The Zen Master Accounts for Himself


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The Zen Master Accounts for Himself

 

I’ve climbed a mountain of knives.

Ignored, except by local friends,

into each night, I persisted.

 

There was an owl.

There was a scratching at the side of my house

that could only have been a water rat.

 

I counted pennies

and longed for gold coins.

 

It was difficult to hear my voice

among so many others of my time.

 

There was a stone fence I stared at.

Buddha statues cast shadows

far across my living room.

There was the constant small pain

of the never quite well.

 

I knew the daze I lived in was a daze

yet could never quite shake it.

 

Often, I’d start out, then head back in.

 

Each night, the moon climbed the sky.

 

-Dick Allen

                                                         On Barcelona

Categories: Poems & Photos

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