A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Casual discussion amongst spiritual friends.

A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:30 am

FOR LEWIS CARROLL AND THE CHILDREN

"The gentle journey jars to stop,
the drifting dream is done.
The long gone goblins loom ahead,
the deadly, that we thought were dead,
stand waiting - every one."

- Walt Kelly
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:34 am

The Second Coming (Slouching towards Bethlehem)
W.B Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:35 am

MOON OVER MAMIE
- Walt Kelly

O, Mamie minded Momma
'Til one day in Singapore
A Sailorman from Turkestan
Came knocking at the Door.

The way he knocked
On knob and lock
It shook her to the core.
She eyed the clock
Twixt tick and tock
And sighed a snappy snore.

"Raise Raise the Raisin!
No Rising Ruse will reign
With bitter pitter patter
Upon My windowpane!

"Oh, please no longer potter
Upon my poppa's pane."
Mamie mocked the Merchantman
Who knocked with might and main.
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby cooran » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:37 am

Because I could not stop for Death ~ Emily Dickinson

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
---The trouble is that you think you have time---
---Worry is the Interest, paid in advance, on a debt you may never owe---
---It's not what happens to you in life that is important ~ it's what you do with it ---
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:40 am

(My mother would read this to us kids when we were quite little. It used scare to the bejezuz out of me.)


Disobedience
- A.A. Milne

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don't go down with me."

James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea."

King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"

James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me."

James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?"

(Now then, very softly)
J.J.
M.M.
W.G.Du P.
Took great
C/0 his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J.J. said to his M*****
"M*****," he said, said he:
"You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-
if-you-don't-go-down-with-ME!"
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:43 am

A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.
I say it just
Begins to live
That day.
—Emily Dickinson
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby cooran » Thu Dec 10, 2009 9:53 am

The Intellectual Quest ~ Rumi

The intellectual quest is exquisite like pearls and coral,

But it is not the same as the spiritual quest.

The spiritual quest is on another level altogether,

Spiritual wine has a subtler taste.

The intellect and the senses investigate cause and effect.

The spiritual seeker surrenders to the wonder.
---The trouble is that you think you have time---
---Worry is the Interest, paid in advance, on a debt you may never owe---
---It's not what happens to you in life that is important ~ it's what you do with it ---
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby imagemarie » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:16 am

Guest House

This being human is a guest house
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.
Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond

Rumi
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby imagemarie » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:19 am

The Idiot's Warehouse

I know the idiot’s warehouse
Is always full.

I know each of us
Could run back and forth from there
All day long

And show everyone our vast collection.

Though tonight, Hafiz,
Retire from the madness for an hour,

Gather with some loyal friends
Or sit alone

And
Sing beautiful songs

To God



Hafiz.
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby Paññāsikhara » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:41 am

tiltbillings wrote:(Kind of not short, but one of the best bits of poetry to come of of the beat movement. It needs to be read outloud, as does most poetry)

I Am Waiting

I am waiting for my case to come up
...
and I am waiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

- Lawrence Ferlinghetti


In a similar vein, another great poem from the Beat's, courtesy of our Buddhist friend, Alan Ginsberg:

A Supermarket in California
Allen Ginsberg


What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for
I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache
self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went
into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families
shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the
avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you, Garcia Lorca, what
were you doing down by the watermelons?

I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber,
poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery
boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the
pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans
following you, and followed in my imagination by the store
detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our
solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen
delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in
an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the
supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The
trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be
lonely.

Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher,
what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and
you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat
disappear on the black waters of Lethe?

