Holden

I'm with Holden

ready to head north

a solitary cabin

front door held open

by an acoustic guitar 

for a cooling lake breeze

slow beer buzz...all day

sitting on the deck

oaks and white pines above

on darker days

I think of going further

home to Ireland, maybe Scotland

out far on a point

rugged sea washed

small lonely monk island

3:5-6

 some paths are worn

 deep rutted circles

 the same ground pounded

 deep and hard sun baked

some paths are blocked

 black chainlinks barring

 forest walks, rambling dog

 wandering adventures

some paths are crooked

 all roots, stumbling rocks 

 soft sand shifting underfoot

 or swampy mires

some paths are straightened

 by prayers, acknowledgement,

 songs, meditation, kindness

 unconditional hospitality. 

 

Saint John

 John knows

about scarred up souls,

dodging demons, and lying

about being okay

he's so damn good

at sadness. 

evidence in every song,

every poem, every chord.

bless you brother monk

unusual

been a monk for just over 10 years

decade of tonsures and robes

up truck driver early

brewing tea

...and french press coarse grind coffee

sweeping, praying...yeah I'm praying right now.

working through daily duties

tending the temple

walking the dogs

playing guitar in the garden

writing/reading sacred poems

shooting hoops in the driveway

reverse layups - robes flying

ignoring the long looks 

as the neighbours drive by

unusual...indeed.