Poetry, anyone?

Vajradhara

Vajradhara

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A NIGHT OF SOLITUDE

In the still night by the vacant window,
wrapped in monk's robe I sit in meditation,
navel and nostrils lined up straight,
ears paired to the slope of shoulders.
Window whitens-- the moon comes up;
rain's stopped, but drops go on dripping.
Wonderful--the mood of this moment--
distant, vast, known to me only!​
~Ryokan​
 
Interesting. I'll reciprocate. :)
Keys​
Oh, Master of the Keys​
What is in your hand?​
Looks like a skeleton key​
Yet, a deadbolt​
Have you locked the door to the past?​
Or opened one to the future?​
Oh, Master of the Keys​
What is in your hand?​
Is that the key​
To me?​
​
Click to expand...
​
I composed this quite a few years ago while I was waiting for some work to do at an assembly job I had (kept it for only 6 months because I was paid piecework and I sat around many hours doing abso-freaking-lutely nothing.) It's a first or second draft and took me less than a half hour to compose (I was that bored.) I have another poem if anybody's interested (but, I must admit, I'm lousy at composing poetry.)​
Phyllis Sidhe_Uaine​
 
Is the subject here personal poetry, or general appreciation of poetry?

Not much of my own, but I do have a great appreciation for some of the classic British poets - Keats, Milton, Coleridge, Byron (at least in part if not in whole). :)
 
Namaste brian,

as it's the lounge area.... any poetry that you feel is moving for you, i would be happy to see... the same goes for anyone really... either your own or someone elses :)

i think that people's selection of poetry provides a certain insight into their character that i find hard to determine in other fashions :)
 
Assalamoalkikum,

I read this poem on the internet,and thought it was beatiful. so here it is:

Rosebud

It is only a tiny rosebud,
A flower of Allah's (God's) design;
But I cannot unfold the petals
With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers
Is not known to such as I.
ALLAH opens this flower so sweetly,
Then in my hands they die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,
This flower of Allah's design,
Then how can I have the wisdom
To unfold this life of mine?

So I'll trust in Allah for leading
Each moment of my day.
I will look to Allah for His guidance
Each step of the way.

The pathway that lies before me,
Only Allah knows.
I'll trust Him to unfold the moments,
Just as He unfolds the rose.
 
Another I wrote a while ago (second draft.)
A Perfect List For A Perfect Day (Or Longer)​
No Murder​
No Rape​
No Violence​
No Pain​
No Suffering​
No Discrimination​
No Anger​
No Fear​
No Sadness​
No Usury​
No Taking Without Giving​
No Retribution​
No Mothers Crying​
No Gunshots In the Night​
No Wondering​
Is This World​
All For Naught​
No War​
No Starvation​
No Children's Tears​
No Trenches​
No Fires​
Set For No Reason​
No Isolation​
No Numbness​
To the Pain Of Others​
No Blaming​
Others For​
Our Own Foibles​
No Hate​
No Mistrust​
No Distrust​
No Wishing​
Someone Else​
Dead​
No Coveting​
Someone Else's​
Property​
No Stealing​
No Forcing​
Others​
To Your Beliefs​
No trashing​
Another For​
Something They Can't​
Help​
Is Anyone Interested?​
Click to expand...
​
Constructive comments greatfully accepted by author/composer.​
Phyllis Sidhe_Uaine​
 
Assalamoalikum, Phyllis

Nice poem, i esp liked the last line 'Is Anyone Interested?'

I wrote a poem, just wrote what was coming in my mind. anyway here it is:

The unsaid
Try to hear the unsaid,
In the silence of the stars.
Stop the tears from falling,
Tell the heart not to bleed.
Try to see the light,
Not the darkness that surrounds you.
Open your eyes, see the beauty,
Doesn't it make you wonder?
yet the mind is chained with shackles
Freedom is what it needs,
Faith is what it desire.
Then why are the chains so strong?
Why does it lack the power?
The effort to break the fetter of lies,
the strenght to enter the realm of bliss.
Are you blind to the obvious?
Or deaf to the calling of truth?
Why stop the peace to enter?
Yet,let the fire of hate in?
Comeback, please do
Forgiveness is right where you fell.​

So how was it?
 
a few from Cold Mountain

Among a thousand clouds and ten thousand streams,
Here lives an idle man,
In the daytime wandering over green mountains
At night coming home to sleep by the cliff.
Swiftly the springs and autumns pass,
But my mind is at peace, free from dust or delusion
How pleasant to know I need nothing to lean on
To be still as the waters of the autumn river!
 
Cold Mountain

If you are looking for a place to rest,
Cold Mountain is a good place to stay.
The breeze flowing through the dark pines
Sounds better the closer you come.
And under the trees a white-haired man
Mumbles over his Taoist texts.
Ten years now he hasn't gone home;
He has even forgotten the road he came by.
 
Cold Mountain

Cold Mountain is a house
Without beams or walls.
The six doors left and right are open
The hall is blue sky.
The rooms all vacant and vague
The east wall beats on the west wall
At the center nothing.
Borrowers don't bother me
In the cold I build a little fire
When I'm hungry I boil up some greens.
I've got no use for the kulak
With his big barn and pasture --
He just sets up a prison for himself.
Once in he can't get out.
Think it over --
You know it might happen to you.



(a kulak is a minor landed noble)
 
last one from Cold Mountain

People ask about Cold Mountain Way;
There's no Cold Mountain Road that goes straight through:
By summer, lingering cold is not dispersed,
By fog, the risen sun is screened from view;
So how did one like me get onto it?
In our hearts, I'm not the same as you --
If in your heart you should become like me,
Then you can reach the center of it too.
 

