Will You Be My Neighbor?

It’s the monotony.

It’s day after day alone

in the apartment. 

Turn on the radio 

only to hear human voices 

so someone is talking out loud 

beside you. All this time 

the same thing every morning 

waking to feel your bed

only full of dreams,

why the same, the same

every night alone holding

the inevitable lonely 

empty self you thought 

would be different

so many times. You shouldn’t

say this out loud

sounds crazy, obsessed,

makes people uncomfortable

it’s private—it’s invasive 

don’t say that sometimes

you cry, you are so finished.

It’s too much to mention

but talk radio says

you could die 8 years early

due to this. An epidemic 

in the middle of being

surrounded by millions of folks 

every day and long night 

of your life and no one 

comes to visit.

Don’t complain.

You are nice, it’s true

you don't know the folks

on this block after 15 years.

 “Hello” and rarely a briefly chat. 

Why is this not enough? Why

not do something different?

Virtual meetings are not 

suggested as a remedy. 

You need breath

warm on your face,

a live voice, someone

who touches you

with their bare hands.

3-20-25

Thanks

For you, I give thanks.

For your embrace, I offer my arms.

For your hurry, my legs.

For our work, my hands.

For our pain, my empathy.

For the land, I devote my body.

For the sea and sky, my eyes.

For blooming flowers, my nose.

For a taste, my mouth.

For words, my tongue.

For poems, I leave my mind.

For those being born, my breath.

For those dying, my heart.

For the world, my life.

For all the beings, all our prayers.

For everything that is, all that is.

We are inseparable. 

Thanks for helping me learn

this one thing. One is plenty.

12-21-24—The Solstice

Home Town

Gray sweats slipping down 

his ass bending over 

the trash can, throwing cans 

over his shoulder landing

just where he aims 

near the corner of Harrison St.

where I turn off 

the Embarcadero at 1 am

driving home to Oakland

minding his business

on the job when there’s less

competition—it’s quiet—

the bridge lights dark fire 

across the bay, the electric skyline

works almost as good

as a headlamp, no interruptions

no people, no cops now—

don’t care anyway—it’s doable

picking through for a few bucks,

dinner with luck and know how

he’s on it, middle of the night, 

the Ferry Building past him 

he’s made way to this corner.

This man is not a tourist.

This man lives wherever he sleeps 

here in town. He’s an expert. 

I used to have a pair of sweatpants

like his. I don’t bend much 

for a living these days 

but still they got worn down

sitting at my desk. 

I just threw them out. That man 

will never know this poem 

is for him. The light changed.

I turned right to the freeway.

4-20-25

About Now

What is can’t be written. 

Words are never enough 

and much too much. 

Pushed by wanting 

pulled by memory 

and thoughts of the future

the truth of surrender

hidden in the ordinary—

just being fulfills everything.

This right here

is current, complete 

and accurate. Can’t catch it 

despite our efforts to hold,

track, fathom, absorb

and make something of it.

Taking it in and giving it back 

is clearly the lesson.

Don't listen to concepts

several times daily, a practice

when we leave them be

and focus on each breath

received and released,

an even exchange

when we settle down,

naturally in our hearts 

like right about now.

for Susie Heldfond-Saunders & Theo Saunders

9/1/25

Dental Zen

Toothache. No dentist. 

Zen pain walks down

the street searching

for relief. Zen pilgrim

finds 3 possibilities

for procuring 151 Rum. 

Zen Liquor Store #1 has none.

#2 has no clue about 151.

#3 is empty: no door prize—

all your nerve

is in your mouth.

Zen fortune knows

there’s tequila at home

for medicinal purposes

and building Zen patience.

One way or another

you sit and wait.

for Sarah Menefee

4-10-25