Hurricane Tail

The rain has moved on,
the floods subsided,
now left with the hurricane tail,
I walk along a roadway
because when,
when will I have this chance again
to experience such a day,
of steel blue clouds
meandering across the whitened sky,
of late summer buds upon the leaves
caught by the lively wind.
For a moment I hesitated
at the doorway,
then saw some young boys
happy in the wind,
and saw that time passes,
and never returns,
babies are born,
the young grow old,
people prepare for a career
and then retire.
So I walk with the wind,
and the sky and the clouds,
this day,
this moment.

About kesho

Kesho is liaison for new members and coordinator for meditation instruction at Heart Circle Sangha.
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4 Responses to Hurricane Tail

  1. James Jakudo Shammas says:

    The rains and their clouds move on.
    I am happy they have:
    There is much to do now:
    The basement has flooded,
    Stinking of mold and rot.
    There is much that is ruined and stained,
    Filth and wreckage to be hauled up and cleared.

    Though I spend rest periods
    Watching TV reports of the much greater destruction
    Right next door: the drowning of Paterson,
    the Passic river never stopping–never stopping–
    Reeking hovoc on those much poorer than me.

    And I ask–like Dogen might–
    “Can I understand the green river’s walking–
    Or the wailing winds roaring?”
    Have I really been there,
    Spreading my arms into all the crevices of Hurricane Iris,
    Meandering with my reaching arms to all places
    And people I need to go?

    Yes, just where am I needed at this moment?

    Thank you Kesho!

  2. Ellen Kesho Risbarg says:

    My dear friend
    who calls himself
    a reincarnation of Han-Shan
    in the twenty-first century,
    in a Catskill mountain cabin,
    stranded, without power,
    while below,
    in the towns,
    the torrents raged
    through the streets
    like a young girl
    running to meet her first lover.
    Yet, this was no girl and no lover,
    but destruction beyond destruction.
    An old woman in a hotel
    couldn’t or wouldn’t leave
    until the mighty waters
    overtook her abode,
    carrying her to her final resting place,
    a Holocaust survivor,
    someone wrote
    that what Hitler couldn’t do,
    Irene had done.
    How do we make sense of it?
    Now there are quakes,
    and storms, and floods,
    and dire warnings of credible threats.
    What will be next — locusts? darkness?
    The waters subsiding,
    will we come forth from
    this place of constriction?
    As the calendar turns,
    will we be renewed
    in this harvest season?

  3. Ellen Kesho Risbarg says:

    Will we at least extend a hand
    to one another?
    Will we at least listen
    to each other’s heartbeat
    as my cat Annie does
    when she snuggles up next to me?

  4. James Jakudo Shammas says:

    Hop! Plop!…Purrrrrrr!

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