The town was quiet when the Poet rode in
Not a soul was to be seen
A dog barked somewhere and a door banged noisily in the wind,
He wore a long grey coat flecked with dirt and mud
Two buttons had been left undone and there through the opening could be seen, his gun!
His eyes they had a tired look as if looking out wearily on the world
As he moved up the street, curtains parted and nervous little eyes peeped out
Suddenly a door opened and a woman rushed out across the street
Behind a barrel outside the hardware store, a small boy... hiding!
She began to scold him. "Ah Ma! he protested, I just wanted to get a good look at him, see him up close"
"Quiet!" she commanded, then turning toward the Poet while shielding the boy
She said defiantly "Their bad! Their wicked evil men!
But the Poet just kept on going, riding on as if she wasn't there
His eyes fixed straight ahead,
Finally he stopped outside the saloon, dismounted, tied his horse to the hitching Post
Went inside, the spurs of his boots clanking on the floor as he walked
"What'll it be Stranger ?" offered the Bartender
"Gimme a whiskey", said the Poet,"an Irish whiskey"
At a table playing cards, some heads turned
Then there were some excited whispers
"Look! it's the Bardo Kid, the Bardo Kid!!!"
"What has you around these parts Stranger ?" asked the Barkeep inquisitively
"I'm looking for someone", answered the Poet, "goes by the name of... Zardo!"
Another man drinking at the bar suddenly began to splutter
As if his drink had gone down the wrong way
Bardo eyed him suspiciously
"Don't look at me Bardo, I'm not Zardo, Me! I'm Vargo"
"Well Vargo", said Bardo, "you seen Zardo around ?"
"I ain't seen Zardo Bardo" said Vargo
Then he quickly drained his glass and hurriedly left
Bardo watched him go.
"Whose looking for Zardo ?" came a voice suddenly from the stairs and the shadows
It was a woman's voice. It was Miss Lilly, the Saloon Madam, a mature lady, still pretty but who'd seen better days
She came down the stairs out of the shadows
Walked right up to the Poet
But then almost losing her breath in surprise
Almost as if she'd just seen a ghost
She said with a strange note of familiarity "Bardo!!!"
The Poet too, seemed taken aback
"Lilly!" he said a bit shyly and took off his hat,
They both stood there looking at each other for a moment
"You've gotten older Bardo... more worn, I'd hardly know you"
"Been a long time... I guess" replied the Poet awkwardly,
"Where... what...whatever happened to you... Bardo ?.... I often wondered".
It was a very disarming question, for a moment the Poet seemed lost for words
"I...I've been away... far faraway"
Then gathering himself he said with a tinge of bitterness
"What happened. Life happened I guess, dealt me a bad hand, I suppose I was never gonna measure up. It was inevitable wasn't it... me and this world
I could only have turned to a Life of...a Life of Rhyme"
Bardo looked at Lilly standing there in her tawdrily ostentatious red Saloon dress
Showing a bit of cleavage
Grown slightly plump now, with some grey strands through her hair
And crowsfeet starting to appear around her eyes, he asked sadly
"What happened to you... Lilly ?
For a moment she looked like she was going to cry.
"O! I do a bit of singin' ..dancin'... deal cards, serve drinks, and do a whole lot of listenin' to lonely men and their troubles, try to cheer them up and get them to buy some more drink, keep the party going.  That's the game anyway" she admitted almost ashamedly. Then she continued. "We seen some good times though, didn't we, you and I, once when we were younger, for awhile there we ran young and wild and free, didn't we ?"
"Yea, young and wild...and... and stupid" answered Bardo with regret.
"What's this... what's this about Zardo ? asked Lilly smiling, "remember you always used to like that name".
"He's been saying things about me, running me down... damaging my reputation
Says he's faster than I am, that he could take me anytime, says I'm nothing but trouble, that I'm a no good lowdown critter, said he's gonna bring me in one day soon.
I was curious about him, thought I'd maybe like to meet this person".
"But he's only young" replied Lilly defending him, " he was just shooting off at the mouth, you know young people, their full of arrogance and foolish pride. You know how Life twists people and makes them into something their not".
Bardo looked at her closely "Do you know him ?"
Lilly hesitated a moment, then said almost tearfully " He's my son Bardo".
"I never knew you had a kid" said Bardo very surprised.
Lilly looked Bardo right in the eyes and then confided "He's our kid Bardo... you remember that time, that Summer we had together, that brief moment in time when we found each other and we thought this world was ours" .
"Why didn't you tell me, why didn't you send word, you could have reached me, I would have come", said Bardo.
"O! You'd be so proud of him Bardo, he grew up to be strong and straight and true
He has a job here as a young Deputy now".
Suddenly they heard a commotion outside and then the batwing doors of the Saloon swung open
And in strode a lean figure wearing a Tin Star
It was...it was Zardo!!!
A big crowd had formed behind him, they were egging him on
"So!" he said looking straight at Bardo,"we meet at last, if it isn't the Great, The Bardo Kid
The Fastest Pen in the West
The Fastest Rhyming Couplets this side of the Pecos
I'm taking you in...Old-timer
Heh! You don't look so tough,
I bet I could take you easy".
Lilly tried to intervene "No son, you've got it all wrong !
"Stay out of this Mom !" he warned coldly, a bit embarrassed seeing her there
Then almost as if he'd just realized something very important he said angrily to Bardo
"What are you doing talking to my Mom ?
Why you ***** rotten varmint".
Lilly screamed "Nooo!!! "
Zardo drew first but Bardo was quicker
Before Zardo had got his gun out, Bardo's had already cleared his holster
Lilly cried "Please Bardo don't hurt my boy!!"
Bardo let off a whole barrage of shots
Zardo only got off one solitary shot
But strangely... strangely it was Bardo who dropped to the floor
Zardo stood there shaken and dazed
"How can I still be alive?" he said,"he was way faster than I was. And he fired so many shots, he couldn't have missed them all'.
Suddenly the Bartender let out a shout and pointed his finger
"Look!" he said in amazement, Look!  Look at the wall behind you"
They all turned and there on the wall behind Zardo, drawn in bullets... the outline of a little heart.

