Preface
A collection of 'not quite' haiku inspired by Bart Marshall's "One Hundred Two Haiku" from his book "Verses Regarding True Nature."
Verses Regarding True Nature
https://versesregardingtruenaturemarshall.blogspot.com
One Hundred Two Haiku
https://onehundredtwohaikumarshall.blogspot.com
More from Wikipedia on Haiku and other poetry genrres that originated in Japan. In the 17th century, two masters arose who elevated haikai and gave it a new popularity. They were Matsuo Bashō (1644–1694) and Uejima Onitsura (1661–1738). Haiku was given its current name by the Japanese writer Masaoka Shiki at the end of the 19th century.
Haiku
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haiku
Translations of Ancient Writings by Bart Marshall
Ashtavakra Gita
http://theashtavakra.blogspot.com/
Tao Te Ching
http://theperennialway-taoteching.blogspot.com/
Bhagavad Gita
https://bhagavadgitamarshall.blogspot.com/
Yoga Sutras
http://yogasutrasbypatanjali.blogspot.com/
Dhammapada
http://buddhasdhammapada.blogspot.com/
The Book of Ecclesiastes
https://21ecclesiastesmarshall.blogspot.com
My (Not Quite) Haiku
Hot coffee on lips and tongue,
steams the glasses, too.
I draw another sip.
A garbage truck roars
down the rutted street,
its wake swirling spring dust.
Strolling down the sidewalk,
an oblivious youth passes a landscaper
intently mowing a strip of lawn.
In my patio, typing away,
a lone dove quietly feeds on seed
scattered maybe an hour ago.
Ninos said I should give him something.
A dilemma, until I finally found something
he didn’t already have.
John Williams in my ears.
A soundtrack to the universe
dancing and prancing all about.
On good and moderate days, I agape all things.
On an ill-tempered day, well,
let us not go there.
You want my love?
Then you must share it
with the rest of the mystery.
When was it I stopped crying?
When I saw the universe
for the dream it is.
This moment
is all I could ever imagine
letting go.
Three joggers pass by,
minding the social distancing
marking this modern time.
Drifting down the river of time,
I wonder at its mystery
and the falls ahead.
Can any cloud be more dark
than the stoical cynicism I bear
towards the dream dancing in my mind?
Sometimes I laugh hard and long.
Whether with or at,
I’m not telling.
The mailman cometh.
Netflix, bills, and all sorts of throwaways.
Santa Claus in blue.
The universe is an ever-mutating show of quantum design
how it came to this, how it continues on,
only fools imagine knowing.
What is there to transcend,
when the moment from which awareness peers,
is every figment you could yearn to be.
A long life.
So many agonies, so many ecstasies.
A new day underway.
At the sink, eyes closed,
I brush well-worn teeth.
What an immensity, that chasm.
Water, transcendent source of life …
… vapor … liquid … solid … back and forth with such ease.
Too boggling for words.
Love and friendship.
Hate and animosity.
Such tenuous intrigues.
Hands barely working, always painful.
Most everything else in a more gradual decline.
So far.
Adrift in the ether of awareness;
consciousness swirling around and about.
No destination known.
Had I known what I know today,
would have only made for another trail of discovery
in the helter-skelter of dreamtime.
Needs no longer an issue,
I delved into wants, and found them wanting,
and so was born a philosopher.
Walking the sandy beaches,
waves lapping and crashing upon the shoals,
toes feel the sea beckoning me home.
Left alone, I am my own device.
What need for any other?
I am rock, I am island, unto Self.