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