Zen Doggerel

 

When Zen is – not
not – lotsa not, snot,
the raindrop that falls
from a whispered wind
-- don’t forget to mention yin
-- yang it baby, Dharma one!

It takes a mountain
a mountain
a mountain
a mountain
and again
to realize Zen’s a hen-
pecked, hackneyed cliché
of a shaman, warrior
lost in a mystic east,
Shoshone so phony:
another Wovoka, but dim
limited in scope, hope
lost – tossed in a spirit world
ghost dance
spirit chant.
What the fuck are we talking about?

It’s about time we recognize
when Zen is – not
not – lotsa not, snot,
when suddenly, on a clear day
the leaves flutter a breeze,
a Tathagata so quiet
the silent word reverberates
a Zen long forgotten, along
the trail of flotsam and jetsam,
the tale’s (or tail’s) doggerel.