Eventide (Tanka)

Hours without forethought

Shushing ocean tempered calm

Moon licks the clouds dry

Those nights watching the stars wake

Your hand resting in my own


50 Word Stories: Time To Think

Drivers race up and down the street as though late for their own funerals. Carry on and they won't be. The world's in such a rush. Everybody's doing nothing quickly. I watch from the rocking chair my grandfather made when people did instead of didn't, sip tea and consider things.


In the quiet times
When the stars spill into infinity
And black takes on darker hues
A settled obsidian
Silence becoming so loud
It reaches such crescendos of nothingness
That even an eyelid closing
Sends ripples throughout forever
Where waves echo through time
Through all that was and is
Perhaps, even imprinting on what will
Though of this, I can’t be sure
And all those seconds
All those multiplicity of moments
Of absolute clarity attainted
Lie shattered, broken
Smashed into forgotten dreams
A million lost silences
Then, and only then
It is a new breath which resets the balance
Redresses the cosmic scales
To restart the fine filigree of perfection
Again, and again, and again

Soundless Beauty


In flowing arcs and dramatic, sloping wonderment the Buddhist temple beckoned. I’d expected a more muted home to those peaceful men with their simple robes and universally shaved heads. But it was none of this that captured me, the ancient glory, the all-knowing wink to a quiet religion, but the single lotus flower that sat in repose in a basic clay pot. I’d never seen such understated beauty, nor would I again as a petal dropped to the floor in silence. My zen calm shuddered.

Time moves on regardless of whether anyone hears it.