by Ken Jones
each year
in the weathered buddha
the split widens
returning home
self returns to self
key in the lock
its dangling label
flutters in the wind
the open book
the empty glass
this still life
sash window
the broken cord
frozen in a gesture
life alone
evening stillness
thickens into night
on the faded carpet
window panes
printed in moonlight
small noise in the empty house
-- something shifting
to how it needs to be
incense burnt out
in candle light
the pink azalea
first pale light
the ivory Buddha also
has come through
pushing my reflection
this wheelbarrow
full of rain
too much grief
quietly I oil and sharpen
the old chainsaw
roar of the returning tide
spilling gently
through the ribs of sand
this fine evening
stacking firewood
how simple death seems
my stone circle
a skinny robin
comes hopping round
ruined farm
we lie in sunshine
and dream its dreams
drunk on God
their drystone walls
climbing to the sky
mountain of false summits
even the true one
its blank stare
round sandstone font
holy water in
its bowl of lead
a gentle wind
inside the steady bell
the clapper stirs
great silent valley
year after year
for what are you waiting ?

Ken Jones is a co-editor of the annual volume Contemporary Haibun, and contributes regularly to UK haiku magazines, as well as being represented in British and American anthologies. For his contribution to Pilgrim Foxes: Haiku and Haiku Prose, co-authored with Jim Norton and Sean O’Connor, Jones was awarded the Sasakawa Prize for Original Contributions in the Field of Haikai. Recent publications: Arrow of Stones (British Haiku Society,2002); Stallion’s Crag (Iron Press, 2003).
Jones is a Zen practitioner and teacher of thirty years’ standing, and author of books on socially engaged Buddhism. He lives in Ceredigion, Wales, with his Irish wife, Noragh.


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