There was this guy who had a card table

 

February 5, 1970  (I was 25)

 

There was this guy who had a card table

set up in the mall of a shopping center.  He had a cardboard

box with some kittens in it.  A marking pen sign said

FREE KITTEN –If you promise to give it a good home.

Another guy with a little girl asked about a kitten.  The

first guy asked if he gave his word of honor to give the

kitten a good home, so the other guy says, yes.  Well the

first guy just holds the kitten and says, “Say it.”  The second

guy turns red.  Then he smiles and says, “I give you my

word of honor, the kitten will have a good home.  He took

the kitten and kept on smiling as he left with the little girl

holding his hand.

 

Buddha Masque #1

 

from this week in September, 1991  (I was 46)

 

Buddha Masque #1

It was for him intense incomparable struggle

filled with desperate confusing thoughts

and shadows overhanging his beleaguered spirit

He has no set form

yet can manifest all forms with any attributes

The moon appears over the city the village the mountain the river

He sometimes appears the incarnation of evil

may be woman god king or statesman

The fourfold noble truth opens the eye

the Truth the Cause the Cessation the Path

Beyond suffering are the Eight Rights

Ignorance and greed are desires of blindness

Impermanent ego, nothing is thine

Yang and Yin

 

from this week in July, 1970 (I was 25)

 

         Yang and Yin

I’ve crept before along the ocean shore

and wondered there across its sloping floor.

Many a time I swore its pulsing brine and blood

of mine were one, union of mother and son.

Yet, that notion is an earthly bond of elements,

and deeper than its deepest reach

thoughts breach like discontented spirits

who grope toward steeper slopes, like bubbles

bounding from sunken fountains, ever whispering

“up the mountains, up the mountains.”

Give your coins to the beggar

 

January 22, 1978. (I was 33)

 

Give your coins to the beggar

Who greets you as you enter the city

It is not good to arrive with the curse of the outcast

The city does not feed him

So he taxes the visitors

He has remained a stranger here

The spare change that separates you from him

Acknowledges your momentary brotherhood

Proceed directly to the place you are welcome

What is Cold Mountain

 

December 30, 2014  (I was 70) 

 

The name of the Chinese poet, Han Shan

(writing circa 760-800 AD), translates as

“Cold Mountain”.  The name refers to the poet,

the place he lived and the state of mind expressed

in the poems written in his cave there.

 

What is Cold Mountain

Han Shan is high land under all light

gold land beneath the sun

silver land below moon and stars

It is your name when you are there

your attitude when you are not

Begin with attention to breath

the odor of the air always there

scents come and go upon it

sound of current flows in and out

feel expansion and contraction

sensation of its temperature and force

aromas that entice the tastes

and shiver the skin

dilated pupils let colors in

awaken awareness of being

within the swirling gasses

Brief but steep is the way 

from there the path

downhill to everywhere

The Florida sunshine tree

 

December 22, 1969  (I was 25) 

 

 The Florida sunshine tree

(so says the kid who saw it on t.v.)

is really God (or one anyway).

And he’s right.

Christians of American variety

are polytheistic

and we should be

after all, we are a wealthy nation

and can afford many gods.

Back on the wheel…(from Harangutan)

 

December 11, 1994  (I was 50)

 

   Back on the wheel…(from Harangutan)

I’ll be back on the wheel again next time

The wheel has been fortune and chance

turned Germany into France

wheel of solar rotation and corporate notation

the wheel of dance

I’ll be back in summer, spring, winter, fall

Back when front turns round and back again

consumer consumed

probably have to poison a few things to become pure

But I will be back on the wheel again

the wheeling arc of the vulture enskyed

later rebirth than the young soldier what died

Good thing I spent all that time in Keewatin

It’ll take a long time in Kona to get me up there again

Heavy iron studded tires

snow tires  Back on again

Back to the vision back to a dream

to a melting pot amalgam of every precious hot metal yet to take the mold

I don’t think there’s a script  Scriptures were written here

But back to the subatomic dialogue of self to Self

back to the sound of the gears of the universe

humming behind the ears

The house has become a terminal

 

from this week in July, 2004 (I was 59)

