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poetry bits...add your flavor... come on, participate nb.
Lady_Alison
Veteran
Loneliness dancing in a crowded room, remembering how I felt safe with you.
I wish I wasn't always so afraid, I wish I wasn't always wrong.
But you needed to feel right and I made it all my fault. It's always all my fault.
Why didn't you ever consider that maybe you were wrong. You were wrong. Wrong!
Now I'm gone. Dancing in a crowded room, turning slowly remembering how safe I felt with you.
For my NB broken hearted friends.
I wish I wasn't always so afraid, I wish I wasn't always wrong.
But you needed to feel right and I made it all my fault. It's always all my fault.
Why didn't you ever consider that maybe you were wrong. You were wrong. Wrong!
Now I'm gone. Dancing in a crowded room, turning slowly remembering how safe I felt with you.
For my NB broken hearted friends.
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Disclaimer: Don't listen if you are in a breakup or you will almost literally break up.
Lotsa metta,
Sabre
This room is hostile and malignant to all.
To tread inside would be senseless
As a deadly serpent plots to bind.
The stench is rancid, rampant, and noxious inside.
The wiring here is faulty,
And the atmosphere damp,
A somewhat defective door is boarded shut,
Repelling the foreign exterior beyond.
Despair is written all over these walls,
The letters seep and infest down to the core.
It’s lunacy to abide in this room,
But it’s somewhat familiar and warm.
I am isolated here,
Forsaken at my own will,
My thoughts are mine and mine only
As nobody can enter this room.
Lots of things take place in here,
But that is where they stay.
They happen from day to day,
But maybe at some point, they will try to escape.
that we will bur this bright passing bare: not-self,
not glass, just blur and glare. We will bleed cold clay
at which to stare, discern fools who label fools
the wrong kind of fools, justify our bile
by regurgitating ancient gruel. Pack mules,
burden borne to birth of fruit tree.
Murder no-jewel on the horns of a hare.
Or maybe one of these unhoneyed clerics is Maitreya,
while it's my tangled sight that spies a hovering hawk's eye spiral
to intwine and strangle a bright line of thought
like an Indian rope trick, or a toothless cavity.
(Pace yourself.
One must not be left to fall
When the root is unwound. There is no wound
like gravity.)
But anyway, I think Anubis came to me
recently in dream,
for once I was a Priestess of Egypt,
sculptor of serpentine sand,
while sloughed I am the white ghost of the prairie
and my organs float in soapskin.
We have put out our eyes,
and stopped up our nostrils
so that we may bear the future. We will sing
happy birthday Mr President
then cut out our tongues for you.
As it should be. Every vain deed
to gentle the pearl seed in our heart, which,
though old, fat, and dozy,
has been reading the whirl of a carousel
for miles, by a wax dragon's negated flame.
Come now, it smiles to the light
I have died more times than a cat -
what shape now can hold me?
They say, these sandy lips,
they say that there is a fire upon the deep
which will melt the desert into glass -
our similes will flee like water -
and sometimes they say
carpe dieme. Dive into the flame. And
that if I read the lotus sutra again,
it may have changed. I own
that they are all friends, not strange.
And it may be time to believe them.
Thank the universe for broken hearts, source of creative inspiration.
By Bhante Wimala
When your mind becomes motionless
and the brilliant eyes of the peaceful mind
take a straight look down into the depth of
your heart
you will see the life-force pulsating and
thriving
in the warmth of pure love.
As you experience this pure love
what we all call "heart"
beams of light will begin to radiate from
the center of it
for heaven is there in eternity.
If you can release this radiance of love
and allow it to flow through you,
your heart will become light.
The spirit will get liberated into the air
and then, from a place of inner stillness
you will know what it would be like
to be an eagle and soar in the evening
skies.
Lyrics; George Harrison, 1967
We were talking - about the space between us all
And the people - who hide themselves
behind a wall of illusion
Never glimpse the truth - then it's far too
late - when they pass away.
We were talking - about the love we all
could share - when we find it
To try our best to hold it there - with our
love
With our love - we could save the world - if
they only knew.
Try to realise it's all within yourself no-one
else can make you change
And to see you're really only very small,
And life flows on within you and without
you.
We were talking - about the love that's gone
so cold and the people,
Who gain the world and lose their soul -
they don't know - they can't see - are you
one of them?
When you've seen beyond yourself - then
you may find, peace of mind is waiting
there -
And the time will come when you see we're all one, and life flows on within you and
without you.
You don't have to do anything with your
mind, just let it naturally rest in it's essential nature.
Your own mind, unagitated, is reality.
Meditate on this without distraction.
Know the Truth beyond all opposites.
Thoughts are like bubbles that form and
dissolve in clear water.
Thoughts are not distinct from the absolute Reality, so relax, there is no need to be critical.
Whatever arises, whatever occurs,
simply don't cling to it, but immediately let
it go.
What you see, hear, and touch are your
own mind.
There is nothing but mind. Mind transcends birth and death.
The essence of mind is pure Consciousness that never leaves reality,
even though it experiences the things of
the senses.
In the equanimity of the Absolute, there is
nothing to renounce or attain.
I can feel wild spring wind
trail its hand along the wall.
Let me in, it whispers,
or come out.
Yet forgot the desire soothed
Long tongues licking in darkness
Brave sparks going on their voyage
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
A manticore knocked on my door today
and said, "Please, kind Sir, have you seen my dream?"
"It wandered off in the forest of past memories
and fell over the cliffs of regret."
"I've tracked it this far, but lost its scent
at the crossroads of confusion."
"I am familiar with many dreams," I told him.
"Perhaps if you could describe it?"
"Oh, it's just a small dream," the Manticore replied,
"not grand at all."
"It's a dream of dark, dangerous paths
and moonless nights
and the smell of blood."
"I have no truck with dreams such as that,"
I told the Manticore, and shut the door.
by me, G Costlow
The baby is
As soft and sweet
As if she were
Legitimate.
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Edgar Allan Poe
Gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily.
Life is but a dream.