Francis Meyrick

My Zen hut rests upon rocks at the summit
clouds fly past and more clouds arrive
a waterfall hangs in space beyond the door
a mountain ridge rises like a wave in back
I drew three Buddhas on a wall
I put a plum branch in a jar for incense
the fields below might be level
but can’t match a mountain’s freedom from dust

Stonehouse (14th century Buddhist monk)

My hut in the sky

I never did attain
The solitude, the inner peace
Of a hermit’s mountain hut
hidden
With simple walls
A struggling roof
And blazing windows
That pour my gaze
Thirstily
Into a magnificent distance.

But yet
When I fly
And my thoughts
stream
I realize
I achieved
Somehow
My dream.

My hut
In the sky
With trembling walls
A vibrating roof
Spinning blades
And polished windows
Of perspex
That pour my gaze
In torrents
Sun whipped and rain scarred
Into
An unfathomable distance.

With the simple wheels
Of my small mind
I grope
Feelingly, yet numb
For Answers
To Questions
I have yet
To discover.

My hut
In the sky
The wind
In my face
The Light
In my eyes
The bounce
In my step

Francis Meyrick (21st century hooligan & blogger)