‘Twas my speaker, not me. 07.14.21
Tag: poem
It is said
they tasted the earth
and found it sweet
and that was the birth
of attachment to the food we eat
Attachment to the forms we see
to sounds we hear, scents we smell
to the tactile sensations felt
the gods betrayed us, every one
to attach a pleasurable feeling
to a non-existent tongue
Attachment, hatred
suffering, madness
all parts of the mind
love, compassion
equanimity, gladness
in only virtue will you find
everlasting happiness
My first attempt at producing a sestina.
My normal methodology for creation is spontaneous overflow of emotion (the excess is disgusting) or free verse, which feels channeled from other sources: spontaneously remembered, rendered incorrectly, perverted, and copied from other great artists, no doubt.
It also seemed more appropriate to select an engaging and more intentional subject matter since the poem is so contrived (in this case); I do not usually set out to write a poem. A poem will find me when it wants writing. However, I do enjoy the dance-like and musical qualities of rhythm & repetition. How many of Buddha’s 84,000 teachings did I manage to include here in this silly display of some of the stages of the path?
Enjoy!
Renunciation, a sestina
I have carefully taken out each hook
and the wounds bled for many a long day
and my clothes remained obviously stained
an unpleasurable display, gifts of samsara
and what should bloom in place of pain?
But another chain! We have no freedom!
Ah! But one must define this freedom
or how will we recognize release from the hook?
Do we know what it’s like to not feel pain?
How should we strive to create a happier day?
How miserable the mind that produces samsara!
addicted to deceptive conceptions, stained
With contaminated eyes, our vision stained
creates evil hallucinations, no freedom
and so we find it hard to escape samsara
our familiarity keeps us bound, as a hook
forcing our steady practice day after day
we should understand this to escape this pain
How difficult to bear witness to all beings’ pain
and accept responsibility for this mind that’s stained
How can I stand to fight me even one more day?
How can I believe the existence of joyful freedom?
How can I have the strength to tear out this hook?
Perhaps a bit longer, I will bear the agony of samsara…
This is addictive quality of samsara
hellish to hold us addicts of our pain
a snare that strangles, we must un-hook
what virtue could purify these conceptions stained?
we need a vast collection of merit for freedom
and increased faith in our spiritual guide day after day
Only he guides us out, faithful step, day-by-day
we must grasp this rare chance to leave the prison of samsara
we are now protected on our journey to freedom
he has shown us how to transform our pain
into pure motivation for ordinary beings, equally stained
cherishing others, I continue to remove each hook
With pure effort each day, we’ll completely purify our pain
detroying samsara and our conceptions, stained
attaining freedom forever from attachment’s unbearable hook
Categories
A note from the caterpillar
The caterpillar is nice to visit
… in a way
He smokes his pipe
and blows his opinions
in your face
whether or not you’ve asked for it
But how much more you enjoy Alice
pretty and naive, a human even
quiet and observant, stupid even
(What would it be like?)
The girl and ‘pillar
both approach the end of a cycle transitioning, evolving
but one appears an ugly ascension
better left ignored
the other’s gracelessness is hidden
within, ignored
I am not Alice, a girl
secretive or demanding
wishing for non-blond understanding
I have never been lured
by a white rabbit or a rabbit hole
afternoon naps are not really my thing
and I’m awakening from my daydreams
I am the caterpillar
before it’s eaten by the bird
never to say a butterfly word or whisper
no kisses, no gratuity, no drinks
only brief passers pausing
for wisdom, absurd
or for entertainment to enlightenment
as I age to a disgraceful degree, resisting
before acknowledging
I’ll never fly
I’ll never be seen as
Alice
the caterpillar says goodbye
sympathy is
I see your suffering, and I relate
empathy is
I see your suffering, and I wish to relate
compassion is
I see your suffering and I wish you to be free from it
bodhichitta is
I cannot bear to see your suffering, so I will become enlightened to free you from it
Most of what we speak & seek
is causes for – and sympathy;
but how much better would life be,
if we abandoned victim mentality?
Why is sorrow such a strange addiction,
so familiar to my mind?
I cannot be free from misery;
it’s all I’ve known and all I’ll find!
