Saturday, July 15, 2017

Haiku-like poems from A Samurai's Sunset Twisted

A Samurai’s Sunset Twisted 

as if sliced with a blade sunlit clouds bleed crimson twisted truth of pollution 

Kind then Cruel 

Paper leaflets rain down with less substance than the ashes of a butterfly -but their potential holds more weight than the half-life of two doomed cities. 

Early Blossoms, Early End (maybe)

in winter’s center
sakura grow happily 
global warming neh 

 A Dirty Closest in Fukuoka City: ( headline from a Japanese  newspaper)

Fukuoka City, the temperate 
princess of Japan's southern 
most island can seem an arctic Hades from the confines of a 4X6 closet. 

Arachnids and a Jazz Pianist at Blue Note

Fingers white like hunting spiders stalk across contrasting keys while blue notes fall on a bleeding stage. 

New Year’s Ritual 

Shinto shrine glows
torii gates blooded anew 
white hands washed of past  

The Denial of Existence 

in Copenhagen 
reality often fails us 
 just ignore and calculate* 

*Note: the extra three syllables are only real if you are observing this Haiku 

Tanka for a Sociopath 

Boy genius pianist? Maybe. 
Something in those eyes 
speak of mutilated puppies

in the basement.

Thursday, July 13, 2017

The Ronin of Chikusa Junior High

Black mood circus strangely absent. No Cherub faced glue sniffer wears his dark Prussian school uniform or dances down blood flecked hallways.  Did a rival’s blade find your throat?

Artificially compliant, you drift in with the late morning sunshine.  Greet Sensei with burnt out rusty waste pump eyes. Wago san, what blew your fuses today?

Militant is your nihilism as if you're Nobunaga’s hedonist offspring, though always hedged in by school rules and vigilant acne.


What mad dog anarchist revolution do you lead? So sorry, teacher cannot reach you. He no longer speaks your caustic pulsar language. Will you forgive this defeatist’s wash of hands? 

Monday, July 10, 2017

Kundalini Confusion

Kundalini Confusion 

I have no idea what to expect. Some Indian music plays in the background, a sitar, warbly singing, Mantras maybe. We sit in a circle on a large white couch. The Deeksha Givers ask us to close our eyes and relax or meditate. I’m in half lotus slowly counting my breath. I feel hands on top of my head. And then….. 

Wild blue ropes of energy shoot from my hands and the top of my head. Waves of heat cause to mildly convulse. Suddenly, involuntary deep breathing pulls the energy up my spine. The snake uncoils into spectacular visions; The Buddha’s contented face in gold, a rainbow pulsing from my solar plexus; the “I” melts into the indescribable. Calmness descends. Bathing in the knowing, I smile. 

breath deep this holy gift electric
 Dharma fires through 
blocks the path has opened

Seven months later and I’m still unclean. Anger Karma rages across the little groove I occupy in the Field. My spontaneous Kundalini Awakening has been full of contradictions. If this is step one where should my feet fall for step two? Am I supposed to sit on the edge of the Ganges chanting Mantras? Hard to do seeing as I live in Japan. Life goes on in this modern world. I don't have time to chase down a Guru. I’m left wondering, “What now?”

Life. Divine Mirth. 
Not laughing at it? 

Friday, July 7, 2017

Rice Age



At Hime station only the
elderly board the JR trains.
Youth has abandoned the toil
of the rice fields for the glitter of Tokyo streets.
They ride the train into an autumn sunset
comparing in whispers how much their
hands resemble the gnarled branches
of the passing cypress trees.
Cradled in the hum of Sunday trains
they dream in colors denied in waking hours
by cataracts and glaucoma. Bright leaves continue to fall
in memory. Only the red shift of August 6th
still attaches itself to tired retinas.

Thursday, July 6, 2017

Track Endings








Track Endings

“I should have ….” Ji ji sighs.

“Coward. You’d never do it,” Oba says.

“I’m no coward,” Ji ji growls.

The 5:15 roars towards them.

“Banzai!” Ji ji screams, living exactly 1.2 seconds.

Oba keeps a still face only smiling briefly when the first check arrives.


bullet train screams by
dust and porn mag pages swirl

morning departs quickly