Category: Poetry

Categories
Dreams Poetry

Self-cherishing, alone

Know me,
       choose to know me
and know that you are not alone
but I will not make you
       less lonely
knowledge will not make you
       less lonely
that always you will want
       only to be
alone

Know me
see my sorrow
unpromised to a single cause
observe that
              anchor-attached
       I will drown
you will watch
       as you are drowning
              we are overwhelmed
alone

Know me
   then choose to leave me
         low and wet
            high and dry
ecologically drained
and emotionally filled
       venomous
          — or is it toxic? —
     she is both,
                       alone

Know me
        do not.
do not learn.
a box better left lidded
monogrammed P
a sell-sword’s secret sealed
unabandoned, undone
better to un-know
better to be
alone

Know me.
Choose to know me.
Know that you are not alone,
but it does not matter
     when self-cherishing strangles
            the virtue that prompts
         the mind that yearns
                    will cut off
  compassion, love
and choose the self.

Alone.

Categories
Buddhism Poetry

Futile complaint

All the conditions
all the instructions
all the sorrows
                       the pains
the long introductions
you should know suffering
and develop intention

You have all the conditions
all the instructions
all the pleasures
                       such joys
you should know these are temporary
called changing suffering
and seek the wisdom realizing
                       emptiness instead

Categories
Poetry

Feels good, man (but for how long)

I shall call it
            changing suffering
                   forevermore
                   for that is what it is

Every twinkle little star
     every snowflake near and far
                sparkling against sky or ground
     morning dewdrops all around

     I once considered beautiful gifts
     wondrous signs too commonly missed

But, no – I now see
                  (not for the first time)
        fool’s gold
                    not easily offered back
        a meaningless pocket weight,
                  (now I must buy a belt)

How can I contend with such suffering?

In temporary pleasures and joys,
       effortlessly, we’re robbed
       even if of mere time

     inescapable imputation
     immovable mountain
     sickness, aging, death

I cannot evade you
     so why am I running?
          Why do I not surrender?

The terrifying jaws of death
        protected only by an inner circle,
     a very subtle layer

(Let’s unblock the chakras
                before it’s too late)

(I hope it’s not too late)

You know, the story of the ring was this

     emptiness, bliss
     there all along,
     delusion appearing great,
                      feels too strong
     yet empty     empty
                      all along

(Of what?)

(Empty of what?)

That’s the question,
            the non-existent rub

            (still yearning for the out)

So just existing in this tub

           Trading suffering

Not for the first nor last time
        does such (dis)satisfaction
                           (edit upon the moment, day)
        depend upon my mind
  and never these infernal conditions
                                  manifest by mind

It’s my mind
         changing suffering, such!
     nature of samsara’s temporary kind

                       So will be relief
when clarity appears to replace
                        this muddled mess –
direct realization: emptiness
            with pure intention
 and, please, before death!

Categories
Poetry

A fickle thing

I started to lose interest
where it began, I cannot tell –
was it diseases of delusions?
   or the medications as well?

Aversion to sugar
I dislike that sweet —
  but a little too tart?
         sours my treat

A dash of salt
  is too salty still
     when I want a
                     silly snack

Creamy vanilla
    or buttered plain
        are two with simple
                               lack

Yet mocha dark
       or caramel glazed
              are off my beaten
                                path

So what is it I fancy?
      what is it I crave?
  and what will satisfy me?
  or quick become depraved?

For once a pleasure rises
    a pleasure, she must fall
    and he who sympathizes with
                                attachment
       is he who loses all

For grasping at an object,
impermanent, illusion best
is ignorance, the birthplace
of delusions, all the rest

So what will satisfy me
     external to my mind?
Nothing nothing no   thing
         for all that is
         is named,   is mind

Categories
Poetry Saturday Expressions

What now? | Session 18

If it was never fixed,
    it can’t be rebroken

yet it’s shattered now completely

while I am made whole

I have been repurposed
                   utterly renewed

now I know
         freedom,     not heartache,
         ensues

amazing – I waited
                   so patiently —
. . .
         okay, no
                    I begged
I literally got on my knees and pleaded

(humiliating really)

for C L O S U R E

I practically pulled my own teeth for it

(I simply stole a toothbrush instead)

I was intoxicated by the lust for a bitter end –

while being denied it again and again

knowing it’s going to come
inevitably

so I begged for early release

the buildup was incredible
intense at times

(filled with that crazed yearning)

but, as it so often is, then withheld

so when the climax didn’t come

time went by and trepidation

S t R e t c H e d

to a numbed oblivion, almost
forgotten – then rediscovered and

(as I was waiting for, begging for)

followed by the instant explosion,

so incredibly quick we call brief into question

a lit fuse to a pinch of dynamite

I waited for the punch! And it never came

it merely sizzled
                 a spark, lacking flame
                                  and while I wish

so strongly, I could say,       you too
were just a sizzle to me

instead I just admit you were a strong second

(sorry, never a first)

and of course such thirst for you

has permanently ended

no hurt            no difficult goodbye

no hard feelings

             just sweet, sweet relief

what now?

