Saturday, August 16, 2014


Sitting on the front porch
In my chair 
It's comfortable here 
Day is nice 
Not too hot 
Not too cold 
Beautiful breeze 
No obnoxious wind 
Neighbors are quiet 
No yelling today 

Sitting on my front porch 
Very zen 
Trouble is . . .

I know 

If I open that door,
That front door, 
There are things to do in there -

More things to get done 
Than I can possibly do -

Dishes probably sitting in the sink 
Waiting patiently 
To be washed 
Dust on things 
Waiting patiently to be 
Floors to sweep 
Stuff - to be . . .
     Something with ?
Not to mention paint and plaster and 
Other mysterious things 
Like backs of closets 
And bottoms of laundry bins 
( bin currently buried by 

And so I contemplate 
How long can I legitimately 
Stay here . . . ?

If I 
Camped out 
In the yard 
I would never 
Have to 
Go in there -

I have heard that 
Gypsies sometimes 
Do that 
Leave the house empty 
And live in the
Yard -
Excellent idea there -

The postman just came -
Delivering bills 
Ruining my 
Zen-like mood 
And I'm getting hungry -

Gee -



Tango dancing last evening 
Latte this morning 
One would think I lived in 
     Here . . .

Very scary and invasive 
Medical test coming up 
And how 
To pay for it ???

Paradise is balanced by 
     Other things 
So they say 
     Is the way -

Taoists believe 
That the center of things
Is the best place 
To be 

But the winds of change 
Blow a gale 

So to bend like 
And not to break
Would be the thing 
To do 

Within the moment 
Is contained 
The flitting butterfly 
The ocean breeze 
The lack of things 
To do 

The seasons change 
Is just 
Beginning here 
(Gotta get the old heater fixed) 
But I must remember this 
This moment 
This way of being 
Has more to recommend it 
Than most