Sunday, November 17, 2013

Zen and Poetry

out of any two thoughts i have 
one is devoted to poetry
but i have yet to learn the importance of a line

no conquer pen 

as would mountain
when climb 
is not mountain also legs
when write 
ink and paper control poem
as much as hand

i want to write another book but i can’t
i can only write poems
and now it seems even those are falling short
of my relentless search for truth

stop searching

but all i can do is write

then write

discipline in spontaneity 
and spontaneity in discipline

its like a gentle swaying
an almost ocean like rocking 
against the rhythmic crescents of my disjointed thoughts
joined only by the common constant desire to create

no focus
no control

no patience
no trust
do not try to finish poem
hopeless
only try to realize truth
then u see is not poem that is crafted
but only yrslf

creation is the bridge between me and Allah
Zen say stand by yr thoughts as u would a wide river
proverbs say diligent hand will rule
Kant say greatest value in world to man
freedom of choice

so if i widen the bridge between 
my valuable thoughts 
and my diligent hands
what greater world am i free to create

what greater man can u choose to become

i take my tea the way i take my poetry
first thing in the morning
with two bags of earl grey 
that have been soaking since last night
sipped with meticulous patience
its almost strong enough 

if you don’t do the things u love 
you will easily forget the joy u found in them

takes plenty faith to put down sail
and float to current
that current shall set u free

but taste of freedom is bittersweet
of this i know too well

i’m searching for that raw uncooked truth
so elemental that it has no composition
only decomposed atoms to its fibers

patience
let the poems right themselves

drugs are a natural thing to mistake it for
but i’ve tasted what’s real

no impulse
no thought

no patience 
no truth

him that i felt could do for me is trapped inside
somebody that’s slowly killing me
and i didn’t even know he was there until now

abuses my use of time
puts poison into my body

he is choking the life from me as we very speak
this person must die a violent and horrible death

no, u must let him slip from the outstretched grasp
of your scarred and hang nailed fingers

slowly and quietly
and stealthily retreat into the night

no open mind 
no open eye

no passion 
no peace

in order to become a creator i must first create myself

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