Tag Archive | Zen poetry

Wild Horse of Childhood

Dec2

The wild horse of childhood reared up its forelegs

And kicked back the rage that rushed towards me.

I held on with trust and never fell off,

Never fell down there in the dirt.

The steady strong breathing of my steed quieted me, kept me above the foray on the ground.

But I still cared, I still saw.

I reached my hand down to lift them up

So they could be above it, too.

But they slapped my wrist and the flank of my horse.

It reared up its forelegs

And kicked back the pain that rushed towards me.

I held on with trust and never fell off.

My horse raced away, carrying me with aching heart

To a safe and peaceful place

Where I breathe strong, on the ground, near my steed.

And the world is suddenly mine.

— ( c ) St. John 2009

The Woodpecker in the Tree

Sep22

Sheets of dry leaves rustle in the trees above me.  The breeze spirals them to the ground, making a sound like far-away static, coding a secret out to the universe.

Lasers of sun shine through the thinned foliage, warming my shoulders. The sky is bluish milk.  No clouds visit.

The leaves continue to turn and spin showers of color

as begins a dull, rhythmic whack…vibrating the stillness… over and over.

No one else is around and I am quiet.  Who, then?

A puzzle for the mind.  But the soul is calm and wise.

It aims my eyes upward and straight, zeroing in on the creature so like itself:  open, free, expressive, natural.

The red crown of the woodpecker pierces through the golds, browns and oranges, and my mind instructs me to chill out…the sound is only a bird.

My soul has a different opinion.  It is not just a bird, it is a piece of me, too.

I sigh in happy contentment with the paradox of mind and soul struggling to be what truly matters, and the woodpecker’s fierce intensity against the wood.

I would have had a headache by now if I had been the bird entirely.

— ( c ) St. John 2009

Music to my Ears

Sep22

Toting thick slices of banana bread

Slices of hard and soft cheeses

Strong black coffee

And of course…always…my notebooks.

I nestle into my chair as

Two birds, at each end of the grove of trees

Call to each other in identically pitched notes.

A female cardinal came straight at me

Perched for a few seconds

Then sprinted off to the nearest tree and began to sing.

The air is full of the soft lilts of multiple birds

The screeching of the cicadas

And then voila!

No sound but light and quick vibrations as a hummingbird hovers near my leg

Dancing its flight for me.

A passing train sirens its hello,

A shout among the lowest of rumbles.

There is a whole orchestra tuning up for the day,

And I cannot decide if

I am the conductor

Or the audience.

— ( c ) St. John 2012