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Poetry - post poems that move you

Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Carol on Wed Aug 13, 2014 3:47 am

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Practitioners who cultivate the personal realization of buddha knowledge dwell in the bliss of whatever is present and do not abandon their practice.
~Lankavatara Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Michaeljc on Wed Aug 13, 2014 8:48 am

This reminds me of a story told to me as a child.

A little girl got punished because she could not resist picking the flowers out the front of the house. Then she died. They picked all the flowers to put on her grave.
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Carol on Mon Aug 18, 2014 11:47 pm

Anna Akhmatova – Everything is Plundered

Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold,
Death’s great black wing scrapes the air,
Misery gnaws to the bone.
Why then do we not despair?

By day, from the surrounding woods,
cherries blow summer into town;
at night the deep transparent skies
glitter with new galaxies.

And the miraculous comes so close
to the ruined, dirty houses –
something not known to anyone at all,
but wild in our breast for centuries.
Practitioners who cultivate the personal realization of buddha knowledge dwell in the bliss of whatever is present and do not abandon their practice.
~Lankavatara Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby desert_woodworker on Tue Aug 19, 2014 1:08 am

INVOLVED

They say last night radiation
storms spilled down the meridians,
cool green tongues of solar
flares, non-human & not
to be humanized, licking at
human life: an arctic
air mass shielded us: had I been
out I'd have said,
knowing them masked, burn me: or
thanks for the show:
my spine would have flared
sympathetic colors:
as it is I slept through,
burning from a distant source.

--by A. R. Ammons
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby partofit22 on Sun Sep 14, 2014 7:54 pm

ONE MORNING

One morning
we will wake up
and forget to build
that wall we’ve been building,

the one between us
the one we’ve been building
for years, perhaps
out of some sense
of right and boundary,
perhaps out of habit.

One morning
we will wake up
and let our empty hands
hang empty at our sides.

Perhaps they will rise,
as empty things
sometimes do
when blown
by the wind.

Perhaps they simply
will not remember
how to grasp, how to rage.

We will wake up
that morning
and we will have
misplaced all our theories
about why and how
and who did what
to whom, we will have mislaid
all our timelines
of when and plans of what
and we will not scramble
to write the plans and theories anew.

On that morning,
not much else
will have changed.

Whatever is blooming
will still be in bloom.

Whatever is wilting
will wilt. There will be fields
to plow and trains
to load and children
to feed and work to do.

And in every moment,
in every action, we will
feel the urge to say thank you,
we will follow the urge to bow.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby TTT on Mon Sep 15, 2014 8:08 am

Why am i doing this
When
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby partofit22 on Tue Sep 16, 2014 2:43 am

Why We Tell Stories

I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and


Lisel Mueller
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Carol on Tue Oct 21, 2014 5:37 am

Saint Francis and the Sow
by Galway Kinnel

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those things that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on the brow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until it flowers again from within, of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
of the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of earth on the sow, and the sow

began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,

from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the sheer blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking and
blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.
Practitioners who cultivate the personal realization of buddha knowledge dwell in the bliss of whatever is present and do not abandon their practice.
~Lankavatara Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Ted Biringer on Tue Oct 21, 2014 5:47 am

The Ox

There was once a woman whose father over
the years had become an ox.

She would hear him alone at night lowing
in his room.

It was one day when she looked up into his
face that she suddenly noticed the ox.

She cried, you're an ox!

And he began to moo with his great pink
tongue hanging out of his mouth.

He would stand over his newspaper, turning
the pages with his tongue, while he evacuated
on the rug.

When this was brought to his attention he
would low with sorrow, and slowly climb the
stairs to his room, and there spend the night
in mournful lowing.
~Russell Edson
Do not misunderstand Buddhism by believing the erroneous principle ‘a special tradition outside the scriptures.’ Zen Master Dogen, Shobogenzo, Bukkyo (trans. Hee-Jin Kim)
Ted Biringer Author The Flatbed Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Ted Biringer on Wed Oct 22, 2014 9:23 am

We would climb the highest dune,
from there to gaze and come down:
the ocean was performing;
we contributed our climb.

Waves leapfrogged and came
straight out of the storm.
What should our gaze mean?
Kit waited for me to decide.

Standing on such a hill,
what would you tell your child?
That was an absolute vista.
Those waves raced far, and cold.

'How far could you swim, Daddy,
in such a storm?'
'As far as was needed,' I said,
and as I talked, I swam.


