Jackie Chan

People. Suh See Ok. 1988. On view at The MET Fifth Avenue. Gallery 233.

Kiai!

Kiai! is a real thing
A Japanese word
A shout– ichi
A battle cry– ni
A spirit focus– san
Not just protracted
Onomatopoeia or a yell in
Comedy-action sequence

Kiai! is designed for real life
Try it on– shi
Go! A holler that signals
Attack– jou-dan
Assault– tsuki
Let’s make it noble– roku
For purposes of this poem
Make it count– rei

Don’t hurt someone
undeserving– youi
What’s something in your
Life that you wish would
Dematerialize
Infinity in a kick, jab
What would you like to caterwaul
Into counter-offensive– gedan

Just know that when
You chop their solar plexus– chuudan
The center, they may be
More fragile than you imagine
Just a human heart– shinzo
In a suit of skin, sometimes
No breath returns–shichi
Hachi- Yame

Fumi Yanagimoto. Contemporary Artist. Painting.

Sushi

Get in my bell
You gorgeous cut
Of perfectly raw
Snapper and White tail
You delectable rolls
Of seaweed rice
Naked salmon
Perfectly nicked
Lemon save that
horrible cream sauce
For another palate
The best advice
Ever received regarding
Sushi is that if it’s good
No additives are the
Way to go
No unnecessary dressings
If it is perfectly toothy
Scrumptious sushi
Undecorated ditch the
Wasabi and Ginger
Eat it by the mouthful bare

Buddha, Chinese, early 7th century. Probably Amitabha. On view at The MET Fifth Avenue, Gallery 208.

Kali

She cradled my head in her hands
a portal opened to my heart

My body silently convulsed
at the chaos

The truth was I needed love
more than I needed life

I needed touch more than I
needed bread.

I needed tears more than I
needed water.

I needed someone who understood
breath, meditation, muscle, sinew

Connection, bodies, I needed
someone who understood

What being left felt like
I wasn’t yet beginning

To believe I would survive yet, I wasn’t able
to process the complexity

All raw edges and terrifying depths of memory,
I didn’t know I’d return from death

I’d come back into the sunlight, warm and
buttery on my chest, all senses awake

Breath Meditation N. 27. Thoth Adan.

Full Moon, Partial Lunar Eclipse, Pisces, September 2024

the earth comes between
the moon and the sun do you
feel energy shift

Lunar Eclipse. Ryan Moat. January 20, 2019.

Eschatology

Life took us to the edge of the known universe

this brink, this precipice, on a red dirt plateau,
all rust-verged and jagged,
like a tear in heart tissue,
like broken bone projecting through soft skin.

skin, bone, sinew often don’t break cleanly
so there, on that terrifying cliff,
we looked out into the blackness
and saw that it was our own

dotted with infinite, swirling stars,
nebulous arms of our galaxy, folded across
that night, that nothing. we realized
the instant we stepped to the fathomless limit

all the light we carried in our core could somehow
save us, from this end. So into the starry,
inky ebony we leapt, being careful to be
sure that we crossed over the boundary between

everything we’d known, into every
night we’d ever feverishly dreamed.
this jump, this real act of
self-preservation flung us into

the heart of the unknown cosmos
and there we were to greet ourselves
at the gates of our unknowing.
we opened the tiny, golden latch on the

impossibly large, swinging metalwork gate,
stepped slowly, quietly over the threshold of
revelation, everything open and waiting
for us in that pitchy gloam still had

to be sensed– felt, touched, tasted, smelled–
not physically, but by the fingers of
the formerly known soul that now
bore this greater knowing. this

was not the end but the beginning.
a larger excursus on the limitless
infinite than we had previously
known. we’ll never know if there

was only one way to this beginning–
the ledge, the leap, the jump–
our tiny, finite, blink of a guess gives us
the idea that, no, there are

many precipices, many pinnacles, many paths
to the infinite edges of the unknown into
new reaches of galactic consciousness–
seeing and knowing more than we

could possibly have imagined yesterday

Breath Meditation N. 22, Thoth Adan.

Sense

Poppies, West Yellowstone, 2021. Image, my own.

