The Way Of The Tao

people say they know me – knew me

a poor man – crazy man:

Ha-ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!

Old and battered but breathing

the subtle things;

but now they say they don’t  – didn’t

unable to rely on appearances – experiences

the sickness is illusion

and it is fortunate to meet

with men wise to the Tao

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Haiku-heights theme: desert

long my shadow falls

across your sheer faces –

the low angled sun


a fine thread sewn

into the curved hips of dunes

footsteps in the sand


each grain of rice climbs

the arcuate dune lifting

ripple by ripple


yearning for water

winds dry the salt on my skin

a deceitful kiss


the sky shimmers

seven colours play

with promise


sand grains jump


emulating rain


just a shower

of heavenly light – all else


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The Darker

Photograph of the Moon through Pine trees at night

the moon through pine trees

In the sun you do not see me,
standing where your shadow falls
In the night you cannot hear me
although in silence blackness calls.
In the darkness, see the starlight
not visible in day
and in the realm of opal moonlight
rest you – by the window stay.
A fool is what people would call me
a master of deceit and lie
as real as your blackest nightmares
only gentler come whistling by.
In the breeze my weak flame sputters
casting dark, on dark, the night:
but in the gloom can stand – aphotic
so that you can see the light.


Haiku-heights theme: tree

have you no shame –

flamboyant decoration

simply brazen


the keys coloured sun

conspicuous in your guilt

even grass blushes


in supplication

blood soaked palms raised skywards



fly, wing-ed forms, fly

the gentle rustle – oh listen!

the snake barks

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Haiku-heights theme: silence

escaping battle

no flight from one’s own soul –

the visions in one’s eye


running blindly

chased by a mind-screaming

staggering horror


sitting in silence

intangible the veil

one thousand yard stare


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Nine Lives

oh how I now must face my fears

drying my eyes away where cold-shed tears

evaporate away to powder – salt

the only trace that’s left of fault

yet it is not true that I don’t regret

but quite what I should do – I forget

and my tears do not belie I’m sad

instead that once my heart was glad

I lived a life that was full of vigour

why I should be sad I just don’t figure

but now comes the part in this fine race

where my heart must live without its trace

nine-lives the cat but perhaps its true

that I had more, but more ran through

perhaps my last one ends just here

perhaps already by my fear

without regret could I live instead

in a world of poetry going round my head

perhaps I could return again

one more time to lift the rhyming pen

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