i recently joined the regular writers at Buddhistdoor Teahouse. here are the poems i've had published there so far:
Moisture Pond life Moonsilver Festering feast The pigeon Different expectations
#Buddhistdoor #buddhism #poetry #zen #daishinstephenson
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a man pulls a pair of shoes out of the rubbish bin and tries them on. they are too small but he wears them anyway.
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magpie hops through frost-stiffened grass
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solitary pigeon drinks water from roof gutter
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cacophony of sparrows red cedar sanctuary from driving wind
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seagull footprints in rooftop snow
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silver light of moon standing in lake shallows a heron hunts
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man asleep on sidewalk lit cigarette between fingers fallen ash jacket on fire scents of burning hair and plastic
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crow pecks inside the rib cage of a rat
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robert frost said it best: “Poetry is a way of taking life by the throat.”
for me, poetry is about slowing down and seeing what is going on around you; of observing the impact of actions; of feeling the rawness of our lives.
the keen edges of john berryman’s words as he captures the egoless struggles of life. robert frost’s aching grasp of life lived honestly. william carlos williams’s frank observations of living. samuel beckett’s poetic minimalism sends me over the treetops. they, and many more not mentioned here, are all great teachers and friends.
i think of poetry more often than not. while i stopped at a corner of a blossom-covered street, i spied two young sparrows ripping leaves off a small plant. at a downtown square, a child chased pigeons into traffic where two were killed by cars. a woman walked down the street while talking on a cell phone erupted in laughter. i thought about the woman my grandmother used to be before alzheimer’s altered her brain. this is all poetry.
#dharma #poetry #johnberryman #robertfrost #williamcarloswilliams #daishinstephenson
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