ไม่เป็นไร

ไม่เป็นไร
seems related
to faith
in rebirth
and a kammically
moral universe,
namely that,
given even
moderate effort
and craving
in life,
the universe
will eventually
conspire to
place one where
one should be.
of course,
not worrying
intentionally
means that
unconscious
and biological
circumstances
drive becoming,
like samsara
on auto-pilot.
even nibbana
requires craving
craving’s end.
for positive ends,
ไม่เป็นไร
still requires effort.

Advertisements

yellowed brown the face of learning

yellowed brown
the face
of learning
trying honestly
and small
moving
to keep warm
rainy dry
green blue
leaves overhung
my spotted vision
once gone
once away
once fled
into rome
for a day
i paid the rent
once more
again sinned
to call it
that again
my watches
of water called
and my words
the words of all
the streets i’ve walked
the halls down i’ve called
sunlit white façade
bluelit lacking shy
i honestly know not why
you turn your head away
from my mind
all mine, oh that’s why,
to relearn one’s own voice,
the texture of black
writing your delusions
slow on a sack
of intellect spilled deep
and far, but not wide,
there is no more to hide
since we called
your home phone
and caught you at home
watching yourself
watching us all
the all-ready there
placate the mind bare
found walking on
shadows of gardens most fair
your hair was not
the fall of water i’d hoped
nor nose the right shape
nor mouth right hook
but who called the gods
those self-centered dogs
presiders o’er pagents
and moralless hogs
fogs creep their stage over
w wittely humid
their image their face
and that face a hood
don’t be so you
and i won’t be so me
but i’m just speaking
of my wants there to be
another me but better
a craving i watch
stroll down the halls
with eye-squinted clutch
of my throat of my eyes
of my arms and mouth
what wall did crash down
what words ring aloud
crying
crying sobbing
lurching
heaving
outpouring
years of long debt
i decay tomorrow today
it’ll all be alright
please let it all be ok.

greenish white leaves…

greenish white leaves
of white sky
soft purple
glowing
quiet and clear
there sits a sound
and a smell
of the past
catching up
and about to decay away
born
arisen
now decay
of the worry
it won’t happen
the observation
that it always does
eyes closed
to regretful depression
how unsatisfactory
are the efforts
ever
for our minds
are cinemas
atop nothing
atop mystic remembrance
startled again
by an unsatisfactory
impermanence;
i have written
these words before
and stare again
at the blue sky.