Berkeley, 1955
My recently moved Blog, containing some of my writings on the Buddha Dhamma, as well as a number of translations from classical Buddhist texts and modern authors, liturgy, etc.: Huifeng's Prajnacara Blog.
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby Cittasanto » Thu Dec 10, 2009 11:02 am

here is a new site from the forest sangha where they share poems
http://www.dhammamoon.org/
This offering maybe right, or wrong, but it is one, the other, both, or neither!
Blog, - Some Suttas Translated, Ajahn Chah.
"Others will misconstrue reality due to their personal perspectives, doggedly holding onto and not easily discarding them; We shall not misconstrue reality due to our own personal perspectives, nor doggedly holding onto them, but will discard them easily. This effacement shall be done."
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby imagemarie » Thu Dec 10, 2009 11:09 am

"We live in a cage of light,
an incredible cage --
animals
animals without end.

Sick of It!
Whatever it's called –
sick of the names!

I dedicate every pore to
what's here,
inside the koan clear mind,
gashes the great darkness.

I woke from a dream of death to
day's amazing death:
grass death
rice death
chairs death
death asleep or
awake.

No words –
sitting alone
night in my hut
eyes closed
hands open
wisps of an unknown face.
My death?
Who was it anyway
always where he was never?

No, not once ever seeing himself,
an eyeball speaks.

A well nobody dug,
filled with no water,
ripples, and
a shapeless weightless man drinks.

Oh green green willow
wonderfully red flower,
but I know the colors are not there.

My gray cat jumped up
just as I lifted this spoon,
we're born
we die.

If there's nowhere to rest at the end
how can I get lost along the way?

That stone Buddha deserves all the birdshit it gets!

I wave my skinny arms like
a tall flower in the wind --
I won't die,
I won't go away.
I'll always be here.

No good asking me --
I won't speak.

Only a kind deadly sincere man
can show you the way
here in the other world.

Melons, eggplants, rice, rivers, the sky --
I offer them to you on this holiday!

Oh yes,
things exist,
like the echo when you yell at the foot
of a huge mountain.

Hear the cruel no-answer until blood drips down,
beat your head against the wall of it.

The mind is
exactly this tree
that grass --
without thought or feeling
both disappear.

Not two,
not one either,
and the unpainted breeze
in the ink painting
feels cool.

Go down on your silly knees, pray
for what?
Tomorrow is yesterday.
I found my sparrow Sonrin
dead one morning
and buried him
just as gently as I would my own daughter.

I hate it.
I know it's nothing, but I
suck out the world's sweet juicy plum.

Why is it all so beautiful,
this fake dream,
this craziness?
Why?

It's logical:
if you are not going anywhere
any road is the right one.

Know nothing.
I know nothing –
nobody does.
Can you face me
and know nothing? Know?
Stare at it until your eyes drop out --
this desk, this wall, this unreal page --
only one koan matters:

you.

You stand inside me, naked infinite love.
The dawn bell rips my dreaming heart,
we're lost where the mind can't find us.

Utterly lost."



Ikkyu.
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby Laurens » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:29 pm

I wrote a song called 'Impermance', it was one of the first songs I ever wrote so its not too impressive, but I'll post it anyway.

You never could stop the ticking of the clock
Your ideas seemed as solid as a rock
All the things that were never meant to be
Are all rocks erroded by the sea

I see you there with your nicotine halo
Your cold eyes and your mind full of rainbows
That fade away when the sun goes down
You fade away when the sun goes down

Impermanence

Walking isn't so nice in the rain
The autumn leaves, its that time of year again
The well constructed plan re-arranges
It's only breath that takes me through the changes

I see you there with your grey sky attitude
Your every breath just seems so rude
You fade away when the sun comes out again
You fade away when the sun comes out

Impermanence
"For me, it is far better to grasp the Universe as it really is than to persist in delusion, however satisfying and reassuring."

Carl Sagan
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Keeping Quiet

Postby pink_trike » Thu Dec 10, 2009 10:48 pm

KEEPING QUIET

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.

Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.

What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.

If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.

Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.

---

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973), "Keeping Quiet"
Vision is Mind
Mind is Empty
Emptiness is Clear Light
Clear Light is Union
Union is Great Bliss

- Dawa Gyaltsen

---

Disclaimer: I'm a non-religious practitioner of Theravada, Mahayana/Vajrayana, and Tibetan Bon Dzogchen mind-training.
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby tiltbillings » Sun Dec 13, 2009 6:44 pm

(Reposting this. The version I posted earlier was not quite right.)

