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