Bio: Wayne F.
Burke's poetry has been published widely online and in print. He is author of
eight published poetry collections and one collection of short stories (TURMOIL
& Other Stories, Adelaide Press, NY, 2020). Two of his book reviews
have previously appeared in SETU. He lives in the central area of Vermont, USA.
Translation
Navigating the wet sidewalks
clumped with snow & ice
I reach the river of babble-on
murmuring, like
a crowd in a theater before
the curtain rises—
whispering, like the children
in bed before lights out—
it babbles of wetness, no
doubt,
speaking in fluidities…
I cannot translate the
croak of the crow
or
the screech of the wind
either.
Perfect
A blue infinitude and
dreamy clouds
above the sun
sinking down
to a horizon of
ridge line pines
marching along the crest
left right left
as a jet
coming in from the west
lays a stream of smoke
like a needle
to stitch a rent
should one appear
in the perfectly blue
sky.
Kalpas to Go
A howling baby
starts the world again
world without end
or beginning
we are born into
again and again
until Nirvana when
all karmic debts
paid
the wheel of samsara
stops
to let off
a Buddha
while the rest
have kalpas to go
before arrival at
the golden silent hall of knowing
birth-less and
death-less.
These were the last poems I read of the the entire series, and I love them. Wise, preponderant, and provocative at once.
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