Hunger

I won’t make it. He said. With a seriousness beyond seventeen. I’ll seize up. Freeze.
I won’t be able to crawl on the ground to the escape exit, to climb the bookshelf
To project myself through the ‘hypothetical’ broken glass where the star
Quarterback threw the desk through the shatter-proof window. I won’t move.
He said. As his brown eyes swam in a sea of fear and knowing. Lean limbed,
Hair the color of a house wren’s feathers, sandy brown. Eyes knowing and wide.
I won’t make it.

Desensitization comes from experiencing the same thing over and over and over
So it comes as no surprise when there’s another school shooting many teachers
Parents students don’t even blink, we don’t even pause to take a breath, to wonder
What it would be like if someone brought a gun to our school, what would we do
Instead we slip over to social media to hear snippets of the aftermath, we read
A New York Times article that offers a couple more of the details of the shooting
We go to work early to prepare our lessons and students move through the hallways
Seemingly unaffected. But the reality is that we, as a nation, worship guns more
Than we worship human life. Isn’t that strange and sad. We worship a mechanism
Designed for death—to kill, to end, more than we believe in the sanctity of breath of exist-
ence. What are we afraid of?

You will. I reply. You’ll make it. I’ll pick you up. He was small enough I was pretty sure I could
Do it. I’ll pass you to the closest person to the window. We’ll jump through the shatters,
Shards of glass all over the floor and grass beneath my classroom. We’ll make it. You’ll make
It. It was the first time we’d really had to sit in the corner of the classroom, our back
To wall, practicing waiting die is one of the most cognitively dissonant experiences I’ve tried
Blood beating, pulsating, trembling in my ears. Cheeks hot, heartbeats rise. I won’t make it.
He said. And I knew that he was probably right.

Deer Creek Reservoir, Sunset, September 2024. Image, my own.

Wonder

Open-eyed
Glimmer
Smile that lifts
Every part of the
Human frame
Awe that creeps
Into cheekbones
That breaths
On lips ready
For uplift
Sacred tilt of
The head
Stillness of shoulders
Confirming
Listening
Sensing
Magic

Pasture Plus Cows and Wheel Lines. September 2024. Image, my own.

Bike
Pedal, pedal, push
Push, huff, huff, up, up, over
crest the tipy-top

Double Rainbow over Soldier Hollow.September 2024. Image, Corbin Wright.

Sticky

So these poems are actually micro-narratives. You can play with these at the kitchen table. I triple-dog-dare you. The premise is simple. Write a ten, 10, word narrative about yourself. Key: do not overthink this. This is such a fun little enterprise to play with in the 1010 intro to writing class I teach.

Micro Narratives. September 2024. Image, my own.
Micro Narratives in Tech. Canva. Image, my own.

Light

Cotton Candy Clouds, August 2024

Love

No one tells you that love and risk are synonymous.

This is a hard truth to bear in this world, I’ve found.

But people also don’t tell you that love comes in so many beautiful forms that perhaps the human tongue has never named or caressed or articulated them all– anima, amor, amatio, cupido, diligentia, ludus, eros, agape, pragma, philautia, zelo Love

Love forms the deepest connective tissues and threads of our psyche and souls– the circle that embraces us all, and this love is vast, sweeping, sublime, teeth– it is the sinew of the divine that runs through all living things. You Me.

It’s the why behind how washing the dishes and a sensual lie-in, lay in, lay on can be erotic. Simple.

That is the wonder of love. The musings that both bring us to our knees in gratitude as well as sorrow, pleasure as well as pain, transcendence and immanence. What shall we choose? Love allows us to stand at the edge of the universe of our knowing and unknowing.

Love

Set List from an Epic Music Fest, Ranch Rock III, 2024

Connaissances

Today my old life died
and my new life spawned

I had a tiny lump
in my throat

My stomach turned
a bit, and I

took a long, deep breath
through the pain

then I realized that I was
hungry for breakfast,

stomach grumbling, I went out
and ate and egg

Eden, Utah

Artist
You are the artist
of your soul, winsome and west
her and just so me

Gabrielle Dawe, Plexus 36

Ikigai

When you know things
When you understand and
Begin
to Evolve
and sure, you’ll
be erroneous again,
don’t forget that
there will always be
People
who will try to tell you
Otherwise
The sky is falling
for them, for sure
rather, Recognize that You
Know
that the sun is rising
You are not nothing
that you do
Exist
they are misinformed
Just as all the ideas
that have ever been flat
lines, no heartbeat

Crescent Moon, August 2024