There is a cricket
in my upstairs bathroom
I watched him
walk across the floor
at the base
of the bathtub
I blinked
and lost him
So he remains there
My ancestors say
that crickets are lucky
that killing one brings misfortune
So I embrace my heritage
and leave the cricket to his songs
and his own devices.
The LA River is called a "seasonal river" I've been thinking about it this morning. I pass it on my way to and from work, crossing the old bridges in the downtown area.
Autumn is here
is all her glory
the trees
turn their leaves to final bright colors
before scattering them
in the cold wind
I wait for the river to return
it's been a slow trickle all Summer
but soon, with the rains
it will fill and cascade
down the concrete canyons
we have constructed to contain her
but we can never
completely contain
the surge of the river
We must be mindful
and leave respectful distance
as we watch its powerful journey
to the sea.
My mind is blank.
I read somewhere
that Zen is the art
of clearing your mind
and being in the now.
Me?
I'm just
frozen in place
Waiting for the neurons
to fire up
But maybe I'll try this
Breathe in
Breathe out
Be
This is harder than I thought it would be...
I have been
neglecting my housework
for writing
But writing isn't as easy as it used to be
words and thoughts
bump into one another in my brain
like Los Angeles Freeway gridlock
as they struggle
to find the offramp
I should probably dust or something.
I am trying to write something not so depressing. I don't know how this one will turn out- it's not done as I type this.
I am still using the "put your fingers on the keyboard and go" method that is the hallmark of this blog.
Am I REALLY talking about the moon? You decide.
I saw the moon last night
well,
just a sliver
peeking out from the dark cover
of the shadow of the earth
The moon's return
always gives me hope
The moon stays constant
and plays hide-and-seek
with those of us
who look for it
hiding in plain sight.
I am trying to write the way a friend in college used to practice her art. She was given ten minutes and whatever she had was the art.
So Stella, for you
I need to go out
and sit among the old growth trees
and have them
teach me to breathe again.
Listen to their wisdom
and stay still
until I think
of nothing.
Until my mind is clear of all the noise
all that is running in my brain
like trash blown around
in a heavy wind
I need the peace the trees have found
growing older together
in a grove they choose.
Honestly I have no idea if this is going to be anything other than an exercise. Maybe when this is all over I can come back and revise!
I dream in nightmares
No soft fun days in MY dreams
Just an overflow
of the daily news
and monsters
disguised as humans
I wake up
shaking
sweating
and fear going
back to sleep
