Friday, May 11, 2007

p

The Compassionate Saint
 
Sitting here late into the night
working at the poems, i get up and
go to the kitchen for a drink of water.
 
I turn on the light and there he is,
one of the giant roaches which
come with the territory of Arkansas.
 
All of a sudden years of spiritual practice
sitting on the meditation cushion in the morning dark
sends a rush of compassion through me and
 
while the world is in flames, nations
are bombing one another, terrorists are
strapping bombs to their bodies and walking
 
into crowded cafes,
pullin the pin without remorse, and
brutal tyrants are crucifying the innocent
 
in the name of whatever gods are
currently most useful to them,
i let the roach scurry under the toaster and
 
i do no pursue it for the kill.  And
i used to think that meditation
was not useful.
 
    red hawk

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