— such an easy thing to cry
believing escape from suffering a lie
unknowing there’s a firm way out
for those with patient, faithful eyes,
for those who abandon deluded doubt
— What imagination is this!
what strength it takes to change one’s sight
no material quest could yield such result
for in samsara one cannot do right
— What can one do!
rely upon blessings & elevate intention
remain natural while wishing to help; think:
Oh! What would it really be like
to be happy and kind spontaneously
to face all problems with joyful mind
with strength and courage to defeat all foes
while maintaining love and compassion, I’ll find
it easy for blessings to arise, received and bestowed
I’ll help all living beings with ease and with grace
I’ll abandon delusion, because fearless I face
the appearances that rise and fall –
hallucinations, like dreams –
understanding reality, from mind,
is never as seems
because I’m grasping, anxious, clinging
my stories are hard to let go
I should instead rewrite myself the hero
great responsibility mine, undeniably so
How could I cope with this level of fame?
in anonymity, no one knowing my name
in correct paths I follow
but I must impute
I’m no longer a victim, no longer the brute
seeing myself the lowest of all,
through infinite timelines, I recall
the artist’s drive to wield the sword
settling instead for
ink seldom seen and music sometimes heard
limited proud intention
to right the wrongs and mend men’s minds
still what more can I do but mimic
in appreciation of writers of Blake’s kind
I render copied letter into copied word
Tyger, Tyger burning bright
surprised to find you here tonight
easy confidence, phat face
curly locks, so out of place
twinkle, twinkle, of thyne eye
what is your fearful symmetry?
absent, as one pupil enlarged
brightly burning in furnace forged
what is they breath? thy breast? thy might?
so like a woman in the night!
odd & absent-minded maid
back to cold burner, you do fade
he speaks to her with bleary eye
long-winded and past-wounded
he longs for sympathy, to cry
nearly, he is refusèd
she listens with a weary ear
she’s heard it all before
her heart is hardened, scarred by fear
his hurt she can ignore
what good is sympathy to folks
with pain and broken heart
it is compassion that fixes our flaws
so simple is our part
from compassion comes love
and it’s easy to flourish
exchange self with others
with a quick change of intention
to complete all actions with ease
we develop bodhichitta motivation
with familiarity come all habits
spontaneous, effortless
removing delusions from our mind
we soon derive meaning
from the very thing that was,
from our side, meaningless
develop and meditate upon
correct intention
pray for wisdom
sympathy is
I see your suffering, and I relate
empathy is
I see your suffering, and I wish to relate
compassion is
I see your suffering and I wish you to be free from it
bodhichitta is
I cannot bear to see your suffering, so I will become enlightened to free you from it
Categories
Late October
I love hearing the trees talk
sometimes the high branches speak
and the low branches listen
sometimes the east whispers to the west which gives silence in response
sometimes they all chatter at once
I lie in the sun, watching, listening
I dread the coming winter’s quiet
absent leafy voices,
instead violent creaks
disturb the silence, as do
small explosions,
breaking branches, piercing snow
crunching, snapping
deadened, hollowed,
muffled, no water flows
I wish that it would not come soon
but winter’s here in just one moon
Categories
beginningless rebirths, abridged
you see me as a girl when
I have been your mother
you see me mother, after
I have been your child
you see me enemy after
I have been your friend
you see me a beginning after
I’ve been each and every end
only you don’t see the continuum
you don’t see what it’s for
you don’t see the “big picture”
you beg for common sense once more
you see me as a girl
you take me as a lover
you feel each pleasure new
and each pain rediscover
next you’ll meet me as your foe
and know my torture’s art
you’ll beg to be without me
while wishes ripen to never part
the cruelest joke of samsara
the wish-granter, genie, jewel
all worldly prayers do cometh true
with just timing making us the fool
you see me as a girl
radiant, free, and open
and you, overcome with envy,
how you wish to see me broken
by running toward temptation,
grasping at the self, and craving
we lose the possibility of salvation
with such constant misbehaving
how can we overcome our loathing
and refrain from touching skin?
for in heated hate-filled love embrace
I’ll remember you were once my twin
you see me as a girl
when I have been your mother
I have been your sister, father, uncle
yes, I have been your brother
I have been a loyal lab
and I a miser, cheat, and thief
I’ve rested in eternal peace
only to wake with new belief
seeing inner demons, outer
giving unending evil toments
with such cyclic suffering for all,
how can bodhichitta remain dormant?
you see me as a girl
you take me as a lover
you feel each raw sensation new
and rare laughter rediscover
how ’bout we call it quits
and cease identifying this mind
’cause ordinary doesn’t cut it
when extraordinary’s been defined
I don’t know about your view, but
mine says this pleasure garden’s rotting
my time here is running out
and my tell-tale heart is clotting
so don’t see me as a girl
goddamn it! – don’t take me as a lover
because incest is against the law
and I have been your mother
just as sure, you have been mine
some aeons or some years ago
for we’ve done all there is to do
in all the worlds there are to know
so let’s grow bored and say no more
and escape with little wits we’ve left
we’ve done it all … oh countless times before!
now let us create cause for happiness!
Categories
Remain ordinary?
The earth movers are
moving, rolling, crawling,
pushing and prodding,
chewing and producing,
reforming earth, not new
a spherical cycle
we cannot seem to undo
because there’s no beginning
as if time isn’t true
no start to these effects
no one to lay cause-mic blame with —
— Is there no first?
