The cousin of a new friend passed away
To another realm and although
He’s been gone a mere day
Or two so that the glow
Of the parting continues to play
In the life of my new friend who only just said hello
I ponder what can one say
When the acquaintanceship has only just begun to flow
Not to be fay
Or false or a bringer of more woe
But just trying to be OK -
To speed love’s arrow from one’s bow
Remembering in the right way
And cherishing the ones we know
Whether the dying are they
Or we or so and so

Oh to not break any thing -
Then would birds sing!
But then would there be no room,
No womb
From which birds spring.

To and fro they bring
The balm and the sting -
The tomb
Is the womb
To which the hurt cling.

Ding a ling! ding a ling!
What have you got, what do you bring?
What comes from your catacomb,
Oh loom
Of Spring?

I am the broken thing
That won’t ring
Yet will loom
With an unsounded boom
Until we take wing.

Caressing a tatami mat
Roughness as smooth
As a lover’s tumble
Or a silent moment
When the past blossoms
In tears for a beloved
And sharply blissful
Fruit of experience
Fall into my endlessly woven
Basket.

This poem also appears at http://dharmainafrica.blogspot.com/

The spirit of sublime compassion,
White, winsome, splendid, all adorned,
Appears a sudden there before me,
“Do not fear for you will be free
From the pain of things you mourned
From the taint of ancient passion.”

Awash in singing the beloved,
Calling out the fervent name,
This angel came unbidden, gifted,
Just so that my spirit lifted,
Washing off all doubt and blame,
Soothing with a love unsaid.

Red the disc that hangs before me
Vestibule to the calling land;
Dark clouds soft turn ‘fore that hue,
As soft our sins in those eyes too;
How clement comes the kindly hand
To peel the scales that we might see.

For lost am I in the pall of the past,
Torment a certain destination
Were it not for simply bowing
To the one whose timeless vowing
Raises all of humble station
And raises firstly those who are last.