Do You Remember Me?

It was in the Year of White Clover,
When I first saw you,
Standing with little white flowers
Up to your ankles,
Among the Pinotage at Paarl,

The vines had accepted both
You and the clover,
As I watched your face
Rise and fall
Above the canopy
Like the Sun
That seemed to rise and fall with you,

I could never tell
As you stood there with
Your picking basket
If you were thinking of me
Or of the flowers
That caressed your feet,
The vines that stroked your hands,
As you took from them
The fruit that would become wine,

The Afrikaner did not know you
As I did,
A proud Zulu princess,
Only as a means
To further their business,
That they had developed
On our homeland,

The Afrikaner did not know me
As you did,
A proud Zulu warrior,
Until I challenged the overseer,
He took me down with one shot,
You covered me with your shawl,
Watching my blood flow,
Turning the White Clover red,
My River of Blood
Flowing into the roots of the vine.

Do You Remember Me?

When I saw you first on the list
It was as if
Your attraction
Was something ethereal,

I, of course, lowered my sword,
Made my destrier
Lower her head,
Then went to one knee
In your honor,

You rewarded me with your
Red scarf
Which I placed inside my breastplate,
No blood would flow
Through this armor,

I boldly asked your name,
“Magdelen”
Your reply
Sent my heart to heaven,
“I am your champion and warrior,
Your name is forever on my lips, Lady Magdelen,”

Then came the tilt,
with all Lords and Ladies attending,
Giddy with excitement and new love,
Like good wine
My blood did flow in me,

Until it found another place
To flow,
Out on the list
Where we first met,
Then saw each other no more,
Until now,
Where you have given me
Your red scarf.

Do You Remember Me?

We sat at the foot of Wu Dang Mountain
On the cold ground,
We shared some plum wine
Before I went back to the temple,
You feared for my life
As I did,

Now we have seen each other again
For the first time,
We look different but we remain the same
As we were then,
Under that blossoming cherry tree
So long ago,

Your gong fu is good
As is mine,
I watch you carry the tiger to the mountain,
The mountain that watched us
As we left each other
On that cold night,

In your eyes I see the Old Ones
Who continue to teach us to this day,
They look down from Wu Dang Mountain,
As they did
The night we made our vows
To see each other once more.

How To Spot A Winner

For years he put pennies
In a Jack Daniels gallon jug,
Not for savings,
Not just to get rid of the coppers,
But so he would know just how many
Pennies it would hold,
Now he goes around
To county fairs in Kansas,
Looking for his Big Chance,
Smug in the knowledge
That 2,372 is the magic number.

Collapse

The very act of observing disturbs the system.
-- Werner Heisenberg


The two cats wrestle with each other,
Better kung fu than Jackie Chan or Jet Lee,
Boxing each others ears,
Stepping back to ride the tiger,
Battling until the black one hides in a box,
The other eyes the box seriously for a few minutes,
Then goes to preening,
The silence and non-movement of her partner
Causes her to wonder,
Is he alive or dead?
She paws at the side of the box,
She moves around and meows,
Shaking her tail,
Ready to pounce,
Cautiously she puts her paws
On the edge of the box,
Lifts herself up
Sniffing and meowing,
Peering over the edge
To find it empty.

Death Watch

So your husband took an oath of celibacy
What’s that to do with me?
You said you would take care of me
Don’t you know what “take care of” means?
Or did you take me out of context?
The Bridegroom looks at his watch
Nervously waiting for the night,
The Bride?
She waits on her handmaidens,
Giving them flowers and laughing,
Knowing that her lover's watch has just stopped.

Looking For Lodi

We should be leaving for Lodi
For the Zinfest,
Instead, I’m sitting here looking
At a mirage
Like water on desert sand,

I should be going to my T’ai Chi class,
Instead, my room is filled with hazy smoke,
Where should I go?

I could go change some light bulbs in the Church,
Instead, I’m watching fireflies buzz around my head,
I’ve never seen them in the daytime before,

It is getting kind of dark, like dusk,
Except for a flickering candle flame,
When I stare at it
It burns steadily,

I don’t know where all of this whiteness
Has come from,
Everything is a vivid white,
I shut my eyes,

A brilliant red-orange sunset
Is now dawning,
The whiteness is all gone,
There is a swirling black spot appearing,

Everything is so black,
What happened to Lodi?
Why can’t I go there?
If I open my eyes
I should be there.

A point of luminous clarity
Tells me
There is no Lodi,
There is only light.

Living In Subdivisions

Moving from one to the other,
Routines stay pretty much the same,
Lines are drawn and then retraced,
Points are determined and then argued,
Everything is based on cadastral positions,
Ideas are planted in the phases of the Moon,
Dreams are harvested when the Sun goes down,
The Red Rectangle Tavern lies
At the fringes of the known universe,
A haven for those who are victims
Of old lines and different angles,
Taken in by cosmic shysters
Who sell houses with no land,
Take rights-of-way without asking,
Maybe your life
If you’re not careful.

The Myth Of The Idyllic Setting

The tree must be pruned just so,
The sand must be raked,
The tea served at the right time,

You are content when,
Within your own context
You control everything,

What you don’t perceive
Is that you are not oriental,
Nor oriented,

What you don’t know won’t hurt you,
Yet be aware that
Your perfection
Is someone else’s clutter.

Isn’t that stone out of place?

The Morphic Structure Of Dependent Arising

The loggerhead shrike impales its prey
On hedge thorns
Or barbed wire,
Then shreds the body
With its curvèd beak.

The logger’s pike
Penetrates the flesh
Of felled trees,
Wrenching them off
Toward the saw
That guts them of their heartwood.