She-who-scribbles has been in d-e-e-p retreat for some weeks; don’t expect sense anytime soon.
Everything is dancing today.
A rabbit pulls a pipe
from his waistcoat pocket,
Breathes deep and fingers
a scatter of twinkling
This causes a few planets and I
to go nuts
and start a little jig.
Someone sees us,
tries to get me
Listen: this world is a loony-bin.
It’s only real if you’re chronically
if you haven’t made the
into wild foolishness.
Even with its firmness
beneath my feet
and the mailman knowing
my street number
I hang out somewhere else:
with partying bunnies
and a cosmos spinning
in giddy delight.
Reading Hafiz’s poem Then Winks catapulted my brain over to Beatrix Potter and her partying rabbits. Or was it the other way around?
Purists will protest my highjack and mash-up of Hafiz’s words, forgetting that they aren’t even his – rather, they are the Hafiz-inspired outpourings of Daniel Landinsky.
Beatrix – who knew the truth about bunnies and most things – would smile knowingly.
Daniel – well, he knows what it is to be gripped by a verse and taken for a ride.
As for Hafiz – I’ll ask him next time we’re in our cups and jiving…
Beatrix Potter watercolour from bibliodyssey blog.
Then Winks, by Hafiz [Daniel Landinksy]
New Years Day, 2016 – according to the calendar. Three micro-poems which might or might not be haiku. I offer them as they landed. The first one is a selfie and makes me chuckle. The last – well, if you’ve experienced an Australian morning you’ll know about the predawn antics of the rowdy kookaburras… In between, a quiet reflection on – how it is.
the caged bird long flown
an old woman waters flowers
time forgets to tick
abandoned at last
by meaning and purpose
I sit with my tea
3am – seems they know
it’s the dawn of a New Year
Image: Gerrit Dou, Old Woman with a Jug at Window, c 1660 – 1665
Oil on Panel, 28.3 x 22.8
Kunsthistoriches Museum, Vienna
I was asked to find my mind
I was asked to find my thoughts
I was asked to find my self
So then it seemed timely to try to find
that was so successful at failing
it couldn’t be found
it can’t be escaped
oh how I love being so deluded
that simply watching words leak out of a pen
can deliver shameless delight!
Image: Andrew Wyeth – Wind from the Sea
Tempera on hardboard, 1947, detail
[What moves – the curtain or the wind?]
Source: Washington Post
All writing on this blog leaks from the pen of Miriam Louisa Simons. Over at my other blog this unlit light, you’ll find more of a smorgasbord of writing, including some of my own.
I chose this WordPress theme for its uncluttered minimalism, and because it’s responsive (i.e., it displays readably on all devices). All the links that normally appear in a sidebar or footer are hidden behind the menu icon at the top of the page. If you feel inclined to explore the offerings posted here since 2010, please click that icon. You’ll also find a way to follow this blog by email there. I promise you won’t be overwhelmed – emptiness has erratic and unpredictable habits. Posts turn up. I marvel.
Copyright © Emptiness
Three mid-winter haiku.
winter in my hut
drafts shivering the rainbows
I sit with my tea
thoughts and thinker? wrong
thoughts-thinker-thinking: all one!
pop goes the poseur
zafu guru says
two thoughts cannot co-exist
I dive in the gap
Painting by Rengetsu – Uji River Teapot Scroll
Source – The Rengetsu Circle
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
– Mary Oliver
after decades of wondering what I’d be
when I grew up,
what I’d do when I found my ‘real’ work,
what I’d contribute to life that might be of worth,
I tossed the questions to the stars
and gave up
is this typical I wonder?
a symptom of seniorhood?
or does it eventually occur to everyone
that while life is unbearably precious
and untameably wild
it isn’t yours or mine nor ever was
so with hair gone silver and eyes a-twinkle,
I whisper to the beloved poet:
this wild and precious life was never mine to map;
it always had its own agenda, dancing itself
across infinite webs of thought and feeling,
back to its own vibrant womb
and the role it gave itself as miriam
was that of sweeper of the space,
one who clears the mind-droppings, ensuring
no concealment of that fierce Grace
shining, shining through the world’s sorrow and joy
(and the sweeper’s too)
And what will Life do I wonder, with its one wild and precious You?
Image: Kano Motonobu – Zen Patriarch Xiangyen Zhixian Sweeping with a Broom (detail)
Muromachi period 1336-1868. Ink and color on paper.
The suitors came a-courting –
some to convert; others
They built their bowers
and cast their glittering nets
it was a bet against nothing
and nothing always
See, I was taken at birth by
a groom I could never meet;
wed for life to Its presence
our consummation flowering
in my disappearance –
afresh in every instant.
My groom is the keeper of nothingness:
the nothing that can’t be named
or owned, yet
It is my constant consort.
And so, tonight
I drink my wine and dance
How could I be happier?
Image: iPhone photography by Karen Divine
Karen’s work is featured at my website the awakened eye
a moment arrives
without a need of the past
the full moon rises
a thought bubbles up
a preference is posited
the moon doesn’t mind
the bubble bursts, pop!
awareness has no center
mooning melts the night
Image: Utagawa Hiroshige (Ando), Wind Blown Grass Across the Moon
Collection, Brooklyn Museum, New York