poem for red pinePosted: May 7, 2010 Filed under: buddhism, poetry, writing Leave a comment
Bill Porter went West, took a new name––and came back from the East to spread the word.
A master of the shadow art, he trails behind, recasting Chinese ideograms into new lines for English minds.
He works from a second floor study in Port Townsend, deciphering black strokes from faraway days with sharp eyes, diamond mind––a time when hearts burned: writers of the Silent Word.
On the wall, a Tibetan tanka, and a small painting of bamboo with a poem by Wang Wei.
Through a window, the Cascade Mountains. Through another window, the ocean. Through another window, the branch of a plum tree.
Pine trees and bamboo sway in the morning wind.
Light brightens a new day as the pine tree’s shadow disappear, leaving no trace.