Zen Poetry 2

South of my house and north – all spring there is water.
Day after day I watch flocks of gulls return.
Fallen petals on my path are never swept for guests,
And only now is the thatched gate opened – for you.
Food so far from market must be simple;
The wine in this poor house is home brewed.
If you are willing, we’ll drink with my old neighbor.
Let me call across the fence before we drain the last cup.

– Du Fu

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Wicked Wonderland Empire

Life and times of a Buddhist trans woman.

Dizzy yet?

I know I am...


through the darkness there is light


It's like The Matrix — only without body harvesting and bullet time. Its ubiquity makes it almost invisible. Almost. We can see it, and we will explain what it looks like.

The Pink Agendist

by E.B. de Mas, reachable at: pink.agendist@yahoo.com

Staked in the Heart

Not A Safe Space

%d bloggers like this: