La Maison Dieu

This because tarot 16 was in my dream this morning:


Crowned in self important glory

man walks close

the house of God

Carrying worldly wealth,

fickle fame

and transitory temporal power

He seeks to deal with God

to buy his very own

stairway to heaven

Heaven is not for buying

and a thunderbolt

ejects man from His house

Bringing him to his knees

amidst his scattered goods

to ponder on his folly

To ponder the price of crowns,

the price of material obsession

and the cost of all his deeds

Wide Empty Paths

beyond the point

of primal,

causal origination,

no cognition

nor perception

a void awakens

shimmering the nothing

into becoming

empty and yet Dao,

no re-cognition

before the void

no time

no place

no recollection

or, any memory

wide empty paths

towards the infinite

have no ending

nor any start,

the essence of being

a Soul alone,

sole and solar

radiates into space

a single spark

of a cosmic fire

beyond the point

of primal,

causal origination,

no cognition

nor perception

at the point before mind

bodhi svāhā

Dharma of the Day #10

The little surprises of life

Are the bounty

With which the universe


When things seem hard

The Dao sends us flowers

For us to inhale


Amidst all the hubris

Petals fall cadent

Upon the breeze


Wait only for the flute

And its subtle keys

It caresses your being


When your spirit flags

It is your salve

And your nectar


Let the cosmos

Be your nurse

And your healer


Open your palms

And take your alms

Humble and secure


To find your place

Which always awaits

A monkey puzzle


To ease back on tension

And to trust

Abandon to your Soul


Then like a leaf in a stream

You can eddy

And dance the currents


Have no fear of weirs

They are man made

Rivers know so much more


Journey always

With open heart

For it has a succour

Most subtle

Be as fluid as now

And do this often

A silken scarf, blowing

No aim

Ease off those shoulders

Breathe in and out

Especially out


Now find your most

Authentic centre

And become, truly

A Star!!

Das Glasperlenspiel

von Hermann Hesse

Musik des Weltalls und Musik der Meister

Sind wir bereit in Ehrfurcht anzuhören,

Zu reiner Feier die verehrten Geister

Begnadeter Zeiten zu beschwören.

Wir lassen vom Geheimnis uns erheben

Der magischen Formelschrift, in deren Bann

Das Uferlose, Stürmende, das Leben

Zu klaren Gleichnissen gerann.

Sternbildern gleich ertönen sie kristallen,

In ihrem Dienst ward unserm Leben Sinn,

Und keiner kann aus ihren Kreisen fallen

Als nach der heiligen Mitte hin.


