Six Poems of Sadness and Delight



There are days I wake up weary
weary of the news
of the weather
of my mind
of my body with
its endless demands
of people speaking so fast
weary of war, of bombast
and pretense.

Emptiness is the absence
of bullshit our guru told us.

How did he know all those
many years ago how much of it would
keep piling up higher and higher
on cell phones and
and twitter and

Endless streams of

Did he know how dark
the darkness would get?
How crazy the chaos
exploding around us?

On those weary mornings
even the sparrows racing
each other from
tree to tree
bring me no joy.

But the dog still needs
her walk
the milk left out too long
goes sour
the trash bin blows over
in a gust of wind.

In spring
a pale yellow crocus
still pushes through
its icing of snow.

Victress Hitchcock
May 24, 2022

My Flight

this heart is broken
(this engagement, not)
it flickers still
it’s in the dampness caught
like an aspiring firefly
so eager to alight
on that blue palm of yours
where starts and ends my flight


Sun of Happiness

The sun of happiness is dawning
Melting ice gardens of my heart
Crystal snow chrysanthemums
Warming my world
With brief promise
Of spring

-Olive Colon
April 4, 2014

Dearest Rinpoche

You are always vividly present
whenever i look in your eyes –
its always happening – one look
& we fly in the big blue sky

-Susan Ross

Parinirvana 2011

Sometimes it was pleasure…
sometimes it was pain…
always crystal clear intensity
like standing next to blast
furnace of precise seeing…
like being onstage in front of
an infinite audience of one…
standing on earth, yet falling
through space, the damndest
feeling…like wanting to jump
out of my own skin: excruciating,

-John Tischer
April 4, 2011

What is left

New moon/dark night
sweet flower-scented breeze
rings the chimes—
the same sad song in the wind
as all the spring nights
we served you in the garden.

What is it that we thought would last?
What is left that we still don’t know will end?

April 28, 1987