Category Archives: Poetry

i can’t do this anymore

the title is how I feel…so, I’d say, change is in the air

Waking up wondering what the hell I’m doing. There is a solution: to keep busy. But instead, I’m scuba diving down deep into my being. Whatever that is. And searching. For who? For what? For some kind of a clue to a deeper presence and a deeper surrender. To a place of self-honor instead of self-betrayal.

from the Diamond Sutra:

“This is how to contemplate our conditioned existence in this fleeting world: Like a tiny drop of dew, or a bubble floating in a stream; like a flash of lightening in a summer cloud, or a flickering lamp, an illusion, a phantom, or a dream. So is all conditioned existence to be seen. Thus spoke the Buddha.”


Let the Beauty We Love Be What We Do

Rumi, translated by Coleman Barks

Today, like every other day, we wake up empty

and frightened. Don’t open the door to the study

and begin reading. Take down a musical instrument.

 Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

And so…I begin.

Sit in silence as the sun rises.

Listen to that stuck-ness somewhere inside and don’t hate it. Let it be.

Wash my hair.

Write a poem.

Laugh with a friend.

Cry at a movie.

Cry listening to NPR.

Wish for magic.

Believe in unicorns.

Read Rumi.


more poetry

The Dig

Reaching toward a distant shore.
Archaeological excavations, memories
waiting under dust of decades.
Pottery shards, broken from a narrow-mouthed vessel
brown and muddy,
water long since spilled, dried.
What well or river did I pull it from;
where is that thirst now?
Can I find my way back to
draw and fill a new container
paint it turquoise
and red
open my mouth wide
drink til I’m sated?


The rains bring the scent of memory.
Shards of pottery
brown and crumbling
in a lost cavern
abandoned on the floor
beside skeletons
whose bones shake and rattle
the wind makes dust rise
the rain outside sends mist
drifting through the cave
to settle onto the pottery
and the bones.
Another layer
of years gone by.
Another memory drips away
melts into the night
of my silent demise
softening like butter
before the baking begins
Awaiting the mixing spoon, the bowl, the spatula, the baking tins,
the chemical alchemy,
the oven.
Fixing with heat
what will never come again.

Searching these caverns for a life lost. No archaeologist’s brush will reconstitute
what has long since passed. Some things
are better buried.


Miscellaneous Poetry and Haiku

crossing the bones
over desert’s expanse
between the wind’s hiss
whispered promises, like stars
disappear at dawn


leaving without you
never hurt much until now
memories flood back


temple bells ring out
calling us to Hanuman
dusk lights the way back


hold the camera
frame, focus, meter, feel it
now, click the shutter

sea states

I do not know
and I do not need to know.
I am a conduit
an open pipe.

What I am creating
creates itself through me.
Not by me.

Tonight I heard about sea states. The state of the ocean waves at any given place and time. A scientist created a model of sea states. This model maps “a random evolution of a memory-less system.” The likeliehood of any given future state at any given time depends only on its present state.

A memory-less system.

The ocean at night with a long exposure. Pleasure Point, Santa Cruz, CA.
Another shot—spider web waves.
no memory
waves with beach with shadow