i miss you
and find myself wondering
where and how and if you are
you are because we are
and you are part of we
but are you free?

i remember how you just hate anything
the least bit tainted by the supernatural
yet you believe in the good
and work for the peace
you are relentless
about the consequence of a thought.

perhaps that's why peaceful buddhists
beckoned you across the sea
and why you were happy in their place
i see you now again in their midst
in their bardo - awakening
where the sun is always setting
and souls are recycled

these folk gave you a great gift
for bardo is the proper in-between
to finally unwrap your sadness
and be pleased with all you are

but you were christian first and still
and have chased jesus all your life
you've met him often in his varying disguise
and so encouraged, uplifted us

i remember your lessons
your direct manner
the joy above your sorrow
the hope above your hurt
you always left a warm space after
you have left it again with us.

dreams of bardo--
neither dead nor living
seasons pass












.

A la luz de la tarde moribunda
Recorro el olvidado cementerio,
Y una dulce piedad mi pecho inunda
Al pensar de la muerte en el misterio.

Del occidente a las postreras luces
Mi errabunda mirada sólo advierte
Los toscos leños de torcidas cruces,
Despojos en la playa de la Muerte.

De madreselvas que el Abril enflora,
Cercado humilde en torno se levanta,
Donde vierte sus lágrimas la aurora,
Y donde el ave, por las tardes, canta.

Corre cerca un arroyo en hondo cauce
Que a trechos lama verdinegra viste,
Y de la orilla se levanta un sauce,
Cual de la Muerte centinela triste.

Y al oír el rumor en la maleza,
Mi mente inquiere, de la sombra esclava,
Si es rumor de la vida que ya empieza,
O rumor de la vida que se acaba.

«¿Muere todo?» me digo. En el instante
Alzarse veo de las verdes lomas,
Para perderse en el azul radiante,
Una blanca bandada de palomas.

Y del bardo sajón el hondo verso,
Verso consolador, mi oído hiere:
No hay muerte porque es vida el universo;
Los muertos no están muertos...  ¡Nada muere!
¡No hay muerte! ¡todo es vida!...
                                                     
El sol que ahora,
Por entre nubes de encendida grana
Va llegando al ocaso, ya es aurora
Para otros mundos, en región lejana.

Peregrina en la sombra, el alma yerra
Cuando un perdido bien llora en su duelo.
Los dones de los cielos a la tierra
No mueren... ¡Tornan de la tierra al cielo!
Si ya llegaron a la eterna vida
Los que a la sima del sepulcro ruedan,
Con júbilo cantemos su partida,
¡Y lloremos más bien por los que quedan!

Sus ojos vieron, en la tierra, cardos,
Y sangraron sus pies en los abrojos...
¡Ya los abrojos son fragantes nardos,
Y todo es fiesta y luz para sus ojos!

Su pan fue duro, y largo su camino,
Su dicha terrenal fue transitoria...
Si ya la muerte a libertarlos vino,
¿Porqué no alzarnos himnos de victoria?
La dulce faz en el hogar querida,
Que fue en las sombras cual polar estrella:
La dulce faz, ausente de la vida,
¡Ya sonríe más fúlgida y más bella!

La mano que posada en nuestra frente,
En horas de dolor fue blanda pluma,
Transfigurada, diáfana, fulgente,
Ya como rosa de Sarón perfuma.

Y los ojos queridos, siempre amados,
Que alegraron los páramos desiertos,
Aunque entre sombras los miréis cerrados,
¡Sabed que están para la luz abiertos!

