Water Is Dry

A wise Zen master murmurs an ancient riddle:

“What is the sound

Of one hand clapping?”

This mystery, I think it’s probably a slap

across the face.


“If you see the Buddha in the road —

kill him.”


I have another one:

Maybe it is brand-new

Maybe it has lasted for millennia

“What is dry water?”

I’d say, this dry water, is probably the ghosts

of the tears that jumped

out of the windows

of my soul.


Maybe this is brand-new.

Maybe it has lasted for millennia.

Shared with Real Toads’ “What the ?” prompt and DVerse OLN #222.



I am a little late for haibun Monday, writing about freedom and the way that it can be complex, having both costs and benefits. This was surprisingly difficult for me.

It has taken me days to write about freedom. I usually have more to say on this subject, but lately? There is a curious silence, and words are lacking. All I know today is that when I cannot speak, that is not freedom.

Summer sun scorches

Thirsty grasses, sparrows search

For shady respite


This is nagame:

Long rain, long-overdue rain

Because of old pain


Let go, let this fall:

Heavy rain and driving rain

This is welcome rain


Weep with those who weep:

Friendly kisame follows

On the tree branches.

For IGWRT, where we are writing about rain today and exploring Japanese words for various types of rain. “Nagame” is long rain, and “kisame” is rain that drops from tree branches .


Water, to me

Has always been a metaphor

For love —

How I looked

In my life’s desert

For something that would satisfy!

How deeply I one day drank

From the well of forgiveness

And grace,

Wanting ever since then

To never stray from that

Source —


Yet how I sometimes,


Feel parched.



Is a dry season.

I suppose I can even

Forgive this.

For IGWRT’s “Water Under the Bridge” and the latest Forgiving Fridays. Also shared with DVerse open link night.

Keep Things Fluid

This week’s WordPress photo challenge is about liquid. Below are the photos and a poem to go with them.

Such varieties of drinks,

And many cups that hold them,

Such varieties of shapes

That the liquids take,

The containers shape

Their very being,

Yet they are capable of change.


And same with people —

Remember, we are

Seventy percent water.