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