Saturday, March 19, 2016


                  “Sha-dray, Sha-dray, Sha-dray, Sha-dray, Sha-dray,”
                  So went my TM mantra every day,
                  For twenty minutes first thing in the morn
                  And then again at eve, or be forlorn
                  For having broken faith with my routine
                  Designed to scour my harried conscience clean
                  Restoring me to blessed tranquility,
                  Re-centered in a blissful ecstasy.

                  Yet I’ve long since abandoned that routine
                  Replacing it with one that makes me keen
                  Instead of calm, though when I’m done—delight;
                  It’s what I’m doing now: I sit and write
                  And slowly watch some mystery unfold,
                  Then find that I’ve a sonnet to behold.