April 4-7, 2018

2. Poems
Sutras
Aphorisms
Laurence Musgrove
Angelo State University

3. Permission
Enough with the plans already.
Take down the target practice.
Throw the calendars out.
Cancel the reservations.
Stop and rest for once.
Sit with the photo albums.
Find out the names of those
Who waited for you to be born.
Ask around if anyone remembers
Whose smile you have.
What is the distance between
You and Grandmother now?
How many years ago were you
Already in everyone alive?
Look behind you at who it
Took to carry you this far.
You have permission to
Start over until you get it right.

4. The Monarchs
for Mary Ellen
I for one know what I say isn’t new,
But I say it all the same when it bears
Repeating that the only shame we feel
In being ourselves comes from our own kind.
Not from this big sky today nor the tree
That sits under that sky nor the squirrel
Racing after another squirrel around
That tree under that sky wrapping us up
Shameless like the rest of the world we got
Handed to us freely and without gain
To itself in the bargain it gave us.
The monarchs winging it to Mexico
Have no idea how much we cheer them on.
The cricket no ear for our tired old song.

5. Natural Disasters
This is probably the last watermelon of the year.
Not bad though for October this close to the border.
I’m in the backyard with my pocketknife,
Sharing slices with the dogs.
It’s Friday. It’s homecoming. Somebody has to lose.
(How long will this be stuck in my heart?)
In the tree above me, a squirrel dines
With a different sense of weekend than me.
Twilight has a simple vocabulary.
Goodnight and good morning.
There shouldn't be this many mosquitos tonight.
I wish I didn’t have to go back inside.
We are designed to miss what can't last.

6. Ready for Tears
The ghosts of your dogs
Have come to comfort you.
Tonight you are in bed
Earlier than most nights.
You were ready to turn in
Just after dinner and dishes,
So you decided to kick off
Your shoes and fall into
The sheets and pillows
And covers fully clothed.
The sadness and ready
For tears is coming quickly,
And the ghosts of those
Who knew how to curl next
To you when you needed it
And those who guarded
The door are arriving now.

7. Still There
When you run your hand
Over your dog’s long back
And rub her ears and grab
A paw and shake and take
Your thumb and press soft
Between her eyes and down
Toward her nose and then
Scratch up under her neck,
And how she walks so well
Next to you down the street,
The curbs and tires she sniffs,
And how she waits for you
To get in bed to curl up tight
So you can put your hand on
Her again, and when you put
Yours in the hand of a friend
You meet, it’s all still there.
Your hand gets to collect
All she’s done that day:
Each time her ears stood up
And her eyes sparked at
The squirrel in the yard,
Her patience as you fixed
Her dish and her pleasure
As you came home at last

8. Focus Sutra
About midway through our road trip,
I was filling up the car
As the Buddha went into the restroom
And paid for the gas.
And once we were on the road again,
I resumed my complaint
About the problem of mindfulness
And the constant nagging
Of the past and future upon my life
Given all my difficulties
In creating any kind of sustained focus
Or span of attention
That might create the transformative
Light of contentment
I was seeking from my daily practice.
And from behind the wheel,
The Buddha turned to me and said,
“The point is to make more time,
Not lose it worrying about perfecting
Your training in consciousness.
The only place where more time can be
Made is here in the present
By attending to who you are
So that you can better attend to others;
Adding, I thought you said
You were going to clean the windshield.”

9. Trout Sutra
I was meditating on shenpa today
Because of how often I am hooked
Into the habits of fearful response
When I encounter those people
And daily responsibilities
That intensify my path of suffering.
I was telling the Buddha how I was
Looking for some helpful teaching
Or image that would awaken me
To these automatic failures.
“The hook,” said the Buddha,
“May be a worn metaphor to some,
But consider the skill of the catch
And the joy of the release the angler
Must feel in cradling the trout
And freeing it to swim away.
Every hook will be barbless when
You can catch yourself being caught.”

10. Whittling Sutra
Every weekend, when my wife and I clean house,
And before I release the vacuuming beast,
I move around my books and magazines to dust.
I have subscribed to and Amazoned more than
I’ll ever get to, especially my growing library
Of volumes on meditation and Buddhism. I told
The Buddha how it was high time to whittle down.
“The popularity of these authors and topics
Amazes even me,” he said, “But we mustn’t let
The noise silence the silence. The basics remain
The same. Stop. Breathe. Listen. Encourage.”

11. The best seat in the house
is sometimes outside.

12. From the bandwagon,
it’s hard to see everyone
you’re running over.

13. The henpecked
don’t know
they’re chicken.

14. The problem with looking
for the best in people
is that they may think
the worst of you for it.

15. The pissed-off
are frequently
shit-faced.

16. Never let
a bodybuilder
bag your groceries.

17. The wise
sound like
wiseasses
to asses.

18. The world is a school,
and a lot of people
aren’t paying attention in class.

19. Pore Bearer
I know I’m not the sole author
Of my mind and heart. Not even this poem.
Sure, I own this tall container of a person that carries me,
But the contents always leak.
My ancestors jostle around inside me,
And they crowd and shove inside each other, too.
Once, I thought I was a solid hunk of a soul,
Impenetrable, private, my own best man.
But I look at my hands and see my father.
My grin and tears? My mom’s.
And who knows where my great-grandmother lives.
My hair, my teeth, my toes, my knees?
I’m going to pretend that she’s in the way
I sit on the edge of my bed each morning, bare feet on the floor.
A family tree is not so much a tree
As a river we float on, drink from, drown some.
No matter how much I want to hide from myself,
There’s no door to shut, no lock, no key.
The only reason I’m telling you this now
Is to admit to myself that there’s no me without you.
I’ll also never meet all those I’ll live in. You neither.
But if I return, let it be as a screen door on a warm afternoon.
Some high bird song or tire grumble will be welcomed in.
I’ll let the neighbors know what’s cooking.
Better yet, Sister, make me a sponge who never tires
Of taking in and giving out and starting again. Pass it on.