Tag: Poetry

Haiku-esque, lyrical poetry, Poetry, Zen

Zazen – on the farm in Hampshire

a memory evening

forgotten in the sunset

burnishes copper kettles

–

holding linen gloves

performing léger de main

with destiny’s child

–

hidden pathways unwind

each nascent moment

ever pregnant pauses

–

judge and jury mind

hears not the birdsong

resenting coming dawns

–

a tear meanders lost

on a forsaken face

quenching desert lilies

–

sandcastle dreams ebb

and flow, with the

incoming tides of life

–

under the arch’s curve

fate shelters a while

as the earth drinks deep

–

raindrops softly caress

verdant carpets drawn

on canvas fields

–

watercolours paint margins

for the Soul to journey

a leather coracle in Dao

–

the profound silence of ponds

hears water boatmen

tickle trout with song

–

the winds play flute

a chimney blows smoke rings

beech logs in the fire

–

cows chanting mantra in sheds

the prayer bell chimes

a farmer brings fresh hay

–

the kestrel hovers hungry

seeing beyond horizons

keen for future dreams

–

the woodcutter’s solitude

cuts axe blade sharp

through logs mundane

–

spiced wine warming

the veins of golden ore

pumped only by heart

–

the acrobat squirrel

crosses the swaying canyon

between century’s pylons

–

semaphore trees

waving long naked fingers

in winter’s winds

–

the point before mind

waits for the ripple of

a passing thought

–

stardust falls silent

for those who wait

no footprints in the snow

–

a match scratches a back

a hint of phosphorous

fire eases the itch of cold

–

moss on the trees

hiding from sunrays

growing only aeon’s beards

–

the wise old yews

cracking knuckles in the breeze

have watched millennia

–

the moorhens plink

pennies in a fountain

wishing for luck at dawn

–

a carrion crow plucks

a hearty breakfast

at the roadside café

–

omniscience counts

each Autumn leaf

the actuary of Souls

–

how does dharma teach

the fiery core of stars

only by feathers in the heart

–

what lies before now

only the present sleeping

waiting for the cockerel

–

what lies after now

only persistent dawns

irradiated with dew

–

what lies in the now

only forever born eternal

in the womb of moment

–

singing songs in the bath

no-one is watching

a child starts to walk

–

as naked as spring

a flower unfolds its flag

saying only welcome

–

the candle shimmers

beacons burn on the hills

eyes glisten with living love

–

an owl hoots in laughter

at man’s busy lives

pondering on their shadows

–

a spider’s web tense

sees the ants commute

yearning for love

–

soft down in chestnut shells

beyond fish hook barbs

cradles possibility

–

red holly berries

write in their font of hope

amidst the thorns

–

wide empty paths

leading to the cosmic causeway

where bamboo bridges flex

–

the Dao bends the reed

to fit the clarinet

and Gabriel’s oboe

–

Dao tunes pianos

in the darkness of night

a quintessence is born

–

a river carves Souls

whilst brooks chuckle softly

over the mossy rocks

–

mayflies tickle the eddies

willows bowing humble

under azure skies

–

scent carries fragrance

of lotus blossom

cherishing tender Sakurai

–

a single petal floats

wafted on pillow dreams

cotton wool soothes with a tincture

–

cutting carrots fine

a sliver of perfection

crisp and juicy with joy

–

sliced ginger pervades

more pungent than any dawn

a newborn deer forages

Attempts in French, Poetry

L’homme Expurgé

Il n’existe pas

On m’a dit un jour

Et les registres en confirment !

–

Personne ne l’a pas vu

Ou entendu

Il faut qu’il soit un être virtuel

–

Un fantasme

Issu de l’imagination

Un nuage fugace

–

Mais qui est l’homme

À l’état sauvage

Qui a le regard fixe ?

–

Un sujet tabou

Et vraiment épineux

–

Pourquoi respire-t-il profondément,

S’il n’est pas réel ?

–

Peut-être

Ils ne lui ont pas dit

Et il ne pourrait pas

Comprendre

–

Il n’existe pas

Il n’a jamais existé

Car il est l’homme expurgé

lyrical poetry, Personal Development, Poetry

Letting Go

Knuckles round knife

And cutting the slice,

Peeling and paring

The earthen skin.

–

Searching the puzzle

And picking apart

Easing the seems

In integral heart.

–

Swollen of toe

In junior school shoes,

Casting away,

The things I must lose.

–

Barnacle’s grip

On memory rocks

Washed by the tides,

To loosen the locks.

–

Time is the oil,

Of Sesame’s call

Choosing the future

Amongst potential’s all.

–

Taking the grey ships

Into the West.

Death of the Old,

And pains in my chest.

–

Left on the beach,

In seaweed embrace.

Turning away

And looking for pace.

