I. Pin~pon~pan~pon~

The Wabi Sabi Museum
Is asking the public
For donations
To help pay for
The new hardwood flooring
With which
All of the old, blotchy-coloured
Cracked cement floor will be covered


II. Pan~pon~pin~pon~

Two Thursdays ago
At around five pm
At the selfsame Wabi Sabi Museum
While it was quite busy and bustling
I overheard a woman say to a man:
“Most of the artwork here is walking around”

The man seemed to think for a few moments
And then typed something on his phone

Fifteen minutes later

Waking at dawn, you stretch and yawn
   and note your nightgown’s duller.
And what’s with the sheet and the socks on your feet?
  They’re not the usual color.

You drive to your place of work, and face
   a door, expecting to see
your name, which is Sue. But the sign says, “Lew.”
   Where could your office be?

It’s on the next floor up. Perplexed,
   you enter the room and freeze.
Why can’t you place a single face,
   each looking ill at ease?

Now back at your flat you see your cat

Plagued by incandescent ferments  I grapple zealously,
with tower blocks of titan topsoil myriads,
and melange of eccentric foibles,
considered by some to be  a minus,
but without this composite what is my real nature?
reflection on a manifest mettlesome being,
leaden skewed  traffic jam’s tailback of relative prospect,
normalcy a supernatural synonym,
apperception fringed by lambent twinkling,
that tantalising twirl of clustered countless spirits,
quirk-some inklings seem a weakness,
whilst chasing galaxy of plus point,

Zestful coffee beans
set this wondrous town ablaze
a mile long queue for
sip and snack indulgence
delving into morning  spark

In the midst of summer
Christmas lurks, it flits
in back of mind recess
it hardly ever goes away
despite the warm beach
sand, and family outing
under blue sky visual mirth
Christmas sounds, airs
and magic moments
that atmosphere so rare
the other seasons count
they have their own charm
but somehow Christmas
that inspiring beacon

After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

The sun, glowing, brighter than ever
A beautiful sight, eternal
Hoping it will be there forever
Penning this down in a journal
Hoping in a way, it will leave never

The sunset, the twilight hour
Where the sun meets the ocean
The golden light rains down in a shower
It is a mystical potion
The sun, blooming upon the sea like a flower