Pardon Me Poetry

Soulful Sutra
Inspired by Ginsberg’s “Sunflower Sutra”

The Kazakh steppe -- flat land rife of wind and clouds

Lately it’s the breeze that rattles my square-minded, imageless stasis in never-never land; too dusty inside, over crowded with dead-beat contortions of irrelevancy – it is more crisp outside than in and I need that soulful gust to vacuum me.

It’s an invitation, a whispering bliss, where I can cackle with the renegade leaves and bend like the sensible grass and progress with the elevated community of clouds.

Air-crisp breath, the life of youth, the memories and merriment of time – of time peopled with little ones. Taking cue, I look to the deep recesses of those blue and brown eyes that plead with me, urge me, to come to existence. My heart wants them to know good, over-abundant joy life but my head buzzes and my body slurs, more bovine-esque than nimble-quick. spurtspurt sputtersputter.

Help me to swirl with your gusts, in your carpet-ride fresh imagination. I close my eyes and I smile – a clearing, a motion to take the hands of my children and run with you. We shall laugh together and breathe soul gulping lung-bursts and exhaust ourselves in your plentitude.