The Buddhas Descend As Darning Needles

Friday, March 17, 2006
At bay's side by the refinery, late
After-light fumes, blooms, smoky-grey
Bunch grass going pale. Sun-charged,
The honeybees repose between jobs,
But briefly. Let's say wild roses,
Pulled through hours soundless,
Rose from that flowering decay
Of bay silt, of oil taint and mud
Light, to spread like a smudge from
A blue or a many-hued center as
Death, fed up with it all, looks away.
Thrown to a corner of torn cyclone
Fence, piled up, the pipes and valves
Rust — junk perched upon by the common
Egret, poised on her six perfect toes.
And you — it is just here you might — may choose
To wander a long time, through clutter
Of thought, the skull's domed pleasure
Garden — roofed today absolute blue.

For Linda Watanabe McFerrin



Rick Ballard said...

Finally, one that I am capable of understanding.

I think.

Although I admit to being a bit puzzled as to why the Buddhas are descending on Martinez.

Thanks, Jamie - I really enjoyed this one.

MeaninglessHotAir said...

It's great to see our Friday poetry section back on the air. Thanks. Keep up the good work.

Jamie Irons said...


The buddhas would hardly be the buddhas if they passed Martinez by.

After all, they have visited Benicia, have they not?

Thanks for your kind words.


Thanks for your support and kind words.

Jamie Irons