This is a SHOUTING poem.

because there is no questionand there is no time(Robert Zimmerman,1960)

next to the sewer pipe;so I might hear in the morningthe casks delivered in the yardand in the eveningthe waters of contentment.*(Paraphrased from an Arab poem of the 8th century)

who will think first, and what?

don’t seek what former poets sought;see what is still and changeless;see also what is changing;be filled with the true nature of things – mountains, rivers, trees, grasses, falling blossoms, the scattering leaves,and, yes, humanity too, its true nature –and the universe will become your companion.So your solitude will be full of the universe;and you will…

the sweetest way to animate and orderall this glorious whole contains within?The Hindus have no doubt: a sound, a dance,were our beginning; every moleculeof Shiva’s body dances to the song;his soul the music of eternal rule:so should we dance our way through mortal life,eternal music in our inner ear;so make our life a flowing song,…

between a yawning whorehouseand a bar whose regularscan no longer remember its namethere’s a small door with the signBukoholics Anonymousit’s worth going into read the sgrafitiin the restrooms

that gives our pain such brute totality?so vital, that we almost love that pain(our faces sometimes radiant in grief) ,unwilling to let go pain’s absolute,since there, hides knowledge deeper than beliefof that sole absolute itself, the rootof all our being, oneness that we sharewith those with whom we sought our selves to prove?that pain, which…

to bow down, look up, to the Lord in youwhat more perfect, easy, pure,than to fill a ritualthat needs no thought to planwith all the heart may present offer; .to join my hands and bow my eyesthat see now only Him,raise them to see Him in you;only perfect then remainsnamaste

and to tell you, my darling, my angel, my beautthat I love every inch of you from your head to your foto

working on his statue of Krishnaand the chisel rings out on the stonelike a bell that wants to tell you something:the stone saying, I am perfectly made for this;the chisel saying, I am perfectly made for this;the sculptor saying, this is prayer;Krishna saying, I shall enter this.And I hear in the sound of the chisel…

the supermarkets will just buy elsewhere,we’ll hardly notice, apart from TV’s brief comment…This week, what of our organic vegetable bagwhose carrots are usually a joyful memoryof what carrots, pulled yesterday, used to, still can, taste like?– so this week, just one, huge carrot. The Great Survivor.Gnarled, a giant among the pretty, washed, and fashionable onessmiling…