation
than punk

north wind poem

salt stains

splatter robe cuffs

ice cracking

in windy tree branches

pull my hood up

sinking deeper

tucking in tight

against the sleet

stretch out

shovel sore back

look to the horizon

a little more light 

each day

my robes

robes still fit
even after seven years
 a couple thousand days
 of tired monk duties

they're rumpled
 worn
but I slip them on
 pray
that the wrinkles
will fall out


the tired monk