A fairly recent haiku I wrote, around the beginning of November, 2003.

Morning's reflection

Droplets alight; rest.
The sun burns off the day’s frost;
Delicate balance.
 
Ryokan

to his Teacher:

An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeks growing unchecked year after year;
There is no one left to tend the tomb,
And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.
Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,
Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River.
One morning I set off on my solitary journey
And the years passed between us in silence.
Now I have returned to find him at rest here;
How can I honor his departed spirit?
I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone
And offer a silent prayer.
The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill
And I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines.
I try to pull myself away but cannot;
A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.
 
a poem of my own

Reflections from a Moon Mat




I sit in meditation posture in a china-berry room
your gentle breathing counts the mantras
ticking off the mala beads

A black and white cat mewls for attention
the click of claws upon the wooden floor
a cold nose pressed to my face

The moon shines bright through the window
as clouds drift across the sky
carrying my prayers to all beings

The stillness becomes quiet and my breath
seems to echo with emptiness
connoting something beyond conception

My knees ache and my ankles are sore
the cold is seeping into the room
a small blanket keeps me warm

Rising from my mat with creaking joints
i join you in a mound of covers and pillows
to sleep; warmed, content.

You stir in response to my presence
bringing coldness into your warmth
rolling over, leg draped over mine

I touch your face gently
fingers tracing the crease of your skin
soft sighs escape into the night

I smile a little smile
slide across the sheets to be closer to you
and drift off into forever
 
salam,
(read it on the net)

The Last Rainbow Warrior Is Dead

Bitter funerals in silence held
Twelve coffins laid to earth
To dust all human hope to wither
The last rainbow warriors is dead

Ours is the world of tragedy
Ours is the world of grief

For countless,
gray days of dismay
It's been snowing black ashes
upon these devastated lands
Dreadful are the storms
that grind these mountains to sand

Hear the voice of destruction
as it screams through our souls
With the vast storms it walks
Proud destruction in human form
 
Vajradhara--I'm really liking your poetry, both your own and the stuff by Ryodon. Who is that, btw? Man, this is so refreshing compared with the board that I usually post to.
 
Clive Staples said:
Vajradhara--I'm really liking your poetry, both your own and the stuff by Ryodon. Who is that, btw? Man, this is so refreshing compared with the board that I usually post to.
Click to expand...
Namaste Clive,

thank you for kind words :)

here's a bit of info about him...

Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) (nicknamed Great Fool) lives on as one of Japan's best loved poets, the wise fool who wrote of his humble life with such directness. He is in a tradition of radical Zen poets or "great fools" including China's P'ang Yun (Layman P'ang, 740-811) and Han-shan (Cold Mountain, T'ang Dynasty), and Japan's poets of the Rinzai School: Ikkyu Sojun (Crazy Cloud, 1394-1481) and Hakuin Ekaku (1686-1769). Ryokan had no disciples, ran no temple, and in the eyes of the world was a penniless monk who spent his life in the snow country of Mt. Kugami. He admired most the Soto Zen teachings of Dogen Zenji and the unconventional life and poetry of Zen mountain poet Han-shan. He repeatedly refused to be honored or confined as a "professional" either as a Buddhist priest or a poet. "Who says my poems are poems?/These poems are not poems./ When you can understand this,/ then we can begin to speak of poetry." Ryokan never published a collection of verse while alive. His practice consisted of sitting in zazen meditation, walking in the woods, playing with children, making his daily begging rounds, reading and writing poetry, doing calligraphy, and on occasion drinking wine with friends.
 
Winter Sun on my Back

A winter sun rises huge and bright,
lights the south corner of my house.
Eyes closed, I sit warming my back,
ch'i stirring through every muscle,
serene. Soon it's like sipping wine,
like the refreshment of hibernation.
Body genial, its hundred bones clear,
spirit serene, no thoughts anywhere,
I've forgotten where I am, boundless
mind all emptiness rendered whole.

-Po Chui-I
 
Without desire everything is sufficient.
With seeking, myriad things are impoverished.
Plain vegetables can soothe hunger.
A patched robe is enough to cover this bent old body.
Alone I hike with a deer.
Cheerfully I sing with village children.
The stream under the cliff cleanses my ears.
The pine on the mountaintop fits my heart.

-Ryokan
 
The Lillith Oracles

The First Traslation, The Riddle
Lillith in Sumaria did shelter in a tree
Within an old and hallowed trunk a simple home to be

And where ever went the Lillith was Old Wisdom wont to go
And coiled herself beneath the roots and guarded Lillith so

And high up in the branches the Anzu built her nest
That nothing falling from the sky keep Lillith from her rest

Old Sin, the moon, shone blessings down upon the peaceful scene
And Lillith with her guardians grew contented and serene

Had Inanna left the three in peace and in sweet nature's arms
Would YWHW's man have ever asked the Lillith for her charms?

And had he not then bullied and thought himself her king
The world of men need not have feared the serpent's bite and sting

And the great old dragon-bird might well have lived in peace
Had Adam not disturbed her nest with evil lust/hubris

And Adam's sons, the rabbis, might have better told the story
Than to say that Sin was evil when the moon is ought but glory

If you would know of Lillith's tale it started not with Hebrew
Go back to old Sumeria and knowledge from the Nammu

If you would know whence Lillith came and understand the fall
You must go to the Nammu of the deep abyss of all

(Oracle of the Nammu:)
The beginning of the cycle now called the "fall of man,"
Is in truth, the fall of Womanpride when Manhubris began.
 
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