No matter where I go, I’m always going home

Hang on. There are no disappointments or calamities that tomorrow will not cure.

It’s a dreamy day, a slight dusting of the snow;
The cats are snuggly ensconced on the couch.
On a day like this, I love listening to Rod McKuen.
A writer, a poet, a singer.

I collected so much of his poetry books.
Read and reread it
Pages earmarked on some
Scribbles on the pages of the book
Names of people who I can relate to the poetry
Most of these people are long gone from my life.

Rod kept them alive through his poetry.
It’s kind of silly to keep the memories of the past
And the weight of this is a burden for most times.
I wish I could carry it with a smile just like Buddha
Life doesn’t work out that way, one must let go.
Letting go of the memories starts by letting go of the books.
I gave away all of Rod’s poetry books.

Now I am going home.

“Home is something that you carry in your head
It lives within your heart forever.
And so I know no matter where I go in life
I’m always going home.”

Thanks be to the earthworms.

I must have been a Buddhist in my previous life. For the life of me, I cannot harm any insect as I gain consciousness that they are sentient beings, too, just like me.  For one, they are the best gardener.  They toil the earth and that’s all they do.  A single act that causes the garden to flourish.  So, when I see an earthworm that lost its way, I make sure that I move it to the earth and grassy spot where it can burrow itself into the ground.

Aren’t you glad at least that the earthworms
Under the grass are ignorant, as they eat the earth,
Of the good they confer on us, that their silence
Isn’t a silent reproof for our bad manners,
Our never casting earthward a crumb of thanks
For their keeping the soil from packing so tight
That no root, however determined, could pierce it? 

Imagine if they suspected how much we owe them,
How the weight of our debt would crush us
Even if they enjoyed keeping the grass alive,
The garden flowers and vegetables, the clover,
And wanted nothing that we could give them,
Not even the merest nod of acknowledgment.
A debt to angels would be easy in comparison,
Bright, weightless creatures of cloud, who serve
An even brighter and lighter master. 

Lucky for us they don’t know what they’re doing,
These puny anonymous creatures of dark and damp
Who eat simply to live, with no more sense of mission
Than nature feels in providing for our survival.
Better save our gratitude for a friend
Who gives us more than we can give in return
And never hints she’s waiting for reciprocity.

 

Worms by Carl Deniss

A moment of love

Homeward bound
On a cold windy stormy day
The train is half empty
At noon time. 

Moving on. 

Next station,
Two teenagers
Sat in front of me.
Male and female
Young, maybe 14 or 15
Shoulder to shoulder
They snuggled. 

Head kisses
Shoulder kisses
Starry eyes gazing
At one another.
Whispering, maybe about
Sweet nothings. 

Second station.

Another two teenagers
Again, male and female
Maybe in their early twenties
Sat in front of the
Younger teens. 

Nose kisses
Butterfly kisses
A peck on the lips 

Seeing these
From behind
Makes my heart
Grow fonder.
To see the youthfulness
Of innocent love
Maybe infatuation. 

Next station, central
Both teenagers
Disembarked.
The seats lay bare
Empty
Nobody took over
No more young lovers. 

Alone
in my thoughts
Feeling happy for them
Love lingers 

Next station,
my stop.