Tax day. I compute indoors with the many intricate forms.
Outdoors, a Pacific storm blows into the village and rattles my windows.
I prepare to show that I have nothing more to give.
The boxes I complete, the questions I answer in my own mind,
give me no serenity, no certainty that the slight money flowing by me
will ever come to much good.
Briefly, I return to reflect on my morning thoughts:
may there be health, happiness, safety among all the blessed taxpayers.
May anger not turn to war just because there is money to fight one.
May some check box let me say, even though I have little money,
it must not be spent creating suffering.
May I find an afternoon of heavy rains to add to the earth.
I don’t know what to give on my own.
Tom on Perfect Beauty k'skitchenchronicles on Perfect Beauty Tom on Surprising LuAnne Holder on Surprising Tom on Surprising
Blogs I Follow
- Wind Rush
- The Value of Sparrows
- Smoke words every day.
- Manić Teodora
- Jerry Brotherton
- The Flyleaf Wordsmith
- Real as the Streets
- Site Title
- Diary of an Aesthete
- Boundless Blessings by Kamal
- Wings Of Poetry
- l i g h t room
- Minal Dalal Co-Creator
- Mauna Sangha
- hedgerow: a journal of small poems