Poems, Haiku, and musings by Zak

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by John C. Kalani Zak


Oh, Heart

Do not despair

Of your dark corners.

On moonless nights

Assurances are whispered.

Soon that beautiful orb

Shall return

To bathe us in blue.

And, again, good friend, we will wander

Through night jasmine gardens



Forgetting anew.



Red blossom on white snow hill

In wintery death

Spring buds hide



Plumeria blossom gliding

On sparkle cool stream

This journey a prayer



All twitch and tail

Blue eyes flash

Yarnball a captive



In the dark abyss between

ideals espoused and ideals practiced 

lies a dangerous opportunity

to sit in judgment.

With smug satisfaction

we observe others stumble and fall

sometimes on public stages.

Secretly we relish 

each cataclysm and humiliation

inwardly glad

that we were not


this time.

Fearing to look away

we hungrily devour

each demeaning sound bite

avoiding the recognition

that each of us,

by quirk of fate or fancy 

could be there

one day.

We praise to the highest

and await the tumbling topple

that must surely come. 

There is devastation in idolotry

disappointment in clay feet

when we look always outside for heroes

and never within. 

Why do

we ignore an opportunity

to step into our higher selves

to practice healing kindness?

Above right,

beyond wrong,

there is only learning;

only compassion. 

Let each stumbling

and unsure step

be a lesson and a prayer.

And when others teeter

on the brink

why not extend a hand

not to smite but to salve?

Through that grace

all are blessed

in countless ways.



Today I sat in a garden.

Golden light brushed my face

And infused my world

With brilliant colors.

I breathed. 

Creation breathed.

I breathed the Creator.

The Creator breathed me.

We were still.

We were love.

We were One.

And in a resonant instant

The snarling knot of loneliness

And things unforgiven

That for too long

Grasped and clawed

My karmic depths

Released itself

To the colors

And the Light

And the breath.

And, vibrating in limitless hues

Through cell and synapse

And countless quanta

The garden and I


Each other

In each other


Warmly and tenderly we exchanged our greeting,

This garden and I,

As the long-lost, much-loved friends

We had always been.



A wintery sun passes its golden brush

over the last leaves

of a near-barren tree.

A late wind breathes life

into those leaves

and sets them to dancing.

In my mind, I begin to imagine the tone

and the rhythm

of the song.


How shall I measure the tempo?

What are the celestial instruments?

Who is composing this Opus?


Suddenly, my heartbeat sets the tempo.

My breath mingles with the breeze

to create the tones.

And, just behind the impossibly blue veil

of darkening skies

an unseen composer gifts me 

with a song that will be heard

 once in a million eons.


But I have no more time

to ponder this.


The leaves have begun

a new dance.