I Am Waiting
I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder


I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am seriously waiting
for Billy Graham and Elvis Presley
to exchange roles seriously
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder



I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the living end
and I am waiting
for dad to come home
his pockets full
of irradiated silver dollars
and I am waiting
for the atomic tests to end
and I am waiting happily
for things to get much worse
before they improve
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the human crowd
to wander off a cliff somewhere
clutching its atomic umbrella
and I am waiting
for Ike to act
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder


I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and save me forever from certain death
and I am waiting
for life to begin
and I am waiting
for the storms of life,
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder


I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am waiting
for Ole Man River
to just stop rolling along
past the country club
and I am waiting
for the deepest South
to just stop Reconstructing itself
in its own image
and I am waiting
for a sweet desegregated chariot
to swing low
and carry me back to Ole Virginie
and I am waiting
for Ole Virginie to discover
just why Darkies are born
and I am waiting
for God to lookout
from Lookout Mountain
and see the Ode to the Confederate Dead
as a real farce
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder


I am waiting for Tom Swift to grow up
and I am waiting
for the American Boy
to take off Beauty's clothes
and get on top of her
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder


I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth's dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder


by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
This being is bound to samsara, kamma is his means for going beyond.
SN I, 38.

Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireas na daoine.
People live in one another’s shelter.

"We eat cold eels and think distant thoughts." -- Jack Johnson
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby jcsuperstar » Sun Dec 13, 2009 6:51 pm

Roll the Dice
by Charles Bukowski

if you’re going to try, go all the
way.
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
mockery,
isolation.
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
that.
you will be alone with the
gods
and the nights will flame with
fire.

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is.
สัพเพ สัตตา สุขีตา โหนตุ

the mountain may be heavy in and of itself, but if you're not trying to carry it it's not heavy to you- Ajaan Suwat
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby Michael_S » Mon Dec 14, 2009 9:24 pm

I Am Not I

I am not I
I am this one
Walking beside me, whom I do not see
Whom at times I manage to visit,
and at other times I forget.
The one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
The one who remains silent when I talk,
The one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
The one who will remain standing when I die.

Juan Ramon Jiminez 1881-1958
Nobel Prize for Literature
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby BubbaBuddhist » Wed Dec 16, 2009 2:46 pm

O I can't believe nobody posted this gem:

Lama with one "L," that's a priest,
Llama with 2 "Ls," that's a beast.

But I will bet my silk pajama
There's no such thing as a 3-"L" lllama.


--Ogden Nash
Author of Redneck Buddhism: or Will You Reincarnate as Your Own Cousin?
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby Cafael Dust » Wed Dec 16, 2009 11:26 pm

no-doctrine

I tell you to think of onion skins furling
or rainforests like faces. I tell you the heads of pins
swarm with angels, and we are everything
that is neither metal nor Elohim. I tell you the jewel of the dance
is a pearl that everyone is running on
and one must not slip.

You ask what is life’s substance, its shape? I say
quicksilver or sand, labyrinth or symphony.
This tapestry tangles smooth, weaves past anew
as present glances by. Storm and eye
or not I and form no new words please

for what we cannot describe;
such words labour breath into barbed wire.

I cannot hear myself,
I will not listen, I do not desire to grasp the philosopher’s stone
or the unifying theory of hearts.

I must take these words to the river;
the water will make them its own.


by Cafael Dust
Not twice, not three times, not once,
the wheel is turning.
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Re: A thread for short (maybe longish) poems of any sort

Postby AdvaitaJ » Fri Apr 09, 2010 9:11 am

Li Bai

The birds have vanished into the sky,
and now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.

:anjali: AdvaitaJ
The birds have vanished down the sky. Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.
Li Bai
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