Two of my Zen friends
who, at the time,
I thought were some kind
of Zen enemies,
seemed to condemn me
to a soap opera
of eternal cookies
and the sound of lawnmowers,
and it took me
forty-some years
to understand this koan,
and the suburban heaven
that I was condemned to,
where instead of a life
in the forest
with snakes and mosquitos,
or a life in the city
with rats and roaches,
I was given
a life in this quiet, rich suburb
with an air-conditioned summer
and a toasty warm winter,
so that surrealistic understanding
of cookie and lawnmower hell,
turned into everyday Nirvana.

Pushing my mother
in her wheelchair
through the forest
in the park,
I see my sister
picking up a leaf
and handing it
to mom
who asks
what should I do with it
and I suggest
using it
as a bookmark
for her daily words
and so I put the red leaf
in her pocket
and we roll on.

There's this
cigarette
burning to my left,
that I just picked up
and took a puff from,
so then I adjusted it's ash
and took another drag,
and it's got some good qualities
and it's got some bad qualities,
but what I see
is it's quality,
this white paper
smoking round
thing with the line
and lettering
that I just pick up
and smoke.

Buddha says
to have no outflows
and I have recently noticed
that I have powerful outflows
in my meditation practice
so I decided to try
some new practices
which are nothing new
and they are
just sitting,
just standing,
and just dancing,
and those sound simple
but there is more to it
that you might imagine.

on his back he lied unmoving
     deep in thought, a pathetic brooding
a sad ***** cat, he lacked arms and legs
     with his eyes he silently begs
but despite a desperate wish to die
    the current brought him to this place to lie
and stare into the dark night sky
    and ask the burning question
why?

She loveth me nay--
           The supermodel--
       Cause my pocket is lean.
          But I did apace tell
         Her as she's sashay-
Ing along that "I'm no James Dean:
That Hollywood icon and superstar,
Who was by his acting rich in dollar;
But that i'm a poet, writing poetry."
So contemn me not, sultry popsy.