Great Clips

The following poem draft was written for my poetry group based on Gary Snyder's "Bubb 's Creek Haircut," one of my favorite poems

Great Clips Mohawk Trail Plaza 

hair salon in Greenfield, MA next door to Big Y

a uni-sex cut arises out of shorn chemo curls

carpeted in arcs on linoleum floor

I may not spit like a man but I got me

a man's haircut still burning with shame

silent chants of Tare Tare Tare to calm 

my already bad day worse

deemed an ugly visage staring scornfully back at me
earlier check up at Valley Medical

blood glucose higher than usual

blood pressure ok

looking forward to Mississippi trip 

practice with Ingmar and Sergio

moderate meals eaten same time everyday

thinking of snakes awakening seeking reprieve

from winter cold

can they really come into the house 

through plumbing to curl up

under toasty bed covers

sneaking about a common feature 
of Mississippi life

I read on the internet

now, I'm decades back 

at Tara Mandala siting on the banks of San

Juan river naked with the Methodist mom

Rocketeller wife as we watch our friends

across the river squealing in joy playing with Ute mud

said to be healing

then a snake swimming upstream towards 
the embankment with ladies its flat torpedic head

hideous sensing targets

crackling twigs behind us as two men 
with heavy boots stand above us

while we cover ourselves best we can

then evaporate into the bushes

were they real or another snake vision

Pondering all this jumble

snakes real or not

as I tip Jesse at Great Clips Hair Cuts.

February 2, 2019
Revised May 21, 2019
Highland Village
in Shelburne Falls, MA

Vajra Poem for These Times

We are the flame that melts conceptual mind 

 We are the flame that protects the indestructible mandala 

 We are the flame that dances in the fire 

 We are the flame that kindles endless compassion 

one candle at a time 

 OM 
 AH 
 HUM 

Written by Jacqueline Gens following a fire puja on Khandroling

Photo courtesy of Rosemary Rawcliffe

The Thin Line

For David Hernandez
A grandfather whose kindness I can never repay

The fires are lit to stave
Off first hoarfrost
The harvest in
With its scent of rot mingled
Amid sweetness
Overhead winged
Cry out in joyful unison
On their way home
Below crickets trill
Las Abuelas begin the story
Stitching us to the tapestry
Weaving our fate
Into the fragile web
Gossamer threads between
Being and non-being
Betwixt between
The thin line of here
And over there
Outside time
The fires are lit
For love and
Heart’s desire
Before extinquished
In final glory
And all is well

Day of the Dead installation, KPC October 31, 2016

Photo by Jacqueline Gens

October 19, 2016

Tsegyalgar East

Recent Reviews Published in the Mirror, International Newspaper of the Dzogchen Community

I've been writing regularly for the Mirror since 1994. The following reviews are currently online at www.melong.com

A Review of Jennifer Fox's film, The Tale
http://melong.com/the-tale-a-film-by-jennifer-fox/

A Review of Lama Tsultrim Allione's Wisdom Rising  Journey into the Mandala of the Empowered Feminine
http://melong.com/book-review-wisdom-rising-lama-tsultrim-allione/

A Review of Malcolm Smith's, Buddhahood in This Life
http://melong.com/book-review-buddhahood-in-this-life/

A Review of  Joseph Goldstein's, Mindfulness a Practical Guide to Awakening
http://melong.com/mindfulness-a-practical-guide-to-awakening/

Other older reviews can be found here reprinted at Poetrymind
https://tsetso.blogspot.com/p/my-book-reviews.html

The Lilac Thief

OK, it's that time of year and I'm a sucker for lilacs. I steal them by the armfuls past midnight or in the hours just before dawn when there's no one else around. T Here's a poem I wrote about in 2003 at the height of my prowling for lilacs on other peoples' property or in abandoned places. The particular location that most inspired me was at the edge of Memorial Park in Brattleboro, VT. Eventually the bushes died off but for some years they were a bountiful sources of heirloom deep purple bushes.

The Lilac Thief

This year I looked for lilacs
off the beaten track
in places no longer tended –

A different kind of boundary,
long rows where once houses stood,
lots now empty.

I love the deeper purple of old bushes,
their crushed bloomets falling into my hand
taken from gnarled bark bearing heavy plumage.

I am the local lilac thief,
that one who stops to follow
the scent of unseen blossoms.

Jacqueline Gens

2003

First Lilacs

photo by Jacqueline Gens