He Saw How

little buddha by bestarns

little buddha by bestarns

the deep dark night
and the passing moon
saw Buddha’s vision

He saw how—life fits
into the circle of an embrace
encompassed in the hand

—let passing thoughts
chase cars in your headspace—

whispers Puddicombe

in the awakened moment
illumination is equal
to enlightenment

Suggested by Jack Kerouac’s Wake Up! A Life of the Buddha

On the Road to Satori – Nuevo Laredo

fountain by cindytenshi (Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas)

I wrote this of my travels during the 1970s when Nuevo Laredo was a much different world. This story does not reflect the current state of Tamaulipas, Northern Mexico.

Nuevo Laredo

the guy
from Peru
warned me

“don’t stay in Mexico, man
the federales will beat you up
take your passport

shave your head
and the next time
its off to the calaboza with you!”

we sat in a tiny cantina
in Nuevo Laredo and talked
about the dread Mexican police

who would catch you
without money for a bribe
and rough you up

I believed him
his head shaved
like a convict

three companions
paperless in Mexico
nodding in sincere despair

as we left the taco joint
I saw my wallet was gone

they looked at me startled
fue el mozo! the waiter
he took your bolsa, man!”

pointing at the restaurant in
pure mesoamerican

me not even thinking
turned and walked back
confronted the waiter

he reached down
behind the counter
and pulled out my wallet

with a sheepish grin
and not a gun
or a knife
to my relief

I split from
Mexico right away
left behind:

my dreams of buying
that handmade Mexican guitar
the guy from Peru
his companions

and the traffic cop
with the bristle brush mustache who
reminded me of the captain
in the Sunday comics’
Katzenjammer Kids

directed traffic around
the little cobblestone circle
and the fountain

madly waving me across
like I’m some long lost son
hair to the sky and the
military duffel bag
over my shoulder
a target for the feds

saying “andale
mijo, andale
por aquí
this way … get out o’ here quick!”

On the Road to Satori

the hitchhiker by christiano bill

the hitchhiker by christiano bill

Each one of these stories is a small window—a theatre of the mind—of observations made during a period of travel in the early 1970’s. Hitchhiking the roads of America, I spent the later years in reflection. These poems are what grew from the adventure.

Read as rhythmic rolling narrative, they need no explanation except to tell a story that follows one title to the next.

Pablo Cuzco

Alice, Texas

in the wee hours
of a pitch black Texas night
in Alice bound for Nuevo Laredo

the road deserted
not even a gun-rack pistol-packing
Texas Truck in sight

no drivers dusted
from too many hours
entertaining the yellow line
looking for a rider to take the wheel

the rattlesnakes they chattered
the coyotes yip-yip-yip-aye-ayed
into the pitch-black prelude
to the dawn

a thousand miles from nowhere
with nowhere left to go
a lost and lonesome
highway vagabond

the rumble down ten-wheeler
that eventually picked me up
was headed for Freer

blaring rhythm and blues
on the AM band cracking
and squawking like a CB radio

left little room for conversation
yelling over the noise
grinding gears and rattling truck parts

“Leroy Simmons—glad to meet you
Headin’ far?” Nuevo Laredo
“I can take you part of the way”

the Sonoran Desert
a desolated stretch of highway
Mexico—twenty-five miles to the south

an American Haiku

I’ve updated my About page and my concept as a Poet & Writer. Take a look.

Pablo Cuzco




Do not question why we are here,
only answer it.


all wisdom
(every secret)
unlocked will open
the most stubborn door

nothing is fast
in real-time


we admire
Renoir’s opulence
Van Gogh’s pain
taste eternity
in their work

express their lives
so we recognize ours


a wind blew
and made a whisper
the house woke up to rest
the sun shone from the horizon
clouds formed


you fear strange words
will escape your lips
so you quit talking

do not question
an inner motive
only to find it lacking

let the milk of life touch you
for it will only curdle into ash Continue reading

Suite – Machine of Civilization


post apocalyptic ruined city by stayinwonderland


it’s a big machine
this civilization
gears turn
shape society’s


I flashed horror
at the dance at the morgue
sacks of flesh torn and wobbled
bent lopsided smothered
by the ancient “ahor”
I swallowed my screams
and recited Wolfe’s mantras
while clown pranksters
told incoherent jokes
by the light of
acid washed


the conjured
reality of Harari’s
Sapiens made fire
invented the wheel
sought shelter
in the rocks
invoked God
found Buddha
sitting under
a tree


a white glow
of feathery stars
darken a swirling
van Gogh sky
a coyote dances
teasing scorpions
spins dust trails
nips and snarls
teeth bared
in dog


in deserted dwellings
of pueblos at Four Corners
the Inca in Machu Picchu
Khmer of Angkor Wat
and Easter Island
Moai suffered
climate change


infinite orgy of energy
gasoline weed trimmers
coal fired suburban
steam punk
to migrate
dwell in mud huts
watch African sunsets
under thatched roofs
row Polynesian
on opal

God and the New Buddha

buddha ke bandhana by Wolves-PSD

On Buddha becoming Enlightened:

“If the mind of a person is free from all craving, no god can make him miserable. Conversely, once craving arises in a person’s mind, all the gods in the universe cannot save him from suffering.”

Sapiens – Yuval Noah Harari

stumble on a vision
understand a psalm
listen to a prayer
beg for an alm
thirst for the righteous
sigh and groan
not enough fishes
let’s eat the bones!

left on the mountain
seeking atone-meant
for the wicked
not for ones
who have not sinned
though they’re treated like one

Buddha met Christ
and said you’re clever
you brought the message
to more people than ever
I could in the distant
past or present
but tell me why
must they repent?

doesn’t Salvation
sound like salivation?
craving for life when
death is our station
telling the poor
give thanks
for their rations
don’t you believe
in upward mobilization?
must we continue
in damnation
if the spirit
is love?

“Be not afraid
I’ve conquered
the world”
Buddha replied:
Maya is not your pearl
of great value hurled at swine
or light under a basket–it is Void
we are tasked to accept it
not avoid it


today we worship
not God
we research
and tie it in knots
the simplest of truths to find
a way to separate the gall
from the wine

Breathe in!
Breathe out!
we do it each day
while some meditate
others pray

of the outcome
there can be no doubt
God has met the New Buddha
the verdict is out
God – zero
Buddha won

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