William Stafford
Do not misunderstand Buddhism by believing the erroneous principle ‘a special tradition outside the scriptures.’ Zen Master Dogen, Shobogenzo, Bukkyo (trans. Hee-Jin Kim)
Ted Biringer Author The Flatbed Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Carol on Fri Nov 14, 2014 5:02 am

i thank you ~ e. e. cummings

I thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any—lifted from the no
of all nothing—human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

Practitioners who cultivate the personal realization of buddha knowledge dwell in the bliss of whatever is present and do not abandon their practice.
~Lankavatara Sutra
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby TTT on Fri Nov 14, 2014 9:51 am

Nice poem Carol.
When
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby fukasetsu on Wed Feb 04, 2015 6:05 pm

Dying and giving birth go on
inside the one consciousness,
but most people misunderstand

the pure play of creative energy,
how inside that, those,
are one event.

~Lalla
Everyone for President!
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Michaeljc on Thu Feb 05, 2015 12:51 am

The Maori Jesus
- James K. Baxter

I saw the Maori Jesus
Walking on Wellington Harbour.
He wore blue dungarees,
His beard and hair were long.
His breath smelled of mussels and paraoa.
When he smiled it looked like the dawn.
When he broke wind the little fishes trembled.
When he frowned the ground shook.
When he laughed everybody got drunk.

The Maori Jesus came on shore
And picked out his twelve disciples.
One cleaned toilets in the railway station;
His hands were scrubbed red to get the shit out of the pores.
One was a call-girl who turned it up for nothing.
One was a housewife who had forgotten the Pill
And stuck her TV set in the rubbish can.
One was a little office clerk
Who'd tried to set fire to the Government Buldings.
Yes, and there were several others;
One was a sad old quean;
One was an alcoholic priest
Going slowly mad in a respectable parish.

The Maori Jesus said, 'Man,
From now on the sun will shine.'

He did no miracles;
He played the guitar sitting on the ground.

The first day he was arrested
For having no lawful means of support.
The second day he was beaten up by the cops
For telling a dee his house was not in order.
The third day he was charged with being a Maori
And given a month in Mt Crawford.
The fourth day he was sent to Porirua
For telling a screw the sun would stop rising.
The fifth day lasted seven years
While he worked in the Asylum laundry
Never out of the steam.
The sixth day he told the head doctor,
'I am the Light in the Void;
I am who I am.'
The seventh day he was lobotomised;
The brain of God was cut in half.

On the eighth day the sun did not rise.
It did not rise the day after.
God was neither alive nor dead.
The darkness of the Void,
Mountainous, mile-deep, civilised darkness
Sat on the earth from then till now
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby TTT on Thu Feb 05, 2015 6:07 am

Great poem. Is it new?
When
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Michaeljc on Thu Feb 05, 2015 8:37 am

No - he died a good 30 years ago. He battled with alcoholism all his life.
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby JessicaLeigh on Thu Feb 05, 2015 9:31 am

An Eastern Ballad
Allen Ginsberg


I speak of love that comes to mind:
The moon is faithful, although blind;
She moves in thought she cannot speak.
Perfect care has made her bleak.

I never dreamed the sea so deep,
The earth so dark; so long my sleep,
I have become another child.
I wake to see the world go wild.
"One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." -Andrè Gide
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby JessicaLeigh on Thu Feb 05, 2015 9:37 am

Complaint of the Skeleton to Time
Allen Ginsberg

Take my love, it is not true,
So let it tempt no body new;
Take my lady, she will sigh
For my bed where'er I lie;

Take them, said the skeleton, But leave my bones alone.


Take my raiment, now grown cold,
To give to some poor poet old;
Take the skin that hoods this truth
If his age would wear my youth;

Take them, said the skeleton, But leave my bones alone.


Take the thoughts that like the wind
Blow my body out of mind;
Take this heart to go with that
And pass it on from rat to rat;

Take them, said the skeleton, But leave my bones alone.


Take the art which I bemoan
In a poem's crazy tone;
Grind me down, though I may groan,
To the starkest stick and stone;

Take them, said the skeleton, But leave my bones alone.
"One does not discover new lands without consenting to lose sight of the shore for a very long time." -Andrè Gide
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby Chrisd on Thu Feb 05, 2015 11:43 am

don't you touch ma bones! :lol2:
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Re: Poetry - post poems that move you

Postby fukasetsu on Thu Feb 05, 2015 3:12 pm

Chrisd wrote:don't you touch ma bones! :lol2:


What's that you say Chris, your dying wish is to have a Tibetian sky burial? :PP:
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