If an action is not performed
its result cannot be experienced
yet, we have results upon results
that we do not want
or right wishes ripen at wrong times —
— How did we get so messed up?
Meeting instructions time and again
only to turn to worldly things instead —
–What for?
The status? The stress? The money? The dress? The food? The car? All the gold and the stars? The sun and the moon and that catchy tune? This silly girl? That handsome guy? To hunt the deer? To swat the fly? To fuck that guy? To steal that heart? To flaunt your glory? To meet and part? To taste the spoils? To lose at war? To break most promises? To endure and endure?
What for!
Is it everything you wanted to find?
Is it a wonder to know
it’s all from your mind?
the pain and the laughter,
all the dreamlike appearance
the senses and delights
the agony and fights
we hurt our own feelings
we stab our own backs
we rob our own purses
our own courage lacks
when will we learn
to break a silly curse
we need only three words
–why do they hurt?
It’s my responsibility
No, not of this time
not of this place
not of this name
and not of this face
But causes created aeons ago
ripen around me, blow by hard blow
some happy, some sad
some angry, some blue
some maddening disasters
some friends I once knew
for so long without wisdom
I watched in horror, despair
Oh! What can I do?
No better than an earth mover
moving, rolling, crawling,
fulfilling my own wishes,
pushing and prodding,
swallowing and producing,
making new dirt, not new
a spherical cycle
we cannot seem to undo
because there’s no beginning
as if time isn’t true
no start to these causes
that produce these effects
so with patient acceptance
I now practice with perfect intention
with a pure, faithful, trained mind
remembering dreamlike appearance
to see emptiness directly
with clear wisdom eyes
Categories
Sensational Assault
shining jewel clusters
break open the escarpment
like precious stones waiting to be mined
brilliant leafy treasure
blasts of magnificent colour
explode across the rocky grandstand
backdrop to the season’s splendor
its once generous green given way
to greedy autumn’s foliage display
absent emeralds
stolen by nature’s alchemy
redeemed for rubies, garnets
amber, gold
the greatest illusion
of tempered grandeur
before the bitter cold
it should be forbidden
that beauty unfolds
so lithely in loveliness
before its death
dappled luster’s ugliness
only revealed up close
moths have chewed endlessly
leafy veins, now begging bowls
blackened edges encase
slug-gobbled holes
not unlike the singed suffering
of cigarette-burned abuse
maple’s steepled points
waxed and dried
crunchy now upon crisp earth
hard to understand its worth
its place in time,
once life, once food
now dead, now dearth
and oh the scents! I cannot forget
the dampened clay and rotting fern
sickly sweet suckles long dried up
a sun-baked bog with willowed dregs
the sunflowered smells twist into sound
scritch-scratching of squirrel toes in trees
chipmunks squeak, thin branches break
acorns land in leaves
a buzz of daubers, wasps and bees
harmonized with the last cicada song
too soon the symphony will cease
and tarsi tickles won’t be found
not for so long! so if you please…
I beg for just a bit of time
to exhaust under this dying sun
that scalds with will to kill all life
that incinerates the weak and blind
leave me alone to work my mind
and feel the last blaze of the year
striving not to shed a tear
striving not to feel false fear
that knights permanence on temporary conditions
I will be strong and wise
and remain loving, kind
though winter has its eternal quality
once here, ne’er gone
still… it must go eventually
we’ll see…
just let me loaf in this season’s sun
to soak in such sensational torture –
intense, so brief, so fun –
ending soon,
hardly begun
Categories
a week before the fall
a slothful orb ascends,
slowly across the southern sky
already missing its peak
it shirks responsibility,
no longer a light above by nine a.m.
in the yard, clocked shadows hold morning’s chill
while, with a furnace blast, blazing warmth is cast
lethally, from an expiring sun’s face
what a time of year
one of dread and fascination
a reverse magic of the spring takes place
dishearteningly unbelievable
everything once vital and green
withers away, as flames to ash
full bushes decay under still-blue skies
crosshatched with chem trails
autumn’s appearance should sting less
with each year of expectation
but the knife travels the same scar,
ripping the tissue open once more
spilling the crinkle of leaves, isolated chirps
icy rainfall spurts
there can be no love in autumn
what — love for a dying thing?
we expect spring’s rebirth in its vein
but it’s different
inconceivably so
as nothing can come back the same
taking its time, different life does grow
I no longer delight in season’s change
a witness to illness arising
and constant pain
raw attachment, unhooked anew,
broken hearts where love once grew
I cannot bear to face the task
of reliving seasons, to watch them pass
as all things slip like time in glass
my cageless prison, this life, outlasts
free me before I plunge once more
through autumn’s orange enchanted door
cold aversion ripening
grasping at inherent things
I know it’s wrong, so little worse
than self-cherishing
my ugly curse
may I be free before the fall
— just one more week
to see it all
correctly
The Halfwit Writer 