Enlightenment

Categories
Poetry

vacuous oration

              words on words
he flipped the bird
     and entertained
absurdity
       ‘n’ torn
        paper’s frayed
kaleidoscope image
       he is his cage
his father’s father was delayed
       in learning virtue
was the way
       and still today
a family pays

              absurd’s the word
you heard it
       hear it first
              from me
and then find a qualified source
       for I have a message
that demand’s to be bottled and
caught and released
                  that beast, the words on words
you’d rather she’d heard
              thather than the ones you …
wish!!!
              you could amend

[Narrator: *coughs* I hate to bring that up again]

             yet the part demands to be played
and so another family paid
       karma sweet, then karma tart
karma baked in humble pie
       ripens as happiness and
fortunes that fly
       as the reins of wisdom
slap their steeds
       we’ll leave samsara
and all its feasts
       before the bottle rolls on shore
‘fore the greatest battle,
                            raw guts gore
‘fore Dharma is lost forevermore

              for the 11th is so far away
seeming like an eternity –
       too long to let my family pay
so nonsense verse I offer up
              like empty teacup
                     stainless pot
water boils
              yet is not       hot

for all the teachings yet to come
may each have meaning, every one
and ‘fore this verse starts making sense
              I’ll lose the train of th . . .
                     like I’ve lost cents
a lazy rhyme
              an uneven rhythm
       to trip the orator
              a great let down
       is samsara’s treasure 🤑

he is coming
he is coming
he has come

thank you
thank you
thank you

goodbye

Categories
Poetry

learning disability

I refuse to learn

how options appear
and reappear

to be watched
to be played, as they say
as it’s called
as it’s a toy, a game

we buy into, pressing
play, a button, into
plastic, cold and hard into
flesh and piercing mind

reflex, concerto into messiness
miserly caution, mimics, perfects
fake British accent, dying intellect
started to make sense, now derelict

started to take care, yet now neglect
began to change, but now nonsense
imitation meat – for vegans, eggless
but frozen semen – ah, I digress

an eagle’s search, a patriot’s shame
poorly timed speech or heart’s first flame
dying breath meets empty fame

a speech like this
     a poem in rhythm
          a face uncovered
     past life, disgraced

pointless in theme,
     its cadence poor
          rhyme lacks importance
     its topic, a bore

lost life, discovered
     meaningless, in vain
          still I cannot help but hope
they make me solid –
          exist me in name

press play, the button
enter the future shop
click submit when prompted
and buckle up

Categories
Poetry

Walk

Walk

It does not matter where your legs take you

Walk

Let the winds move through you

Roam

There are lands to explore even if they’ve been discovered

Rediscover

Move from the material to the imagination

Pace

The rooms in your house & see the cobwebs in the corners

Ignore

The spiders in such places, helpful & harmless

Dust

The webs from your head, because the arachnids that inhabit psychic spaces are venomous

Vomit

The excrement that has no benefit in the stomach of your mind

Stumble

Forward, as a traveler of future lives does not rest

Walk

It does not matter where your legs take you

Move

The inner winds to virtue

Categories
Poetry

Lost Life Loss

                         a memory

it is not mine

                      upon a log I sit

           ‘neath the snowy pine

under darkened sky

                      beside earthen stove

           a bitter wind kicks up

in the moonlit grove

                      the jingle of the horse & sleigh

           as it carries him so far away

I cannot weep, I do not cry

                      a muted heart is breaking

           and as the silence lies

a frozen bough is snapping – loud

                      to crack the quiet

           still, expected in the freeze

I do not startle, there is no breeze

         no wind at back to impel me

                      my bones have stiffened here

           my mind is anything but clear

as the winter’s solitude

                      forces delusions rather rude

           inner quietude never did follow outer

now it’s simply easier to hear

                      internal screaming

         though the fire burns, continuous

it takes us not

                        because it cannot reach

         what we refuse we got

         buried below

                        alive and dead

         some peace & love

                                     blessings bestowed

how are these all stripped from me?

         as he plods on down the snowy path

                  I know he won’t be coming back

         so I’m wrecked to watch him leave

though it is not my memory

Categories
Poetry

Kinda feels like “going”

It always ends

     like a Robert Frost poem

he speaks
     in a language she does not understand

she tries,
     but he is wizened, suspicious

     innocence has no place on a tired vine
bird shit scattered over the fields

wash your produce, she says
           and he takes it all wrong
                   “What’s she on about now
                 I’m tired of it”

            he’s cracking, she’s cracked

yes, when we resign our wills
         to others,
                          when we bend

we believe we will not break
       until the ripping point is reached

will another aimless traveler
                    risk his life to rescue    me

or shall I unravel the web
              I’m caught in
      and escape myself

after all,
          there is no independent existence