 

The house has become a terminal

with homey conveniences but a shortage of parking

Who’s in for how long and where are they going next

Time enough to get some laundry done

but not enough to schedule electrical repairs

Feed the cats and keep them in the hanger at night

It’s the little things you can’t do half a hemisphere away

There the picture appears larger

in wider perspective and broader citizenship

We find ourselves in closer proximity  

There are certain waves of bad stuff

 

from this week in July 2013  (I was 68)

 

There are certain waves of bad stuff

you have to personally wade into

to get caught up and carried off

You have to make a conscious association

know on some level at least you are

on the periphery of vulnerability

So you thought you kept your distance

and only saw the bad stuff on TV

But the web of association vibrates

and the pulse in the current carries

the ripple of every stone

that strikes the surface of the grid

Associates from work die of cancer

jogging heart attack car wreck

suicide by gunshot by hanging by pills

Drunken uncle in mangled car with prostitute

Even living in a serene wooded enclave

Neighbor on one side

put a shotgun to his angry chest

Neighbor on the other side

sentenced to death then commuted to life

in San Quentin at the age of twenty-three

Threw a dope deal informant

off the San Mateo Bridge

Most recently we hear friend Chris

whose volcano remained dormant thirty years

moved to Thailand to go to jail

He drunkenly ran his pick-up truck

into two young girls on a scooter killing one 

I leave out personal stuff

and I’m serious when I say

my life has been pretty normal

pretty suburban middle-class fortunate

it’s just that we start life

with such crock of shit expectations

the actuality can take us by surprise

I watch migrant workers tending crops

 

June 12,1972  (I was 27)

 

I watch migrant workers tending crops

row upon row they are bent over

strawberries cauliflower or cabbages

They arrive in buses condemned by state schools

The fenced fields are crowded by housing developments

Beyond the chain link is an apartment swimming pool

The last furrow borders a shopping center parking lot

These will be the final seasons here

The sun bakes dust  The workers wear straw hats

and neck cloths  Eight sheds with screen doors

stand in the center of the dry acreage  The bus

is parked there  The workers move

up the rows without straightening their backs

Local women wheel produce from Safeway

to their station wagons  Cars laugh by and leave fumes

If I stand here long I’ll feel suspect and dizzy

I can’t quite believe the mix  Business as usual

This small discipline

 

May 26, 1974  (I was 29)

 

This small discipline

The little monk

kneels in sealed rooms

to pray away various dooms

 

He expects enlightenment

He expects a vision to shatter his brown world

a gift of tongues a voice of fire

He chants the sun and forecasts rain

 

What is this practice of limited ingestion

these weeks of rice and lettuce and cheese

this fine attunement of visceral media

manipulating wavelengths of the nervous system

 

What is this small carpet from which to see the world

this drifting lily pad this flying prayer rug

from which to flick a sticky tongue at sustenance

Ritual diet floating in the middle of a ripple

Sunrise Litany

 

March 30, 1976  (I was 31)

 

         Sunrise Litany

At dawn someone always comes

to the church on the corner

the only one coming this morning

to climb each small step up to the heavy door

which holds the odor of prayer inside

the first to echo down the long aisle

the first to see which candles expired in the night

the first to dent the kneeler

the first to ask forgiveness

the first of the congregation to dampen a veiled forehead 

breaking into a sweat for the Lord

It is the imp in the bottle the embrace of leprosy

 

from this week in February 2013  (I was 68)

 

It is the imp in the bottle the embrace of leprosy

Empathy is to fade upon seeing the faded

an ability to hear the words of the dumb

It is to choke on the gasps of the dying

to smell the funeral in a bouquet of flowers

to taste the taint of mother’s milk gone sour

the regret in the burning of a flag

to disintegrate in the corruption of an idea

Obviously empathy goes a bit too far for me

 

