Thirst

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Thirst

from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon


End of another week.

Solid-heeled in our walking.

Yet there is a fatigue

only resting-deep can remedy.

Resting-deep

as mountains after rain

before the song of fog sets in.

We step out the door

with all the invisible ‘ride-alongs’

who travel with us.

We fan out

scramble over rocks

hunt a soul-filled place

to sit with the half-moon.

To outside eyes you appear

as a solitary walker of green hills.

But the Immortals know you

and see you

hunting

digging deep

until you hit

that hidden spring

that’s waiting

inside you.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Navigating the Flow / Endless River / Roy Mattson

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Precision of Consciousness

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Precision of Consciousness

from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon | for brother Ryūzen


Written After A Late Autumn Evening Conversation With Dai Shihan Ryūzen


Through wavering veils of sound,

a coastal dragon from the far wooded north

a lowland dragon behind the courtyard wall

discussed the dreaming way of The Way.


Though there were times

when a phrase here

and a phrase there

were lost in the great reverberating distance,

one spoken sentiment proved resilient,

and shall be:

Precision of consciousness.



(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Receiving the Approaching Spirit / Folklore / Forrest Fang




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Only A River Now

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Only A River Now

from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon



I was sitting beneath the damp night trees

listening to their squeaking branches

in the breeze


— what one wizard in the North

called ‘tree-rubbing-tree music’ —


and there

in a place no more special

and no less than any other


I felt a supernova

start to boil

under my ribs.


The Teachers

had carried me

as far as they could.


I might as well

have been standing

at the same Western Gate

the Old Man used

when he departed the province

on that donkey.


The only teacher left:

the river of the Dao

in my own bloodstream.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Petrichor / Flora and Fauna / Roy Mattson

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What is The Way?

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What is The Way?

from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon



She asked:

What is The Way?


Like a new river

bursting forth

from an underground spring,

I heard myself say:

The path that leads

beyond disappointment

in a culture of the crestfallen.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Thunder Chord / Coyote Oldman

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Abacus of Expenditures

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Abacus of Expenditures

from an evolving collection entitled Sun Lake Moon



What a strange existence

we have fashioned —

clicking away the hours

hunched over a desk.



Hours made of minutes

we will wish we had spent

with loved ones once they’re gone.



Minutes made of seconds

that will become long flowing days

wandering through

the dreamland of grief.


(c) 2018 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Kailash / Tibet: Nada Himalaya 2 / Deuter

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