sixteen ounc-
es of beer
in the fridge;
poured into
the goblet
each vessel
is fulfilled.
swallowed quick
fullness be-
comes empty.
zen practice
at its best
is alum-
inum poured
into glass
poured into
thirsty throat.
the cycle
repeats and
becomes bland.
here is where
Action be-
comes again
the simple
lightness of
Awareness
and Being.
—–
GJK
summer of 2008
the cup holds
six ounces.
microwaved
forty-eight
seconds it
becomes warm.
warm enough
to quickly
be consumed.
heat fills me
and the cup
is again
wanting fuel.
each vessel
is fulfilled.
coffee cup,
microwave
and the Self.
rituals
remind us
who we are,
for we are
nothing but
what we do.
Being is
mute concept;
Action is
appreci-
able truth.
——
GJK
summer of 2008
cigarette
becomes dead
as we live
its essence.
suicide
cancer stick
is fulfilled
as it burns
yet unlit.
funerals
packaged for
amusement
and conceit
always fail
to convict
illusions
of being
illusions.
cigarette
essence is
quiet med-
itation.
is simple
breath. we are
cigarette
when we halt
our mental
contortions.
———
GJK
summer of 2008
internal
combustion
engine revs
eighteen hun-
dred per min-
ute. she growls
and groans low.
she thunders
as she rolls.
transmission
of persons
thru landscapes
fulfills her
metal and
chrome being.
gasoline
feeds her thirst;
her engine,
well oiled, is
efficient
and graceful.
treat her well
and she will
get you there
ev’ry time.
——
GJK
summer of 2008
father,
they’re burning our forest down.
right here on highway 41
between my house and your house
they’re burning the forest down
to make way for a strip mall
or a gas station
or a chain restaurant
or some such piece of progress
so the shackers can roll thru
and feel as if they’d never left
their day-to-day lives.
giant yellow machines are hacking
and stacking our trees
into the largest bonfire i’ve ever seen
with my own two eyes
and it pains me to know
they’ve no regard for the hundreds
of thousands of creatures
they’re slaying with every
slash-and-burn
commercial start-up
or highway department project.
father, it pains me
that family farms are dead or dying
and i love that i was raised on one.
now, at 33, it may be time for me
to offer up a lesson.
smoke can teach many things.
you have no idea what it is to be a smoker
of tobacco, or of other things.
but i know you know this-
the speculators are killing us.
it’s an updated version
of the rape of this continent
and its peoples by those
whose names we are familiar with,
so the lesson is this-
we are new natives
and the global-corporate-machine
is the empire that has come
to rape, pillage, and plunder.
mercantilism in this century
pervades so much of the culture
it is difficult to see it as such.
they are here to exploit
every natural resource
(including every friend i have)
in the name of money
of progress
of war.
a dear friend you haven’t met
has a brother at war
who may never come back.
this is serious.
stand up with me for peace, father.
it was you, after all,
that first taught me
to turn the other cheek.
GJK
summer of 2008
i have so much
to be grateful for;
the luxury of free time
is not as common
as it should be.
i dedicate this poem to industry,
to the men, women,
and robots
who produced this pen,
this page
and the car i drive.
(i drive it too much,
gotta fix my bicycle)
i dedicate this to
all those who built this dwelling
in which i sit
on a hand-me-down couch,
all those who grew the grain
that i eat and drink.
this could go on forever,
this description of connectedness
this sketch of interbeing.
(if this guy uses the word COSMOS
i swear i’m gonna stop reading)
and that’s about the end of it
for now.
what else is there
besides life and death.
for me,
it’s this.
GJK
11JUN08
poems by GJK 