THE GIFT OF FLOWERS

We love when someone gives us flowers

And we love the mum, petunia, rose, or lily

Though knowing as we gaze on their beauty

That they will stay for many hours,–but only hours

 

Still, while they are in the vase

We take delight in the delicate pedals, scent

Like the gift of flowers, people in our lives are lent

A gift people are, a certain grace

 

We take delight when people are nearby

Yet the time we have together is uncertain

Long or short, impermanence is certain

People change, come and go, we meet and say goodbye

 

So the Buddhists say that enjoyment of friend, lover

Is dukkha—grief—suffering

Knowing the impermanence of everything

Gives the gift of delight and pleasure

For what it is, in friend, lover, or flower

The Measure

Catch anyone of us on a bad day

And you wouldn’t want

To make them your friend

Catch anyone on a good day

And you wouldn’t want

Ever to leave their side

If anyone of us were measured

By how big an ass we could be

We’d be jerks every one of us

If measured by how beautiful

We could ascent and shine

We would inevitably disappoint

Though there are some, very few

Who never seem to have a good day

Being good means more often shining

And less often having a bad day

Overdriven tones distort

And resonance can magnify, distort, even good tones

But silence isn’t the answer

It’s EQ, balance and refine–

It all comes down to the mix