Welcome home! Please contact lincoln@icrontic.com if you have any difficulty logging in or using the site. New registrations must be manually approved which may take several days. Can't log in? Try clearing your browser's cookies.
Share your Poetry!
cptshrk
Explorer
I've seen from the hobbies thread that many of you write haikus / poems. Personally, I've been doing it for years and love it! So here goes today's poem, for those of you who understand French...
Les quatres vérités en une journée ensoleillé
De retour à la tradition
Puisque Sartre m'ennuie
Avec son vide d'émotions
Frères d'âme moi & lui.
Pourtant on m'a appris
À lutter contre ces idées:
Accepter que souffrance et vie
Son synonyme en réalité.
Ce serait l'attachement
Aux objets et concepts
Toutefois impérmanents
Qui nous rend inepte.
Notre ignorance mène
À désirer toujours plus,
Infligeant douleur et peine
À l'Homme jusqu'à la puce!
...mais réjouissez-vous!
Puisque Buddha est venu
Et a indiqué qu'en nous
Se trouve l'avenue.
Les quatres vérités en une journée ensoleillé
De retour à la tradition
Puisque Sartre m'ennuie
Avec son vide d'émotions
Frères d'âme moi & lui.
Pourtant on m'a appris
À lutter contre ces idées:
Accepter que souffrance et vie
Son synonyme en réalité.
Ce serait l'attachement
Aux objets et concepts
Toutefois impérmanents
Qui nous rend inepte.
Notre ignorance mène
À désirer toujours plus,
Infligeant douleur et peine
À l'Homme jusqu'à la puce!
...mais réjouissez-vous!
Puisque Buddha est venu
Et a indiqué qu'en nous
Se trouve l'avenue.
1
Comments
Among these pines
Arching toward a crystal sun
Each a solid pillar of light each
An ancient syllable resounding
Through melanous earth a language
No one will ever know
Finding no entrance no windows
The temple is everywhere
~ Joshua Sellers
Untitled #6
I see the World in green, brown, white & blue
Under the sun lending the rainbow its hue
I feel the cold wind blowing strong, then rest
Swaying my body to the east, from west
I hear the small birds singing to the dead
Reaching to my listening ear, instead
I smell the fresh air fleeing from the snow
Leading me to ponder on tomorrow
And I taste the bitter tea on my tongue
Loyally keeping me up all day long
My head sometimes can be a fright'ning place
But we can't be dealt a hand full of Ace
So as I sit here - hands cold - on the edge
Waiting for a sign, looking down the ledge
And I try to find how to end this poem
Because all I'm thinking about is home
O' hear me now sons & daughters of spring
Gather to meet this year's winter offspring
At last coming to bring the World a piece
Of his offering known as joy & peace!
He sat quietly, anticipating
her embrace
her smile
and her warmth
As the snow fell silently
But now
his love lay on the snow
petals scattered like drops of blood
And there he stood
among the snowmen
quietly anticipating the warmth
to take them all away
Memory recalls the embers of the fire as dazzling
and forgets the longing soothed and mesmerized
Long tongues licking in darkness
Sparks leaping on their brave voyage
@Jeffrey now I'm horny... ^^
There is no such thing as "Zen",
Once found it is gone.
Why look for it then?
There is nothing to look for.
"Zen" is just a word.
as my smaller mind
insists
in the middle of the night
or the waking hour
or any other moment my heart is beating.
Still.
As I lie here naked and alone
my imagination cannot surpass
memories of shared ecstasy.
And I find my body
looking forward to
knowing yours again.
Remembering my lips to the back of your neck
the tip of my tongue to the glen down your back
my fingertips to the place where a thigh
becomes the rest of you
feeling your satisfaction on my heart
beyond two pairs of brown eyes
locked freely
where the universe was created for us.
And as you drift
with your head on my chest
I will lose myself in the rythm
of your breath
like a blade of sea grass
in a salty bay wave.
For Angie
The weight of water hurls itself against rock,
Retreats, re-gathers its strength, the sun shattered
Into innumerable shards the eye cannot follow.
Stranded on an elusive shore, half-remembered,
I climb with you into sunlight, up a narrow path,
Overlooking the ocean on a late summer day.
Between us, the intimate silence we shared,
The purest blue of sea and sky: every step
In the course of time’s unfolding has led to this.
But as two lines fuse together in Euclidean space,
So they also pass and continue, the infinite point
Disappearing into the ever-receding distance.
Our ghosts are evoked more imperfectly with each
Strain of music, straining for what cannot return.
