Walk on the path that has no end.

“Two Butterflies” by Shibata Zeshin, 1880s, Japan

The kiss of a thousand stones, the kiss of tongue
On bone. The kiss that died on your lips.

The feel and taste of pomegranate, the touch
Of death. Even now, today.

Walk here, on the path of rose petals,
Walk on the path that has no end.

Walk here, where there is no path at all,
Only dry, fallen leaves beneath somber trees.

Where to go? Nowhere.
What to do? Nothing.

Accept this silence. Accept this kiss
Of a thousand stones. Quietly now.

james lee jobe

LINK: Poems by Lauren Scharhag on The Wild Word site.

Zazen at midnight,

The quiet mind, still at last- -

And then, a hoot owl.

james lee jobe 

Please support this blog with a small donation

through the the Buy Me A Coffee link
at the bottom of the page. Thanks.

by Itō Jakuchū, 18th century, Japan

The last poems are now first,
just as the first poems are now last,
even forgotten. Memory is like that,
as is time, as is being alive.
Yesterday? - Leave it be.
Tomorrow? - Might not even happen.
Today, that's where life is.
Today. Wake up, friend.

james lee jobe 

The Four Deuces, WPLJ

Politics is the entertainment branch of industry.

Frank Zappa

LINK: ‘Poetry gives me the chance to confess even when I’m not in the act of confession’: Poet Kiran Bhat

May compassion be part of our deepest nature.
Let it arise from our interconnection with all things.

james lee jobe 

Pablo Picasso, Peace Dove

Thanks for reading today's post here at the poetry zendo. You might consider supporting this blog with a small donation through the Buy Me A Coffee link just below. Many thanks, jlj