“The Bodhi Tree” by Dekklun Cuinn

AND the serpent rose

And hovered above his head

So that the rain

Not disrupt his peace

Nor the water

Dampen his spirit.

Buddha sat motionless

And let the world outside

Dissipate into a veil

Of timelessness and shadow.

And all cares of the world,

The struggles, the endless pursuits

Of material comfort,

The strain of labor,

The pain of human suffering

Came to be seen

As their true emanations.

The natural byproduct

Of the unexamined life.

And the Bodhi Tree remains

To remind us

What Buddha has left us.

And the Buddha is alive

In the branches and the leaves

And the roots that reach forever into the soil.

–Dekklun Cuinn

© 2011

“A Bag Of Holes” by Dekklun Cuinn

A bag of holes, a monument
of empty hours we carry to the grave.
That morning drive to work,
the man on the street corner selling oranges,
the streetlamps going dim to dark,
we recall nothing.
Our days are highlighted
by who or what is served.
When we arrive safely to our destinations,
what is shared and remembered over cocktails
and dinner conversations
seems somehow significant enough
to override all those lost hours.
And who knows,
perhaps the man on the street corner
exists or doesn’t exist, an echo in time
reflected timeless in your rearview mirror.
Photo & Poem by
© 2011

 

“B E R R Y M A N” by Dekklun Cuinn

 

For R.H. Deutsch

“sic itur ad astra”

The dog that leaves me behind

as a tail (wags)—the chorus girls,

all the great books & the stinking sea—

never notes the azaleas in bloom

nor differentiates the scent of winter from spring.

Life, friends, is boring, is an animal ache
we wish to bury like a bone.

(Henry grows a beard and gets himself

some medals & some grants).

We drink and dance, and dance and drink

our shadow-show as valid as any dog or cat

though accepting none of it as woman or man.

And all the great words of the masters

& all the gin-and-tonics of all the happy pubs

can ever alter that one dull and inevitable fact:

Henry never gonna know the whys nor the wherefores.

—Mr. Bones, no one ever does.

© 2010