Notes About The Poem
Primrose Zen Garden watercolor by Poetess
If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced--Vincent Van Gogh
So Spake Simple Simon Poetry Contest
2nd Place
“We look at spirit not at form
Our touch is gentle, kind and warm
We but reflect God’s love and light
‘Tis the path to which we conform”—Unseeking Seeker
So Spake Simple Simon
I’m spiritually born, yet of flesh torn
To turn a new leaf, let go egocentricity, I’ve sworn
Release joyfully into the yin-yang, swim love's river
Evict jealous inanity, bane’s phlegm forlorn
On the rippling roadway of real time’s traces
I am the vehicle of which life form embraces
Begins the babe expressing a trekking truth
Amongst those crossing paths and places
I long to be on, make headway, and belong
Spin a renge chant and play an unsullied song
Wish with granting jewels and nourish chakras
Let ecstasy of the spiritual stratum plane prolong
Where language of logic levels all abhorrence
Where it is not a dark view of things dense
The rising smoke and spreading fragrance
The purifying smell of lemongrass incense
Clear the midway for higher consciousness
Of impure lips who seek perfection noisiness
Refute incorrect views on the basaltic plains
Milk touched by the serpent’s lips, poisonous
Lost in random played piano keys, wedged
Somber strings of rustling renegade razors edge
The endways forcefield of hate destroys all paths
Cacophony of an untuned sitar, scales solfège
Resounding fanciful mahogany’s sympathy trance
Arabesque set forth the harmonious dance
Sacred sounds of instruments tuned to Luna’s pull
Nothing free even the sea belongs to conformance
Fallen flowers I rake, Fall’s fragrant find
Withered ones leave their aromas behind
Nirvana conforms with blooms of magentas
As I meditate poetic musings of my mind
Blooms like mosaics, pale pink pearls opulent
Achievement copious in Zen garden’s contentment
Here softly with prayers of peace and pauses
Primroses, rosettes, and butterflies arise ardent
Jade blades of grass but break and subdue
They only cut those of an erroneous view
With tingling imagery of the middle mind’s eye
I am an upholder of the act of shakabuku
Purpose wavers, lest we ponder mull and wait
Without sweet words our holy direction is surely innate
Fill this toroidal heart of vast void with surrender
Simple Simon holds his tongue, reward renders fate
As my inner voice meditates blissful symphonies
A simple power of affirmation and trust
Appear the illuminating diamond epiphanies
I submerge myself in divinity of sacrosanct stardust
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