Bruised Mind

Be empty of wanton thoughts Of lifting the rusty anchor Buried in mud. Instead notice how the morning fog Lifts like eye lids, as the sun Peaks behind the hills. Notice how pine needles tremble As the jewels drop into The stream below. Notice how a chip monk freezes Standing on hind legs, And notice … Continue reading Bruised Mind

Preparing for Winter

Stacked wood stands tall Absorbing all sounds, But the fall breeze echoes One continuous line starting With “Way back when…” That binds us together. I feel like a sister to scavengers Of good earth searching for acorns Knocking doors, turning corners And scattering leaves. Rushing in the rustling leaves We are destined to knock the … Continue reading Preparing for Winter


The fragrant August hostas Blooming along the stone wall Bear good tidings-- There are still many warm days ahead Midst disrupted normal life In the year of pandemic. Scooping up water from the river With my cupped hands Wondering how rivers sweep Around the boulder Without disturbing its flow. Reflecting faces with smiles And twinkling … Continue reading Feelings

In Mid-Summer

The spring flirtation is gone by,  In the mid-summer cosmoses dance In the bright sun after downpour, Alliums fade, Day lilies count days Before the school starts. Between yesterday and tomorrow Today finds its way to move forward, In spite of the weight                                            Of shadowy yesterday— Scars marked with weal,  And nostalgic comfort of … Continue reading In Mid-Summer

Soul’s Pulse

           We are made of words.                  Scott Momaday Words to thoughts are Like winds to sail, Heidegger said;             Keep words well-trimmed to thought             Simple, honest, true             Sail stays close to the wind             The ship keeps her course. Common words, special words, foreign words Words of wisdom tell stories to be … Continue reading Soul’s Pulse

…Oink Oink…

They must be Orwellians Oinking their way to destroy The house of the unsuspected. Even the letter “M”, the thirteenth In the line-up of alphabets  Yielding power on the fulcrum—left/right Is afraid to precede the “oink” For the word becomes pointless. Hollow words should be extinct, But not in this uncertain climate, They keep on … Continue reading …Oink Oink…