The Gate of the Moon

Nowhere left
for the rain
to run to

   solar panels capture
   a dull grey sky

this hill
rising above
winter earth

   three hundred thousand miles
   reflected in a puddle

a quick burst
glimpses of red
waxwings scatter

   assorted woollen socks
   circle the rug

in awe of grammar
we follow the rules
we have never heard of

   the white Buddha
   mossy round his knees

the poetry master said
if you don’t understand anything
it’s all right

   how convert digital
   love to analogue?

while the clock ticks
memories chime
to a different rhythm

   a year’s worth of tears
   spilled before breakfast

she draws
small villages
when she’s lost

   the language of light
   tells the garden its season

how to be an artist?
invite someone dangerous
for tea

   the fox in Brian’s garden
   weighing his options

what we’ll see
when it’s all over
the gate of the moon

   seedheads of honesty
   waxy, translucent

the mouse carefully sniffs
the air outside
the opened trap

   budding black already
   ash branches, tips uplifting.

A Renga in Winter
at Harnham Buddhist Monastery
on 27th December 2012.


Ajahn Abhinando
John Bower
Chandra Candiani
Linda France
Geoff Jackson
Martha Jackson
Neda Popovic Bras
Christine Taylor
Posted 21.05.13

Posted: Tue 21 May, 2013