–

Leaving behind,

The more that you take,

Footsteps in sand,

And thirst that won’t slake.

–

Melancholy’s magic,

Tempers my mood

Washes the cheeks

And deadens the food.

–

Waiting and watching,

For sunrise in East,

Birth of the Knew,

Is bringing its feast.

–

Release is elastic

And stretches the thread,

Taking the knife,

And paring it dead.

–

Pulling on chord,

In navel hue

Eviscerate and cleanse,

The time it is due.

–

Letting it go

Is hard and IT aches

–

Letting it go

Is sad with BUT brakes.

–

Letting it go

Is now and IT takes.

–

Letting it go

Is time and IT makes.

–

Letting it go,

Is free and NO fakes.

–

Go to the door,

Yell at the sky

Open those wings,

It is, time to fly.

–

Raising above,

And looking down.

How small is the past

How distant, its town.

–

Ginger bread houses

And icing sugar roof

The future is here

Please, give me some proof.

–

Letting it go

Is hard as nails.

–

Letting it go

Is hard as ….

–

Letting it go

Is hard……

–

Letting it go

Is…….

–

Gone.

Poetry

Not now, not ever

Sodium yellow faded night

in trash can alley

where all the dreams go to die

the Neon signs buzz wasps

–

Rats scurry into their KFC homes

for that last bite of chicken

the deep ammoniacal doorways

still wet, pungent and steaming

–

Tin foils and methadone

bottles lined up on a wall

if one should accidentally fall

what would Odin do?

–

Strung out for Yggdrasil

a strange fruit pendant

where all the Stigmata

still bleed in his palms

–

He has no more

alms to give

his bowl now

stamped VOID and empty

–

From out all the alphabet soup

can find not now a word

though he can see plenty

and hear all, those whispers

–

On the sidewalk of shame

he sees the resting place

a white chalk line

shaped like a man

… … his totality

–

The resplendent banners

fluttering triumphant in the breeze

saying; “Do Not Cross”

are bathed in the flashing blues

… … of his final siren song

–

they were too late

John Doe was DOA

clutching at straws to the very end

there a single celluloid lay, crinkled

… … beside him

–

No one noticed as the city wind

carried it silent away as

the first teardrop rain

lands sidewalk slowly

… … the night it sobs just a little

–

The pitter-patter of tiny feet

with chamois softness

start to work on him

and before the commuters

…  … he will be gone

–

His Etch-a-Sketch life

all iron filings

has drawn its last

and no photo-fit

… … will ever capture him again

–

Not now, not ever.

Attempts in French, Poetry

Une vérité qui dérange

L’écureuil cherche avidement

Les noix cachées

Ses mots qu’il a déjà dits

Il y en a tant

–

Dans le brouillard de temps

Il a beaucoup oublié

Il blâme tous les autres

Les doigts comme les épées

–

Il chauffe l’huile brûlant et

Aiguise ses histoires élastiques

Avec un verre d’advocaat

Il est devenu plastique

–

On ne pourrait jamais accepter

Un colis juste comme ça

Madame la factrice

Je ne suis pas chez moi

–

Même s’il reste

Sur le lit de mort

Il peut tricher Dieu

Qu’il n’a pas du tort

–

Les mains aux oreilles

Pour les protéger

Au cas où ils vont roussir

Les mots de la vérité

–

Le singe de sagesse

Va nier tout car

Le boomerang prodigue

Jamais retournera

–

Les poings fermés

En grinçant les dents

Il n’avalerait jamais

Parce que, parce que

–

Le sage lui a donné une pelle

Pour trouver ses noix perdues

Et il creuse á l’Australie

Parce que, parce que

–

Le maçon en pierres

A finalement écrit

Sur sa pierre tombale

« Il avait toujours raison, parce que, parce que »

Poetry, Satire

Justify Your love..

As you emptied the magazine

of .357 reasons why,

did you pause to reload?

–

Each hollow point

spreading traces

of shiny, justified lead

–

Did you keep a tally

as they mounted up,

your casings on the floor?

–

When I couldn’t prove

beyond a reasonable doubt,

did that gavel strike?

–

And when they chalked me up

to experience

did you applaud?

–

In the blue flashing lights

my mortal imprint fading

in the winter rain

–

And when Sherlock comes

looking for proof,

will he find it?

–

That line by line refutation

did it convince your heart?

Does it now?

–

I am sorry that

I could not justify my love

…enough

–

and you couldn’t yours….

lyrical poetry, Poetry

on peut voir l’éternelle

How slow is each second

and yet quick every year?

The snail and the dragonfly

know each other, too well.

–

Eternity is a friend

waiting at the door,

had I but something

to offer him in return.

–

Nothing is a meal

that breaks any fast

much more than whole

and always enough.

–

As the autumn leaves turn

and winter snow falls,

it is only I who remain,

I, whatever, I am.