A Month of Teachings

Master MacZen compared enlightenment

to the flight of martins through a stable door,

how the bright and shade of plumage embodied

that birl from darkness to light.

And on another day he compared history

to bubbles in a pot of porridge, their pechts

and vanishings. Our mouths across each bowl

must cool that simmering, and eat.

And again he compared our love of illusion

to a hayfield waking from its rainstorm dream.

With tuggy hair awry, how feart that field looks

to the rising sun.

Written by James McGonigal.

Published in Jim's collection In Good Time, Red Squirrel Press, 2020, available from www.redsquirrelpress.com

Recent Posts

See All

The Trade

Son, today when I stare at my cupped hands I remember how as a calf she suckled my fingers; that sticky trickle of her rough tongue, how she would follow me around the pen. Later as a heifer, the ener

Hrabal in Dumbarton

Hrabal in Dumbarton and Ballantyne's a cinnamon brick amongst the drab unasked-for grey, a half-drunk figure facing eternity and death. How like the town he drives through? How distant now from the po


Here's a skin to begin to win on - taut wi da tug o aathin du nivvir lairnt. Here's a fraem ta hing a future on - nekkit ta winds at blaa nae annsirs. Here's a cushion ta faa, ta faa ta watch rushin u