Plenty

Plenty
Acrylic, Mixed Media Collage

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

The Hazards of Tunneling

All good escapists
perfect distance before
wielding the tools necessary
for subterranean travel

though palms blister
from repetitious retreat
the clamorous world subsides

down here
the air tastes like whispers
from long-forsaken ghosts.

Thursday, April 13, 2006


Marsha Hollingsworth Posted by Picasa

Kyoto

Awake to a slowly beating drum,
morning meditation from Chion-in Temple
drifting up the hill; in the garden,
tiny birds add sweet highs, tuneless ravens
the bass undertone, trees whisper
ancient secrets to the passing breeze.

I am gaijin, a foreigner, but still
I feel the pull of this place.

We stroll the Path of Philosophy,
through massive wood and metalwork gates,
into carefully sculpted gardens, exploring
the seemingly endless number of Buddhist temples
dotting Kyoto, each more lovely than the last.

Quiet Nanzen-Ji is where I feel the most, following
worship-worn steps to a tiny cave-shrine
heady with wet and incense.

We are purified by waterfall spray
before returning the way we came,
voices hushed, buoyed by eternity’s hand.

At the hotel, the lobby is filled with crimson
and saffron, glistening heads and broad smiles
from monks gathered there, we bow to each
other and are one, may it never be forgotten.

The Japanese try hard to remember
from where they came, arriving in busloads
for hanami, cherry blossom viewing,
beneath a revered tree decked out in pink splendor
and lit from below so it radiates surreal, internal light.

We sample Kobe yakitori, soba and corn
grilled over open flame as we flow
through the smiling, celebratory crowd.

We savor what is transitory
as sparks and blossoms whirl,
settling on our hair and skin.