Zazen – on the farm in Hampshire

a memory evening

forgotten in the sunset

burnishes copper kettles

holding linen gloves

performing léger de main

with destiny’s child

hidden pathways unwind

each nascent moment

ever pregnant pauses

judge and jury mind

hears not the birdsong

resenting coming dawns

a tear meanders lost

on a forsaken face

quenching desert lilies

sandcastle dreams ebb

and flow, with the

incoming tides of life

under the arch’s curve

fate shelters a while

as the earth drinks deep

raindrops softly caress

verdant carpets drawn

on canvas fields

watercolours paint margins

for the Soul to journey

a leather coracle in Dao

the profound silence of ponds

hears water boatmen

tickle trout with song

the winds play flute

a chimney blows smoke rings

beech logs in the fire

cows chanting mantra in sheds

the prayer bell chimes

a farmer brings fresh hay

the kestrel hovers hungry

seeing beyond horizons

keen for future dreams

the woodcutter’s solitude

cuts axe blade sharp

through logs mundane

spiced wine warming

the veins of golden ore

pumped only by heart

the acrobat squirrel

crosses the swaying canyon

between century’s pylons

semaphore trees

waving long naked fingers

in winter’s winds

the point before mind

waits for the ripple of

a passing thought

stardust falls silent

for those who wait

no footprints in the snow

a match scratches a back

a hint of phosphorous

fire eases the itch of cold

moss on the trees

hiding from sunrays

growing only aeon’s beards

the wise old yews

cracking knuckles in the breeze

have watched millennia

the moorhens plink

pennies in a fountain

wishing for luck at dawn

a carrion crow plucks

a hearty breakfast

at the roadside café

omniscience counts

each Autumn leaf

the actuary of Souls

how does dharma teach

the fiery core of stars

only by feathers in the heart

what lies before now

only the present sleeping

waiting for the cockerel

what lies after now

only persistent dawns

irradiated with dew

what lies in the now

only forever born eternal

in the womb of moment

singing songs in the bath

no-one is watching

a child starts to walk

as naked as spring

a flower unfolds its flag

saying only welcome

the candle shimmers

beacons burn on the hills

eyes glisten with living love

an owl hoots in laughter

at man’s busy lives

pondering on their shadows

a spider’s web tense

sees the ants commute

yearning for love

soft down in chestnut shells

beyond fish hook barbs

cradles possibility

red holly berries

write in their font of hope

amidst the thorns

wide empty paths

leading to the cosmic causeway

where bamboo bridges flex

the Dao bends the reed

to fit the clarinet

and Gabriel’s oboe

Dao tunes pianos

in the darkness of night

a quintessence is born

a river carves Souls

whilst brooks chuckle softly

over the mossy rocks

mayflies tickle the eddies

willows bowing humble

under azure skies

scent carries fragrance

of lotus blossom

cherishing tender Sakurai

a single petal floats

wafted on pillow dreams

cotton wool soothes with a tincture

cutting carrots fine

a sliver of perfection

crisp and juicy with joy

sliced ginger pervades

more pungent than any dawn

a newborn deer forages

Golden Lotus

Floating free in the æther

the golden lotus

swirls on the pond

of inner sacred space

Om Ah Hum

Three Petals open

Om Ah Hum

Then three more

Om Ah Hum

Now there are nine

Perfect kernel of wisdom

still clasps tight knowledge

sealed within its naked bud

radiant magnificence

Sat upon the leaves of gold

the sea electric

whirlpools round

an ice blue vortex

all wisps and whispers

Call in the fire

the lightning snakes

Strikes once

Strikes twice

A dual conveyor

one going up

one coming down

the blue electric fire

Now tinted with indigo

deeper and more vibrant

ocean deep

and current strong

The bud rises on its

Auric pin


the snakes and ladders

pulsing now, a heart

The bud rotates

and finally yields

through open wings

peeling chrysalis back

to show brilliance

Pure ecstatic white

faceted with stardust

crispest Diamond

sparkles like February’s

coldest dew at dawn

The jewel levitates

and starts to turn

gaining brilliance

with each revolution

Behold resplendent!!

The Jewel in the Centre of the Lotus

Om Mane Padme Hum

The Concluding Kangaroo

faster than a speeding bullet

he came to his conclusions

with an utter certitude

from reading a single poem

he psychoanalysed

diagnosed and prescribed

the victim was then

hung drawn and quartered in public

metaphorically speaking

when someone told the kangaroo

that a poem is just a snapshot

a polaroid of a fleeting moment

he bounced off


ready for his next conclusive and omniscient diagnosis…..

L’homme Expurgé

Il n’existe pas

On m’a dit un jour

Et les registres en confirment !

Personne ne l’a pas vu

Ou entendu

Il faut qu’il soit un être virtuel

Un fantasme

Issu de l’imagination

Un nuage fugace

Mais qui est l’homme

À l’état sauvage

Qui a le regard fixe ?

Un sujet tabou

Et vraiment épineux

Pourquoi respire-t-il profondément,

S’il n’est pas réel ?


Ils ne lui ont pas dit

Et il ne pourrait pas


Il n’existe pas

Il n’a jamais existé

Car il est l’homme expurgé

Letting Go

Knuckles round knife

And cutting the slice,

Peeling and paring

The earthen skin.

Searching the puzzle

And picking apart

Easing the seems

In integral heart.

Swollen of toe

In junior school shoes,

Casting away,

The things I must lose.

Barnacle’s grip

On memory rocks

Washed by the tides,

To loosen the locks.

Time is the oil,

Of Sesame’s call

Choosing the future

Amongst potential’s all.

Taking the grey ships

Into the West.

Death of the Old,

And pains in my chest.

Left on the beach,

In seaweed embrace.

Turning away

And looking for pace.

Leaving behind,

The more that you take,

Footsteps in sand,

And thirst that won’t slake.

Melancholy’s magic,

Tempers my mood

Washes the cheeks

And deadens the food.

Waiting and watching,

For sunrise in East,

Birth of the Knew,

Is bringing its feast.

Release is elastic

And stretches the thread,

Taking the knife,

And paring it dead.

Pulling on chord,

In navel hue

Eviscerate and cleanse,

The time it is due.

Letting it go

Is hard and IT aches

Letting it go

Is sad with BUT brakes.

Letting it go

Is now and IT takes.

Letting it go

Is time and IT makes.

Letting it go,

Is free and NO fakes.

Go to the door,

Yell at the sky

Open those wings,

It is, time to fly.

Raising above,

And looking down.

How small is the past

How distant, its town.

Ginger bread houses

And icing sugar roof

The future is here

Please, give me some proof.

Letting it go

Is hard as nails.

Letting it go

Is hard as ….

Letting it go

Is hard……

Letting it go



Not now, not ever

Sodium yellow faded night

in trash can alley

where all the dreams go to die

the Neon signs buzz wasps

Rats scurry into their KFC homes

for that last bite of chicken

the deep ammoniacal doorways

still wet, pungent and steaming

Tin foils and methadone

bottles lined up on a wall

if one should accidentally fall

what would Odin do?

Strung out for Yggdrasil

a strange fruit pendant

where all the Stigmata

still bleed in his palms

He has no more

alms to give

his bowl now

stamped VOID and empty

From out all the alphabet soup

can find not now a word

though he can see plenty

and hear all, those whispers

On the sidewalk of shame

he sees the resting place

a white chalk line

shaped like a man

… … his totality

The resplendent banners

fluttering triumphant in the breeze

saying; “Do Not Cross”

are bathed in the flashing blues

… … of his final siren song

they were too late

John Doe was DOA

clutching at straws to the very end

there a single celluloid lay, crinkled

… … beside him

No one noticed as the city wind

carried it silent away as

the first teardrop rain

lands sidewalk slowly

… … the night it sobs just a little

The pitter-patter of tiny feet

with chamois softness

start to work on him

and before the commuters

…  … he will be gone

His Etch-a-Sketch life

all iron filings

has drawn its last

and no photo-fit

… … will ever capture him again

Not now, not ever.