Current Paradigm: Senryu

CURRENT PARADIGM

Fancy guesswork and
Unfounded affirmation
Reinforce blindness

There’s Only One I In Bigotry: Tanka

THERE’S ONLY ONE I IN BIGOTRY

God gave us two eyes
In His infinite wisdom
So we could see things
From more than one point of view
But one too many for some

Pledge: Senryu

PLEDGE

Just give me three days
If I’m not back in three days
You’ll know that I’m dead

House Of Mirrors

HOUSE OF MIRRORS

What if “self”
And “other”
Are no more
Than preprogrammed
Constructs?

And where
Is this pasture
Within which
Less than contentedly
We graze?

And who believes
They conjure
These constructs?
And who
Did the programming?

Don’t recall
School
Or church
Ever covering
Such trivia.

False Premise: Shadorma

FALSE PREMISE

Mountaineers
Each their own mountain
Up and up
Leave behind
All those souls down far below
And each other too

I Told You There’s No One There (Republished)

I TOLD YOU THERE’S NO ONE THERE

Some folks on the road to heaven
Are tempted to go astray.
All knew Parson Brown was one of these,
And golf what he wanted to play.

For he was only human.
But his flock didn’t see it that way.
“A vicar succumbing while we’re around?
Say, that’ll be the day!”

So every time he drove past the course
He saw the windows wide
And knew well that his stern parishioners
Were watching from the other side.

His frustration raged within him
Till he woke one morning at five.
The weather was fine and they were all asleep
As he crept down to the drive.

He quickly made his way to the course
And headed out for the first green,
Chuckling at the thought of what he was doing
And all without being seen.

But he’d forgotten the Angel Michael,
Who roused God from his forty winks
And said, “Wake up, Sire, it’s Parson Brown
And he’s out there on’t links!”

“Then I must punish him,” said God.
“As you know, it’s my wont with men.
And I promise you one thing, Michael;
That he won’t do this again!”

The vicar meanwhile was teeing off
In the early morning sun
But what a surprise he got when he found
That he’d scored a hole in one.

“Lord have mercy,” he exclaimed,
“Mercy upon my soul.”
But he’d even stronger language
When it happened at the second hole.

He went on to complete his hat trick;
Such golfing must astound.
The only man in history
To achieve an eighteen stroke round.

Even Michael, who’d watched the whole thing,
Couldn’t quite take it all in.
“But … but … but …” he spluttered to God,
“Tell me, how will THAT punish his sin?”

A wicked smile traversed God’s face,
And he answered, “Extremely well.
You and I may know what happened
But who can Parson Brown tell?”

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

Note that both God and Michael have broad Yorkshire accents.

Frozen Fire (Republished)

FROZEN FIRE

Nursing scorched wings, you angel in disguise,
wondering gypsy with question mark eyes,
wandering homesick – no answers, no rest,
and for companions your demons at best.

What a rich,
complicated,
multi-faceted,
yin yang,
breathe-in-breathe-out,
unfathomable,
insurmountable,
irrepressible,
contradictory
being you can be being!

And being …

And being …

Projects smoke screens of promises and lies,
defends to the death, then later denies.
Flexible conscience, ethical mare’s nest.
Defensive? Fastest gun in the west!

And in the centre a wise,
silent,
calm,
watchful
I,
that sees it all
and breathes in
and breathes out,
without attachment
to the passing show.

And with detachment the fool becomes wise,
finds what never was lost. What a surprise!
Hidden in full view. Who’d ever have guessed?
Welcome, my angel, be welcome, be my guest.

Who was,
who will be,
and will only

ever …

simply …

be.

Cathedral

CATHEDRAL

How wonderful this architecture
Down the centuries enduring
Inspiring, heartening, overawing
Expensive though these cathedrals
In more than market value terms
And still begging for more if you please
Cath as in cathedral not cathar – no thank you
Indoctrinating generation after generation

How wonderful this architecture
As Europe some kind of torchbearer
Enduring both they and we
Inspired, heartened, overawed
Its worshippers trailing in the dust
Each down our allotted years
Striding, limping, tottering
Let massacre surround us

How wonderful this architecture
How romanesque the sleight of hand
Preaching persecution and crusade
Tolling for privilege, for tithe, for death for heresy
Cleaving definitive paths, signposts
This Way Heaven; Purgatory; Hell
Servants or sinners, sheep or goats
How few left any monument, mark

Never Pat A Burning Dog

NEVER PAT A BURNING DOG

Sundry faiths there are
Bickering over the words
Of a single truth

Own Goal

OWN GOAL

Somewhere out there I swear
Or else on reflection
Somewhere inside exists
That I am in search for