aurin squire Poems

It all tastes like funeral ash to me;
exquisite feast set out in banquet hall.
Tonguing down the bile, a bitter dark sea,
A casket'ed table for bearers pall.
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Are the monkeys called howling or growling?
Cant remember but theyre getting closer to the kitchen.
They dont eat people or pets out prowling?
Probably best to keep all trash in sealed bins.
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We are in a beach conversation when he informs
he is Jesus. There are 144.
Walking the earth as Jesus in shape shift form.
An everyday Jesus walked through my door.
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The ox cart clumps by my tinted window.
Horsemen trot home heaving sacks of flour.
Families of white sheep munch pasture and mow.
Nicaragua notes of few last hours.
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White foam skiffs dock cliffs moss green
rolling fingers arise, recede, and release,
snatching stragglers to the dark blue sheen
down to the bottomless cold surcease.
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A fallen tree trunk belts the entrance,
bleached by the sun, salt and sand.
Long beach dunes, not a single footprint
Gigante begins where the fishermen land.
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Arising was harder than usual today.
Wasp clips my head in warning.
No more fussing and stop the delay.
Upstair I stagger meditation morning.
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First met Lama for Ganden Hlagyama
1,000 Angels in Heaven of Bliss.
Over my birthday, learning a mantra
attended all class, not one did I miss.
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Wearing the curved yellow hat of wisdom
ultimate and deceptive reality
sandalwood fires the swirling red chunzom
characteristics of the quality.
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Tropical languor on a breezy day
Even jungle creatures resist instinct.
sulking in trees, the damp underbrush lay
too humid to growl, two dazed eyes unblink.
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