Archive for the taoist Category

haiku (11MAY17)

Posted in best of GJK, haiku, poems 2017, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , on May 11, 2017 by GJK

vivid stained-glass pales,

sun saps slight, frail pigments – HA!

vitality fails.




habit and rancor

Posted in best of GJK, for Calvin Grandaw, for Jingle et. al., humor, New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2017, prose, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 16, 2017 by GJK

GJK, 16MAR2017


habit and rancor’

hello, predictable. hello, habit. hello shitty diner coffee

that i do so love with every fiber of my mortal being, every mote

of the ephemeral essence that is not me, yet, in truth, is entirely

me and you and every living thing that ever was and ever will be (which means nothing because time is a fiction) and because, as we have learned and understood for eternity — time is not real.

conversely, timelessness is also not real. confusion enters

the mind and sugar is stirred into the ‘brackish black liquid’

and down my gullet it goes and once again i proclaim:

Sentence structure be damned to the deepest bowels

of the most foul, vile and wicked lake of fire

that sentience itself has ever imagined within

the rancorous confines of earthly existence!

YAWP! grammar, to hell with thee! freedom, expression, caffeine! exaltation and liberty!

* * *

ignoring all

Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, no-mad poets, poems, poems 2017, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 9, 2017 by GJK

i sit contentedly ignoring all that surrounds

and focus only upon the internal realm

of consciousness in all its infinite, formless

and unknowable grandeur.  i am beauty and ugliness,

i am order and entropy, i am all

and i am nothing.

i laugh aloud and startle my neighbors in this common room

of this public house.  i alight from my overstuffed chair

and exit abruptly to smoke that cigarette

that awaits me in the shotgun seat of my own truck

and damn it is wonderful.

the sun shines on the smoke

and i disappear




i type with four fingers

Posted in New Poems, no-mad poets, taoist, Uncategorized, zen with tags , , , , , on January 3, 2017 by GJK

and that is enough.

the others work well enough,

but with four my mind has time to float

a bit

yet remained tempered by focus

as sharp as a bushido blade.




the idle mind

Posted in New Poems, poems, poems 2014, taoist with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 23, 2014 by GJK

the idle mind worms its way through reality

ravenous for something meaningful

to which to attach itself –

it tunnels through the sludge of a hundred billion

useless manifestations laced with hate and greed

and envy and sickening blindness and its hunger

twists into pervasive loathing and bitterness

but a purity remains at its center,

a nucleus tethered to the origin

of all things, and that center

begins to consume the poisonous infiltrations

that have ravaged the idle mind.

the mind then stops searching, stops besmirching itself

with the toilsome and treacherous mire

of perception of the external.

nothing in the world can be changed

is the realization that arrives

in a thunderclap and the mind is shattered

leaving only that subtle center

and its innate desire

to manifest love




every thing

Posted in best of GJK, New Poems, poems, poems 2004, taoist, zen with tags , , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2014 by GJK

every thing is a song

but not all songs are of beauty

and every thing named beautiful

is at best fleeting.

joy is everywhere

but we must cease

to be ourselves

to let it in

and this is no tragedy

because if we can be free of self

then we can become joy.

sorrow is coupled with joy

existing equally everywhere

and when it overtakes us

then also we cease to be

our selves

and this is only proper

because when full of joy and sorrow,

when severed from self,

we become pure.







Posted in New Poems, poems, poems 2012, taoist with tags , , , , , , on August 26, 2014 by GJK

my death is in this cigarette

in this pouch of coins that clatter

on my way to the source

to score another forty grams

of satisfaction that chokes away

my breath as it stokes

the fire within, the conflagration

that holds the jackals at bay.

my death is in the sun

in my reddened skin

in this darkening mole

in this furrowed brow that squints

through the incessant glare

as temples thunder and quiver

and pupils shrink from moons

to flagpoles.

that stained glass there is my ruin

is forever sleep

and this cup here is false awareness

is fake awakeness

but i have made my choices.

i light up in my lot

and reach the bottom of the hill

at the edge of downtown

before the last drag hits my lungs;

each footfall is a day i have lost

to recklessness and joy

timidity and sorrow

lust and debauchery

and ascetic deprivation.

each footfall is

an hour

a minute

a street

a tree

a river

a stone

a person

my death is in these shoes.

my death is in this cigarette

this coffee

this plastic water cup

these exhaust fumes

this asphalt

this carpet

this pillowcase

this television

this phone

this computer.

my death permeates every bone

of my brittle frame.

my death is my only certainty

so i’ll have another smoke

another coffee dose.

the wine i have left behind

because i want to be awake

when i die.

my death is in everything that i touch

so where then is my life?

i would say that now it is with you,

but hell, i have presented you with nothing but

facets of my demise.