On the sward today
Dustings of snow like whitewash
On an aged fence
On the sward today
Dustings of snow like whitewash
On an aged fence
Sometimes scenery
Is more what you choose to see
Than what meets the eye.
Once again, the sun
Is tardy in its rising.
Blessings of aging.
There he stands, agape
Trumpeting his trumperies
To that gilded horde
This Republic Day
Some in India decry
A dictator’s hand
It weighs on my mind,
My weight upon this planet.
Shall I reduce my impact;
Leave but a Buddha Footprint?
When fury rises
Over poorly chosen words
What’s a man to do
Why must hard work come
When we are the most fatigued
Rather than when we’re rested?
I crave the quiet
Moment to take pen in hand
Compose some small peace