Little Buddha

little buddha

begging alms

smiling zen

of ganja charms

humble pilgrim

of the gentle rain

warms his body

on a subway grate

lonely street

in the frigid cold

a prostrate offering

collecting tolls

scruffy denizen

in dire straits

is it given to you

to ask and wait?

ringing mantra

in chanting voice

got a dollar?

pedestrian choice

thank the fates

bay street man

ring the karmic bell

and clink the can

the yogic flyer

perched on his mat

with sufficient coin

can get some crack

when his carpet lands

magic drained

he'll doff the hat

and score again

malevolent heap

in a thrift-store coat

forever camped

where nothing grows

in the noxious fumes

that perfume and choke

squats the human cost

of the globalized yoke

come tomorrow who

will be on the street

is it me or you

in this economy?

~efb

Memory and Thyme

years tumble by

like pebbles on the shore

they sink forgotten

leaving only ripples

old jobs

past loves

lost friends

time is the glacier

inexorable and unforgiving

coming for us all

time creases my hands

my eyes my mouth

it greys my hair

it makes me patient

and claims small

glimpses of wisdom

time is a litany

of lost visits

dead faces

forgotten places

where we once hid

and names etched

in memory

seasons flit by

my window

winters heaped

like cordwood

savoured meals

things to laugh on

others to rue

far-flung places

wild spaces

cold water falling

hibernating deserts

palm trees amid

remains of old fenceposts

and rusted wire

christmases long ago

deep snows

white lilies

easter bread loaves

special feasts

and sunday roasts

like pepper or thyme

memories spice our lives

making fragrant days

and piquant nights

without memory

we are nothing

pebbles ground to sand

blown away in the wind

~e

One Vast Filament

hubble's cyclops

and distant rovers

are changing minds

the whole world over

slaving robots

on distant stars

the presence of water

proves life on mars

all the discoveries

man has learned

in the book of science

another leaf turns

euclid's geometry

was not enough

to scrutinize

space's stuff

it took gauss

and rheeman too

synthesized in

einstein's truth

now new technology

advances the search

for goldilocks planets

just like earth

we can see deeper

into space’s scope

to hunt for orbs

in the habitable zone

still we jumble thru

the universe

on and on

thus dispersed:

where space and time

meet together

a cosmic web

spinning in the altogether

a little jot

in a galaxy

one vast filament

turning infinitely

~e

The Darkness Wins

late winter blues

shades of night

the madding keys

of chopin’s mind

keening in my ears

breath comes quick

stark upon the air

but she’s not here

wet march snows

sleeting drifts

washington, d.c.

reunited lovers kiss

chestnut hair

cascades down

i whispered her name

and we forgot to eat

memory shifts

like distant clouds

below a mountaintop

glimpses open fast

of what’s left behind

melancholy waltz

darkness comes as

shards in a looking glass

her pale hand

caressed my brow

hushed words we spoke

my fingers in her hair

brown eyes flecked with grey

full honeyed lips

soft fingertips

before i her trust betrayed

stormy hands crash

the first ballade

chopin grasping

the darkling seam inside

though what’s dark

can be beautiful

glissando fingers

can’t cast grief aside

late winter blues

bleach the night

in a minor key

menacing trees sway

in violent thrusts

vestiges of lust

dark nights

luminous skin

i speak her name

in grey gusts

hanging in the air

the cold wind sings

on high octave strings

piano quakes

the artist raked in

the sounding board’s despair

clouds shift once more

lone streetlamp shines

cold hands dark veins

diminuendo calm

regret surfaces

fading memory like

snowmelt in a river

i am alone again

in this dusking world

some few chances

in this short life

years flood by

hair greys

hands reach for

her smirking face

only finding strife

arpeggios of soothing calm

linger on

cathartic balm for

ranging fits of madding when

seized by memory

beauty struggles

the darkness wins

and tragedy transcends

~e

Note: Chopin's Ballade No. 1 in G Minor Op. 23

All In Green

i like the rain upon the fir tree

sweet drops of drifting cloud

softly falling fresh and constant

endowing us with life

winter’s campaign is ebbing

northern wintry wall recedes

revealing true the good earth’s

dappled browns and greens

storm systems gather

as our world spins round

from a tempest in chennai

comes a wild monsoon that drowns

we are tilted through our axis

twenty-three degrees off-kilt

summer points us toward the sun

and winter hides us away

an impact from ancient millenia

made our glowing night sky face

to rule the ebb and neap tides

as round the sun we spin through space

with the sun and moon

our seasons whirl and ebb and flow

spinning round the whole wide world

turning through each season’s show

so we know the burn and the bitter

not stuck in either the long year round

and though winter can be brutal

without the cold no spring would sprout

still these little drops grace the fir tree

and softly wet your hair

spring remains at arm’s length

but suddenly i don’t care

ever softly turning

toward a new day yet unseen

today i know for certain

spring is coming all in green

~e

In Cheerless Rooms

chairs of wood and vinyl wait

in cheerless rooms

with stagnant clocks

and nurses in soft shades of blue or

green the gross tint on the wall

and tiled floors of ammonia reek

while coffee sipped in paper cups

won’t speed our purgatoric wait

rails of chrome reflect fluorescent

lights in drowsy patterns there

arms and legs in casts that itch

hoi polloi shift their feet

wheelchair girl rolls in among

unconscious on and on she moans

a nasal voice wants doctor young

while we all sit impatiently

all the magazines are old and folded

in a mouldy corner television blares

ads for arthritic cream or muscle pills

that shed quick pounds and tone your pecs

nurses come for needle pricks or x-ray pics

or instagrams–emergency is overrun

they’re understaffed and children scream

or put quiet questions to sleepy mums

who check their phones for sexty tweets

and tell the clerk 'my son's been here since'

in the back technicians scan methodically

between their breaks and flirty barbs

the air is stale but tense with fear

unnoticed panic builds and urine spills

we hold our noses, collecting

in worn loaferware but no one comes

~e

Within The Thrall

rich the days when muse does call

tasty words are joined and fit

verses surge within the thrall

and pages spring from poet’s wit

weighty words that rhyme and transfer

a chosen meter’s pace and flow

mots of grit and grace and grandeur

gravitas bits and verbs that go

pained those days of idle keys

of writer’s block and hands gone still

curse the fates and times like these

occupied with lesser skill

out to nature and her minions

busy with their daily chores

for inspiration and opinion

and fresh air to fuel the forge

brew a cup, renew thy labours

browse thesaurus customary

read the tea leaves and the paper

and find the rhyming dictionary

fickle indeed the muse’s lot

thro’ moods by turns buoyed and glum

she brings the juice and spits the hot

and strings together pearls that hum

let all who know of words’ reluctance

resisting rhyme and symmetry

seek the patience and the guidance

to await the muse’s sympathy

hail the mistress and the medium

of all creative synergy

who, raising art above life’s tedium

with her kiss provides the means

~e