Skipping Rope

 

February 6, 1970  -used year 1 &6  (I was 25)

 

         Skipping Rope

…one and two and three and four

Teddy, Bobby, Jack and me

went to town in dungarees

 

Bob said he said, “I said Jack”

and Teddy fell and hurt his back

 

Jack I saw seesaw and sob

and I the job and we saw Bob

 

A wave from the train far down the track

and Teddy fell and hurt his back

 

Teddy, Bobby, Jack and me

went to town in dungarees

one, two, three, four…

There was this guy who had a card table

 

February 5, 1970  (I was 25)

 

There was this guy who had a card table

set up in the mall of a shopping center.  He had a cardboard

box with some kittens in it.  A marking pen sign said

FREE KITTEN –If you promise to give it a good home.

Another guy with a little girl asked about a kitten.  The

first guy asked if he gave his word of honor to give the

kitten a good home, so the other guy says, yes.  Well the

first guy just holds the kitten and says, “Say it.”  The second

guy turns red.  Then he smiles and says, “I give you my

word of honor, the kitten will have a good home.  He took

the kitten and kept on smiling as he left with the little girl

holding his hand.

There is always a road we've not been on

 

from this week of January, 2020  (I was 75)

 

There is always a road we've not been on

just off the route we travel daily

A byway like a gravel trail we never took

until today showed its need

Not quite sure exactly where it goes

but we've been before

familiar with the unfamiliar

bumped through mud ruts

and chained across snow and ice

Afterwards snickered at our ignorant luck

to learn enough on the fly

to give another strange path a try

a different direction to get unstuck

or if needed to call a truck   

There is always a road we've not been on

 

from this week of January, 2020  (I was 75)

 

There is always a road we've not been on

just off the route we travel daily

A byway like a gravel trail we never took

until today showed its need

Not quite sure exactly where it goes

but we've been before

familiar with the unfamiliar

bumped through mud ruts

and chained across snow and ice

Afterwards snickered at our ignorant luck

to learn enough on the fly

to give another strange path a try

a different direction to get unstuck

or if needed to call a truck   

The way is backward

 

October 31, 2013  (I was 68)

 

The way is backward

along a mobius pass

What was walked outward

forward is now the inner path 

I was seen now I see 

I was heard now I listen

what was smell is now aroma

I was touched now I feel 

I had tasted now have taste

no where is the tunnel there to here

 

When the way is icy

sharpen skates

When the way is hot sand on bare feet

walk at night

When the way is uncertain

sit and breathe

When the way is billowed fog

welcome home

When the way is lit by stars

admire the kingdom

When the way seems overwhelming

be inattentive

 

HALLOWEEN TREAT!  johnkallio.com

Go to AUDIO page, List to my rendition of

Aquainted With The Night  by Robert Frost 

The way is backward

 

from this week in October, 2013  (I was 68)

 

 

The way is backward

along a mobius path

What was walked outward

forward is now the inner path

I was seen now I see

I was heard now I listen

What was scent now is aroma

I was touched now I feel

I had tasted now have taste

No where is the tunnel there from here

What we have we have to give

 

from this week in October, 2006  (I was 61)

 

What we have we have to give

Greed is a seed that will not digest

No platitude can survive

the cynical appetite of gluttony

We eat each other out of fear

that we will be eaten

 

What value resides in the currency of the past

A few collectors pay quaint dollars

for essays on morality

written a hundred fifty years ago

when the land on which we stand

knew no one like us

 

The dream the adult tries to realize

is out of date before the attempted fact

before the bewildered eyes of his child

to whom the symbolism is obscure

The context inaccessible

as stilted dialogue from an old movie

 

Better to offer the silence

hidden beneath all our progress

in the depths of a cave or mineshaft

or under the weight of water

or within the darkness of space

unoccupied and un-interpreted