sisyphus

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depicter of flowers
curator of fruits
witness to birds 

embracer of wastes
consumer of carrion
witness to birds

My blog is only accessible to me via my phone. Attempts to log in via my laptop generate the info that I have no current blogs with WordPress. Attempts to contact them directly have failed. Now, let’s see whether this has published…

dog sutra §59

and the rain

fell in one

long story

we sidestepped

between trees

i tripped my length

into fallen water

and you chased

a hare

into a rainbow

Dog Sutras §62

the green barley
crowds the horizon
populous intense
as if to dig deep
and sway strong
when the indifferent
wind passes through it
these ecstatic dances
against the slashing
of the gold

Dog Sutras §58

stop

pause

stand

unthink

nothing

everything

Dog Sutras §47

you chased the hare

a golden zigzag

covering the roots

and hollows

as if born amongst

bracken and moss

we waited

locked in time

i whistled and called

and you came

spinning in from

the wrong direction

hope intact

joy undiminished

Dog Sutras § 52

at the edge

of angel wood

there is 

a sort of gateway

we wonder

what’s beyond

we stop short

no closer

than this

hold the dream

Dog Sutra §22

sad at the passing

of a friend

we few now

the sun sets

but still

you drive

the dark paths

as if they had

no end

DOG SUTRAS

Dog Sutras §12
we make it home
just as the sun
dies in its own fire

Dog Sutras §13
here at the pond
the light swallows
the huge trees

Dog Sutras §14
crow jane lady
in your house
in the wind
flying still

SHIP TO SHORE

Here I am, said the old man
still young, trapped between
ship and shore. I understand
that we’re always on the gangplank,
having just arrived or just heading
for departure. There’s always
someone to talk to, someone pausing
to put that suitcase down and then
rub chafed hands. “I’m heading south,
old son. Didn’t work out over there.
East, west, home’s best, eh?”
Yes, I guess so. And I turn to watch
a shimmying flag at a lonely masthead.
All to play for across a monotony
of waves. No suitcase for the next guy.
He’s a nomad under a hundredweight
of rucksack, thumbs under the straps.
“I’m off to Panajachel to join
my girlfriend. The most beautiful place
on earth, she says!” Yes, I guess so
and I turn to watch the only cloud
pass behind the funnel. Fortune
favours the bold under a limitless
certainty of sky.

dog sutra §1

leaves turn into butterflies
they’ve understood 
that as winter bites
they might fly away

dog sutra §2

leaves go to earth
berries hang
like bright bells

dog sutra §3

the two of us
you running
quicksilver
into your future
me as slow
as one step forward
and then the next

dog sutra §4

between the sloe
and the oyster
a tree singing

dog sutra §5

we hang on in hope
but you know nothing
of winter’s tooth

dog sutra §6

mist lying in pools
another country
arrive and it’s gone