SamadhiMuse

            Tinkering it all away,
            the forms, the becomings, the being.

            I swing in the wind of it
            and it sings in my chimes,
            while I, the hung man,
            wave feebly about in it.

            Its life and all its doings
            fooling (flowing) around with me.
            Godot told me once
            it would be like this.

            How hard we labor at our communications
            and our art.
            As if to bridge the unbridgeable
            and its realization,
            to hide the mysteries.

            Its a balance, somehow,
            our refinement of art and
            our appreciation of the chaos.

            Zen monks, art students revel in it.
            They want it all now; the clarity and the chaos.

            It much nicer to seek it than run
            when you've seen where running leads.

                                    gallagher
                                    8 Oct 76

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

            I just don't know anymore the things I used to,
            before I climbed life's questions
            and found the mountains beyond that ever rise,
            that rise until you can hear eternity
            in the wind there.
  
            I no longer climb,
            there's no need to waste the time.
            The mountains march away from me
            and I can only just begin to see
            that God's hand that shaped this rugged land.

            Somehow the wind empties me
            of the wondering drive that always drove me on
            and now I just wait and listen.

                                    gallagher
                                    21 Oct 76

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —