Stories & Poetry
Coo-ing doves and the song of a noisy thrush herald a gentle tap-tap-tap-tapping of a methodical music.
A new shell to join the flower bedecked crunching cemetery of snails sacrificed on my garden's altar of life.
Coffee and coo-ing mask the drums of a mystic and magical truth as I turn my ears away.
Sandy Burnfield Buddhism Now - September 1996
They walk on a green shore at the very edge of a vast unending sea. Like underwater crabs on the bed of a rocky coast, they are constantly wafted by the eddies and currents that surround them.
They build their stony nests on the sea bed jutting out into the ever tidal atmosphere that forms the foamy fringe of their world. They sometimes watch and wonder at the remote star - islands scattered across the vast cosmic emptiness.
They hear the roar of stormy ocean winds and occasionally bask in the warmth of an ever returning sun. They sniff at the stench of decay and inhale the sweet perfumes of new life carried on the waves.
They stroke the swaying fronds of seaweeds that give out breath and life, and know that death gives life.
Their destiny is to bathe in the waters of the universe, creating life and kindness with each breathing, working with their Gods at a growing point of the Cosmos: the space-coast of their planet.
They are the children of our childrens' children, playing and praying at the space-side of our planet earth - the future that we carry as God seeds in our souls.
Sandy Burnfield - Buddhism Now August 1994
What I think today
What I say today
What I do today
Is my gift to life tomorrow
My actions are all I really possess
My being is a part of continuing creation
A chord in the music of the cosmos
A thread in the tapestry of the universe
A sentient being on planet earth
I hope I will always remember this
This is the miracle
This is the wonder
This is the mystery
This is the journey
Walk on and love now
Now is the time
Here is the place.........
Buddhism Now May 1998
What were you doing when Clare said I do
When the apple blossom blew
And skimmed along Richards fresh cut grass?
Where were you on the sunny morning of County
Council Election day?
I was buzzing about, unheard in the May,
And resting my wings on an old willow bough.
Wasp, you're so weak at the end of your day,
By cold kitchen window, warm sun far away,
You're leaving me now, and the old willow bough.
I buzzed in the warmth of the summer sun.
Think of me often - we both are as one.
Fly and buzz, Sandy - We'll fly again now,
So buzz with me, buzz - by the old willow bough!
Sandy Burnfield 29 October 1993
Thankful for the Teachings of Thich Nhat Hanh
and the Gathas of Robert Aitken
Eating my porridge
Wanting the distraction of radio
I promise mindfully
To listen to the now of breakfast
Driving to work with clenched jaw
I promise with all Beings
To let go of anger
And follow the Way
Sitting in the sun
Reaching for my books
I promise with all Buddhas
To read the words of nature
Shining in the sun
Waiting for what comes next
I promise with all Beings
To savour space between breaths
And leave the gingernuts alone
Raising my voice
I promise mindfully
To smile at my tongue
Sandy Burnfield BN January 1994
In a room that feels like a tomb
Screaming doomed defiance at a disappearing future
In a tomb that feels like a womb
Playing with my own death-rattle, laughing at a new moon
Sunset was all I saw, now I see the Dawn
Life's Dance spirals on
In a new Space-Time
Not watching TV
Writing this siily haiku
Bedtime beckons me
Little black Asha
Slobbers on my wrinkled face
A guided missile
Eight forty PM
Tv laughter from downstairs
Sandy sits alone
Very Short Stories
It was a solemn affair and the family were dressed formally, and wore long faces. Matilda looked at Cornelius out of the corner of her eye - and saw him looking at their son Frederick who was, she noted with disgust, licking his lips. Drusilla came into the room and glowered at her brother - Frederick ignored her and scowled at his plate. The joint he thought was over cooked - almost charred. But he liked the hot chocolate sauce that covered most of it. There were no vegetables - he laughed. Drusilla giggled. But no one drooled - the saliva did not flow freely.
Her Dad had always been strange, Matilda thought to herself, but she had never realised quite how strange. Yes, he was - or had been for most of his oddly eventful life - an eminent psychiatrist. She shuddered - how embarrassing it all was. The book about pigs had a good chapter on slaughtering and how to joint the beast; but it was very old, and she had found it difficult to follow. What had made Dad think of such an idea? He had been under the weather with a bad cold that is all, and she did not see the connection.
Cornelius looked at her just then and raised his eyebrows quizzically. Matilda nodded. All at the same time they raised their knives and forks - and fiddled with their food. Frederick suddenly ate a big mouthful and made a face at Drusilla - who screamed and ran out. The doorbell rang and everyone froze. No one usually rang at 3 am on a Monday morning. It kept ringing. Cornelius slowly opened the door. A policeman and a woman PC stood at the door. We are making enquiries about Dr Hiram Zee Binswanger - he has been missing for a week now - we understand some relatives may live here? Drusilla screamed again, and started to cry rather loudly. Frederick laughed demonically - and said, in a strange high pitched voice We are eating Granddad now - with hot chocolate sauce - it is what he wanted - he is very tasty though a bit tough - but the chocolate sauce is scrumptious
The meal at an end, the six of them felt bloated but happy. The Chilean Merlot had gone down very well. Nothing was left - and they had certainly honoured the last Will and Testament of that unusual and philanthropic personage - Granddad - alias Dr Hiram Zee Binswanger MD and Master of Lunacy, University of Transylvania.
New Years Day 2005
I stropped off in a strop - with the dogs
Truffle allowed these words to reverberate around his domed shaped cranium before averting his eyes and responding All men are bastards which he thought might be expected by Becky Creighton -Smith. She had pierced him through the heart with a laser-like stare and threatening smile.
Truffle had lived for over half a century and he was just beginning to understand women - or at least some of them. He was also trying hard to be a bastard himself, and thought that he might eventually succeed if he kept practicing - but had failed again.
By saying All men our bastards and colluding with Becky with the electric blue eyes he had yet again failed to be a bastard himself. Carl Jung had said something to the effect that nice people were people with nasty ideas - and Truffle thought that the opposite was also true - that bastards were men with nice ideas - and he wanted to be one very badly - to be like his friend Scrapps who referred to people who were not bastards as motley fuckers
Truffle did not want to be a motley fucker but he knew that the paranoid potter Scrapps had labelled him thus. What would Scrapps have said to Becky if this had happened in the pottery class? Truffle could not think, but it didn't matter because at this point he felt a warm wet sensation on his left calf - and realised that one of Becky's dogs must have peed on him - what now - to ignore it like a nice person with increasingly nasty ideas or mention it. Mention - hardly the right response - to complain - too wimpish - no he had to be a bastard!
Truffle tried to look at the stunning Becky, and said under his breath Your dog has peed on my leg. Becky pricked her ears, and growled What did you say, you spineless jelly-bag - Truffle look at me - what did you say just now - speak up you silly little man!
Your dog - your dogs are very nice - all sugar and spice
Becky curled her lip, and Truffle knew even more surely that, like most men, he was not a bastard but a motley fucker.
�Normal bollocks� barked Becky, and bared her canines menacingly.