Compassion

don’t hit the fly—

he prays with his hands

and with his feet

Issa Kobayashi

——————————————-

We open the velux roof-light

So that the fly might escape

He has been trapped

In our warm writing space

Since who knows when

The writing room

Is also the meditation room

Where we compassionately convert

Anxiety and frustration

Into pace and harmony

The same room is also an adults playroom

Where clay is moulded by hands

Where feet tap to the music

Where once there was a stable

And now life itself is born

 

haiku mind

108 poems to

cultivate awareness 

& open your heart

is by Patricia Donegan

Honesty

I kill an ant

and realize my three children

were watching

Shuson Kato

------------------------------------------

Honestly

I do understand the need to kill

Even if upset is caused

I myself have a distant feeling of hurt

When, as a child

I witnessed kittens being drowned

Yet I thought nothing

Of trampling underfoot

Whatever lay on the forest floor

I could claim innocence or naivety

But I won't do that

For I know it not to be entirely honest

Because, in my early teenage years

I worked, actively participating

In a slaughterhouse

Should I have told you that

Or remained silent about my past

In which case where would lie the continuum line

Honestly, the children have all grown

Each retaining their own perspective, which

I hope they realise, I am, and have been watching 

Sky Mind

  To see Void vast infinite

look out the window

into the blue sky

Allen Ginsberg

----------------------------------------------------------------

If I cannot find the blue sky

If I cannot find the void

Then I will try to revisit the blue sky

Then I will try to revisit the void

Somewhere between the void and the blue sky

I will find the haiku

I will find the beat poet

Somewhere between the blue sky and the void

I will find the poem

I will find the poetry

If I cannot find the old words

The well-preserved words

Then I will write new words

The self-absorbed words

Somewhere between the dying and the death

I will find life in the haiku

I will find life in the beat poet

Somewhere between the death and the dying

I will find life in the poetry

I will find life in the poem

If I cannot find the death

If I cannot find the dying

Then I will try to find the words of the death

Then I will try to find the words of the dying

haiku mind

108 poems to

cultivate awareness 

& open your heart

is by Patricia Donegan

Pausing

pausing

halfway up the stair—

white chrysanthemums

Elizabeth Searle Lamb

------------------------------------------------------

The stairway place is now free

I sit right up to the Georgian window

A young woman wheels a wheelbarrow

Across the field, past the trees

It is not so silent as Bow

Doors bang, doors crash

I can hear conversations

But van Gogh’s blossom is still here

A young oriental woman

Climbs the stairs energetically

She smiles, says: Hi, hello

Before moving on to the door

This is the main thoroughfare

Between upstairs and downstairs

The wallpaper is rather grand

Exotic birds, with feathered tails 

Outside in the field

There are masses of molehills

Each peppered by pigeons

Another woman wheels her barrow

Though this time she moves

In the opposite direction

Before stopping, in the middle

Maybe for a Karma break

I tell you this as a momentary record

Fifteen minutes of a life

Quite possibly never to be revisited

With, or without the wheelbarrow 

haiku mind

108 poems to

cultivate awareness 

& open your heart

is by Patricia Donegan

Obedience, Stability, Conversion (The Artist’s Rule)

A stream of consciousness; definitions, and responses to the given meanings.

Obedience

I am at my best when the task is to obey myself; I do see the blue skies, the red sunrises, the yellow sunflowers, the sensual shadows of bob-cut hair. I obey the desire to find peace, calm, stillness, love. Also the urges for passion; sexuality and sensuality of past and present times. I walk through meadows and on beaches; I taste the salted sea and feel the Mistral blow through my hair.

Stability

Today I sit, listen to The Temple of the Heart. My meditation quietens what otherwise might be a restlessness. In these strangely quiet times I am more than a survivor, I take joy from the beauty of the moment of these moments. I am asked to stay at home, and I will stay at home, I am here now aren’t I.

Conversion

I am driven, always I have sought growth. First it was economic growth, to allow me to change and improve my circumstances. Next came technical and academic growth, to put myself on an equal or higher footing than those who I was aiming to compete with. Finally I have moved into personal and spiritual growth, to allow me to both explore myself and understand the various societies in which I already am, or would wish to be, embedded. This exploration confirms, and doubts, my faith in myself, in more or less equal measure.

The French Pantoum Poem

I am at my best when my task is to obey myself; I see 

    the blue skies, the red sunrises, the flowers

Also the urges for passion: sexuality and sensuality

    of past and present times

I am more than a survivor, I take joy from the beauty

    of the moment of the moments

I am asked to stay at home; I will stay at home, I am 

    here now aren’t I

Also the urges for passion: sexuality and sensuality

    of past and present times

To put myself on an equal or higher footing than

    those who I was aiming to compete with

I am asked to stay at home; I will stay at home, I am

    here now aren’t I

This exploration confirms, and doubts, my faith in

    myself in more or less equal measure

To put myself on an equal or higher footing than

    those who I was aiming to compete with

I am more than a survivor, I take joy from the beauty

    of the moment of the moments

This exploration confirms, and doubts, my faith in

    myself in more or less equal measure

I am at my best when my task is to obey myself; I see

    the blue skies, the red sunrises, the flowers

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for his Collected Works