March 9, 2011
breath upon breast
slow in sleep
drinking in dreaming
Sujata Sujata
giving mother
grace of gods
child of charity
life from love
Sujata Sujata
grateful recipient
bowl of buttermilk
gift of gruel
travelling to temple
Sujata Sujata
worshipful pilgrim
sees one sitting
humble and hungry
frail and fragile
Sujata Sujata
open hearted
bowl under banyan
meal to mendicant
feast at feet
Sujata Sujata
giving mother
March 4, 2011
I heard you dance at the doorway
kicking at the heels of shoes
until they scatter like chickens at feed
you still smell of the trees
the alive ground wet trodden
again a dalliance of cigarette
your hair at its many parts
reveals shorter hair surely
a sign of your growing
there is smell of scalp
the struggle of sweatshirt
the wet of a missed autumn bus
all chaff and embers
those enclosures of care
that kitchen quiet while your sleep
March 3, 2011
When the Prince stepped into the stables the horses rocked in their pens and snorted.
A dappled one bucked and feinted and the frightened Prince backed against the far wall.
“Forgive them, Honorable Prince–” Said the stableboy Channa “horses know not of royalty.
They obey only quiet, trusted voices and their love of open spaces.”
“And the stableboy Chandra–does he recognize the crown?”
“Sir, I serve crown as my father before me. But I admit I have long studied the horse’s philosophy.”
The Prince expressed an interest to be taken outside the palace walls.
Though Chandra knew it was forbidden of the Prince–who was Chandra to deny others open spaces?
Chandra led the Prince in a chariot pulled by loving Kanthaka.
The horse and charioteer drank the sun and the wind as the Prince’s heart raced.
They passed an aged man along the road and the Prince asked of Chandra,
“This man’s great white beard and cane–is he an actor portraying a sage?”
Chandra may have lied and almost did but to lie would dishonor the man’s
great wisdom and years and replied, “Great Prince, he is old his body is ravaged by time.”
The Prince saw a sick woman laid on a mat and sores covered her body.
“Tell me Chandra, this woman who is spotted, is she fathered by a leopard?”
Chandra may have lied but to do so would deny the woman the great dignity she retained in illness.
“Dear sir, she is ill and her body is faltering.”
The Prince saw a dead body aside the road, the first he had ever seen.
“Tell me Chandra, why does this child sleep by the wayside?”
Chandra may have lied but to do so would steal from this child her tragedy, her promise, her very spirit.
“My friend–she is dead. Her life has ended.”
The two were carried to the open spaces above the city and Chandra watered and brushed Kanthaka there.
The Prince exited the chariot and for a great while listened to the quiet, trusted voice of the evening wind.
March 1, 2011
The trees gave shade
gave fruit gave rest
to the Queen and her attendants
Songs from the maidens
accompanied the wind
and the sound of the brook
The eldest had been present
at the birth of the Queen
wise was she with women
The time was full
the hour had come
one brought a stick to be bitten
The maids worked as one body
their bodies caring, tender, alert,
and alive they wove with her body’s becoming
The Queen looked upon them
through tears, she saw her maids as
sisters, as Brahma, as Indra
In the weary mother’s arms at last
the maids laid the child to rest
their bodies one and they one with them
Servants of life and motherhood
they gave honor to Vishnu
at the foot of an asoka tree
March 1, 2011
Queen Maya sat motionless on the wall
that overlooked the ravine
she watched birds return to their nests
Maya walked silently along
the walls of her maid’s chambers
she heard lullabyes quiet cries
With quiet grace she blessed
the children held before her
in the pressing crowds
Upon her bed in the dim
light of her oil lamp she
wept stinging tears
The Queen grew old
King Shuddhodana became infirm
anger, fear, loneliness, regret
rested in her and took root
One night as the moon was full
the King came to her and they mourned,
wept, laughed, celebrated
Again they had found love–
the love that first bound them
encircled them again
That night while Maya slept
a white elephant appeared
as a dream
Asleep in love
asleep and dreaming
asleep alive awakening
January 31, 2011
he likes carretts (alot!)
he droped out of school
he’s 17
he don’t have a job
his family are drug atticts
he goes to church
he don’t have a girlfriend
don’t have a home
sales drugs to get food
has a special necklace
January 22, 2011
doing a crossword on a still porch-cold paper
trembling on a pun
balancing on the quietness
of the solitude of a picador’s full attention
the rattle of ineffectual windows
in Central California
barely there walls
cause the only movement in a wintered heart
stepping into the embraces
of alley shadow I am
thoroughly explored by her
near forgotten breath
words are left forgotten
as over the course of fourteen minutes
spring arrives unceremoniously to a
city asleep and restless
blood warm as a crime scene
golden apertures hint grace
through smell of sea
and trash-pick-up-day
January 10, 2011
(silently punctuated only by bells
she moves on feet whose slippers I am not worthy to untie
her hands burnished flashing out of blossom sleeves
brazen calves daring in flight upon court steps
an oasis she withdraws when the fire of my thirst rests upon her)
you have filled my cup even as your myrrh daubed wrists
reach me upon the air through my grate
the stone gods are muted at the epiphany of you
their personages are silent upon the wall
but I am awash again in the dried laughter
of an old man–a man whose face had befriended patience
whose face is but a tarnished mirror of silver
hollowed by faith and postponement
we are not unalike you and I
(though I shiver with humility)
both made to serve powers beyond our ken
we both don clothes not of our own choosing
the prisons of silk and hairshirt
cut perhaps from the same cruel bolt
born to paths whose ends like wavering mirages
darkly visit me in dreams and leave me awakening bathed in doubt
you draw near your bells announce you
descending dark stairs you suffer me
like a deer pants for water I breathe in cascades
of a deeper sky, a larger world,
of oils, and the youth that swirls about you
your gentle dread allure haunts this gaol
of living ghosts our chains our only applause to offer
upon your tense ankles hover cast lots
upturned runes
your eyes hide sad divinations
drear wroth machinations
in your practiced balance my future wavers
but who has called the song
which dance has been ordered?
my love, my muse
unmarried go I, and chaste
my body undone, before you languorous
opened as a tapestry unraveling
for you my story streams in ragged threads
and ends in matchless bliss
from a grace in a glimpse as simple this:
your hair, the comb of a finer honey,
escaping the corners of your veil
With thanks to Oscar Wilde
January 1, 2011
Let’s see the kitten falling asleep while sitting up!
Let’s see proof that a dog danced on two legs by itself!
O, we can’t wait to see what wonders will await us!
Will someone fall off a table while dancing?
Could it be that a child will do something lovable?
The future is now!
Expect the impossible!
Middle aged women will slip down stairs at weddings!
Strange social outliers will lip synch Lady Gaga!
O! Bless you 2011!
December 3, 2010
Loudern’ jake brakes on an eight p’cent grade
and kisses in quiet choir lofts
the shamefaced lie of shame a snarl of tires
hands of the lonely cold
your eyes, wrung of a bleak dark morning
henry miller toilet of cold water on face/armpits
liebackdownandlistentothestreet,
are beautiful
you earned
‘em
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