Y el corazón que nos amó, santuario
De todos nuestros sueños terrenales,
Al surgir de la noche del osario,
Es ya vaso de aromas edenales.

Para la nave errante ya hay remanso;
Para la mente humana, un mundo abierto;
Para los pies heridos... ya hay descanso,
Y para el pobre náufrago... ya hay puerto.
No hay muerte, aunque se apague a nuestros ojos
Lo que dio a nuestra vida luz y encanto;
¡Todo es vida, aunque en míseros despojos
Caiga en raudal copioso nuestro llanto!

No hay muerte, aunque a la tumba a los que amamos
(La frente baja y de dolor cubiertos),
Llevemos a dormir... y aunque creamos
Que los muertos queridos están muertos.

Ni fue su adiós eterna despedida...
Como buscando un sol de primavera
Dejaron las tinieblas de la vida
Por nueva vida, en luminosa esfera.

Padre, madre y hermanos, de fatigas
En el mundo sufridos compañeros,
Grermen fuisteis ayer... ¡hoy sois espigas,
Espigas del Señor en los graneros!

Dejaron su terrena vestidura
Y ya lauro inmortal radia en sus frentes;
Y aunque partieron para excelsa altura,
Con nosotros están... no están ausentes!
Son luz para el humano pensamiento,
Rayo en la estrella y música en la brisa.
¿Canta el aura en las frondas?...  ¡Es su acento!
¿Una estrella miráis?...  ¡Es su sonrisa!

Por eso cuando en horas de amargura
El horizonte ennegrecido vemos,
Oímos como voces de dulzura
Pero de dónde vienen... ¡no sabemos!

¡Son ellos... cerca están!  Y aunque circuya
Luz eterna a sus almas donde moran
En el placer nuestra alegría es suya,
Y en el dolor, con nuestro llanto lloran.

A nuestro lado van.  Son luz y egida
De nuestros pasos débiles e inciertos
No hay muerte...  ¡Todo alienta, todo es vida!
¡Y los muertos queridos no están muertos!

Porque al caer el corazón inerte
Un mundo se abre de infinitas galas,
¡Y como eterno galardón, la Muerte
Cambia el sudario del sepulcro, en alas!

Once I hoped to write like Ginsberg –
but Allen Ginsberg went to hell.
His bolder Buddhist poetry glitters,
then opens like an empty shell.

In vain one searches for the pearl
within the lyric art he showed us.
Open wide his rotten oyster –
seek the center of the lotus.

Perverted lost Semitic soul –
lyrical ranter,  mind unhinged…
He celebrated sin and shame
while crew-cut culture cringed.

His beatnik aircraft took off fast,
flew into bardos of the ******
promising enlightenment –
but the cockpit was unmanned.

Saw a pair walking down
the street. Her hopping,
Him hoping—holding a
Cigarette Poised,
A gymnast balanced
Between shaky fingers.

The other night I met Mark Twain
I passed the invisible frontier into  a
Large area like a deserted fairgrounds
In the darkness of the coming night.  
There were others  there, not many as
Dark figures passing when I came up
To him, as to an old acquaintance not
Seen for a while.  I said this place quivers
As between day and night- like any moment
It will change and we will not be here at all.
Just at the end of twilight it was.that He said:
Yes' but where else could we meet-That did
Seem to answer all my questions; and I woke
Knowing I had been somewhere else, a place
Between where something more and some-
Thing less can coexist in a fragile balance.
Like the attic of all beloved memories -not too
Far away to travel to when we must know still
They are, a place where they live and are real.

Thy breathing is about to cease. Thy guru hath set thee face to face before with the Clear Light; and now thou art about to experience it in its Reality... wherein all things are like the void and cloudless sky, and the naked, spotless intellect is like unto a transparent vacuum without circumference or centre

They come to me with problems That they can't handle. With a smile,
I drop everything to help them.

What they don't know is,
I'm facing a battle.
But they just think that
I'm a happy little helper.

The forces are joining up, Gathering everybody they can
While I stay here just trying to ignore them.

Black and white,
Dark and Light.
Go head to head
As I watch in Bardo
Waiting to be claimed.

que poca mentiras tenes de chiquito a chechuas:

Lyrical y poeta
Poeta y lyrical
Media luna y cracked jokes
Cakes and misfit animals
Se van a open para vergasos
Los movemos antes de llegar
Muebles no carga
Sangre equivocada de cuero
Boludo
Los libros se cargan solos
Poeta
Los libros en las tinieblas de la mente
Poeta

Girando sin parar la cabeza va
Después de todo es más que un sonido

Todo lo bonito se admira de repente
Todo lo feo se arrepiente uno despues

Que es lo interesante de tu pareja:

Baudelier, se sintió frío al escribír sus poemas o estoy mintiendo.

No podemos rescatar la madre de la sabiduría.