Tiger Emerging From Bamboo (Kano Tsunenobu, early 18th century), Sonnet #629

 

Zen tiger — imaginary,

None living in Japan — just pelt

From which to construct a kitty —

No sharp claws and jaws, no fear felt.

It slips between stands of bamboo

On silently pillowed paws,

A denizen of our thought-zoo

Who will blink out science’s laws.

It rubs against ungiving grass

And under the shoots’ fingers purrs.

It hides as other animals pass,

Having no taste for flesh-filled furs.

Like time the tiger emerges

And as quickly all things purges.

Hour

For Lucien Stryk

A strange word — an our

And a silent H that lours

Over us, a hidden power

Giving us us and taking

Us away — asleep — awakening.

Lake Storm, Sonnet #528

On my birthday the storm rolls in

Off a roiling Lake Michigan.

Just out of the water my girls’

Hair stands on end from the static

Electricity; a cloud blurs.

An eagle flees on bursting air;

Its wingbeats seem prophetic

Of a sudden lightning bolt scare.

We’re in the house before the rain

And the thunder’s humbling pain.

The air is clear after an hour,

But such upset you don’t forget.

I’m a thunderstorm losing power,

Moving off for a clear sunset.

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:

My Human Disguise.

Vimalakirti, (Painter Unknown), Sonnet #265

Even a Buddha would think that the dark is light
And all is nothing and nothing is is bullshit.
Thunderous silence is any mind's steady state.
On every eyelash thrives a ravenous mite,
Vimalakirti would have said, had he the wit.
We cannot eat what those who came before us ate.
There's one answer to each question, which is silence.
What is red? Why is Cassiopeia that way?
What is the difference between past and future tense?
What did you say? What do you say? What will you say?
On a clear day, the horizon line on the lake
Is the turned-away cheek of a sleeping Baku,
Devourer of nightmares. He is me and you.
Hold your tongue, close your eyes, and stay awake.

Jittoku Laughing at the Moon (Geiami)

#31

The night is without sound.
I slowly push my broom
This way, that, around.
The world is just a room,
Impossible to clean.
I lay my broom down.
Hands behind me, I lean
Toward the moon, frown.
I do not understand.
"Why do you grin?" I ask.
No answer. "Answer and
I'll return to my task!"
His silence thereafter
Silenced by my laughter.

Hui-k'o Cutting Off His Arm (Sesshu)

#30

Just idle anthropomorphizing,
To see a blind monster about to swallow
These two men, or empty philosophizing?
It's only a water-carved cave, after all.
The master stares holes in the cave wall,
As Hui-k'o offers up his severed limb
In angry frustration at being ignored.
A Zen tradition, the teacher's whim,
A simple gesture of emptiness restored
Through which a thousand monsters roar.
Bodhidharma does not blink an eye to see
The wall is both, suffering and ecstasy.
Nothing left for Hui-k'o to know or to teach,
Everything is now beyond his arm's reach.