Was it even a memory we once shared?
You, whom I have lost, have not escaped my hand
To another place, but to another time dissolved
By time, slipping away between numbered
Heartbeats, submerged in a ceaseless roar.
You and I are but a blur in this landscape, our shadows
Stranded on a elusive shore, beyond salvage,
Where the ocean’s perpetuum mobile drowns
A late summer day in a lullaby of forgetting, forgotten.
~Joshua Sellers (2012)
We had a memorial in Sussex Gardens (and the name, written in gravel, was for real).
We let off an enormous firework rocket when it was dark, on the beach.
If you don't know what a 'Tunnock' is you will have to Google it.
She was buried on a hill not far from the sea.
"Call me in denial but Flo seems more here and now than ever.
Which is strange because apparently we buried her the other day.
Yet I saw her name, heel-carved in gravel on a path in Sussex Gardens (whilst she hung out at the back and listened in?)
Someone thumbed down cloud to scatter light on the sea and origamied gulls from tunnock wrappers.
At night I caught a frozen flash of someone, knee-deep in seawater, neck extended, watching fireworks go off.
She caught embers on her tongue and didn’t seem to care.
Call me in denial – but just because it didn’t happen, doesn’t mean it wasn’t real."
All things, except for two, that is.
Life never really ends.
A day dawns when the body becomes just a discarded shell, but the essence of life, the spirit, weaves its path though the corridors of eternity. The pillars of history that steady the ascent of humanity rest on a foundation of the souls of great men and women who have brought light into a world where darkness always threatens to hide truth. We know only the reality of the present. Yet, we have wandered through eons of space and time searching for the peace that will come only when we are one with the universe.
I have forgotten my past, although there are those moments or experiences when I nearly capture a glimpse of what has come before. And, l know not what a future existence may bring. In point of fact, I cannot even comprehend what my present future may hold in store. I only know that if I die tomorrow -- and there are times the cavernous emptiness of loneliness makes me yearn for such peace -- the life force will go on, perhaps to a brighter future and hopefully a day when my spirit will find the happiness that has so far eluded my feeble grasp.
Perhaps tomorrow God will grant me fulfillment or peace. I can go on only because I know there must be a reason, a purpose, for being here. Maybe tomorrow that purpose -- that person -- will emerge from the shadows of loneliness.
"The four truths in a sunny day
Return to tradition
Since Sartre bored
With its empty emotions
Soul Brothers me & him.
Yet I was taught
To fight against these ideas:
Accept that suffering and life
Its actually synonymous.
This would be the attachment
Objects and concepts
However impermanent
Makes us inept.
Our ignorance leads
As always desire more,
Inflicting pain and punishment
At the Man to the chip!
but ... rejoice!
Since Buddha came
And indicated that we
Is the avenue."
N.B. I am unconvinced that "At the Man to the chip!" is a sensible translation.
Sartre bores me
With his emotional void
Our ignorance leads
To desire always more
Inflicting pain and sorrow
From the man to the flea
And indicated that in us
Is the way
EDIT: that's my very naive take on the four noble truths, what do you think? I began writing it after putting down Sartre's L'age de la raison, because I couldn't endure his boredom which I came to realize is something I recognize in myself also. Then reminded myself of the Noble Truths and how to deal with the suffering I had caused myself: practicing the eightfold path as Buddha spoke.
I knew:
"since Buddha came
And indicated that we
Is the avenue..."
...couldn't be right.
I like your poem - it's seems both noble and true.
There was a newbuddhist called Buddy
Who meditated in the nuddy
His lama said "Oi,
Get some clothes on, my boy!"
Don't you think he's a bit fuddy-duddy?
no no know now
wow
bow
dog chien
Buddha Tree Age
no routes
no branches
just leave
Sun of Cod
Mother of Mudra
Murder and Maha Mayhem
No pulse, No life,
Your terrible blood is drunk
INTIMATIONS
I am blind to faith
In any eternity
Other than this moment:
The river rushes past
Ephemeral hands.
After all, a life can only
Bear so much world,
And its myriad sorrows,
And its myriad beauties,
Before ripening and falling
Into its own shadow:
It is enough to know
It is enough.
Long after I am dead,
Long after you are dead,
Long after the wake
Of our history submerges
Into an ocean
With no shore in sight,
While the wingless soul,
Flimsy as it is, flickers
Before the vast All,
Only this unsung song,
Our simple love,
Endures
Beyond the frailty.
~ Joshua Sellers (2012)