If there are no objections, I thought that perhaps a poetry thread might be of interest. I've only very recently been introduced to poetry. I've been around it, of course, but it was like a sales-person who I've frequently seen in the offices where I work but I never had any interaction with them and didn't even know their name until a few months ago. My first few dates with poetry have gone well and I'm enjoying making its acquaintance. The thread title is actually an anthology of Zen poems. I don't yet have a copy, but the Zen master where I attend morning meditation has read out out of it many times. So, if you find a poem that you enjoy and think we might too, feel free to add it.
standing in the eye of the primordial forest;
dew-soaked grass crushed beneath bare feet;
the touch of clover flowerheads tickling toes.
Yet, I am neither grass nor clover flowers.
breathing slowly, deeply; inhaling all the wonder;
the scent of wildflowers, damp moss and conifers;
permeating my body and saturating the stillness within.
Yet, I am not wildflower, damp moss or tree.
teased by the swirling upon my tongue as it settles;
tasting the last vestiges of heavy, mist-laden smoke;
bringing moist hints of earthiness and terpenes.
Yet, I am neither the earth nor the majestic pines.
ever-present consciousness filling with nature’s harmony;
a symphony of soft birdsong and distant rushing waters;
accompanied by the verdant forest’s more subtle melodies.
Yet, I am neither birdsong nor the distant rushing river.
opening lids warmed by the rising sun to greet the day;
a rich palette of yellows, purples and greens materialize;
revealing the kaleidoscopic masterpiece on visual canvas.
Yet, I remain aware that I am not a yellow, purple or green.
filled with awe and wonder; mind completely overwhelmed;
until the thought, “I am blessed,” follows “I am undeserving”;
awareness recedes as the echoes of mind obscure the stillness;
and I foolishly believe myself to be blessed and undeserving.