Best Refuges Poems
At
gray fabric offices,
cubicles divide us—
turn us into
refuges
with mock privacy,
as overheard conversations
drip from lips
endlessly smacking.
Sometimes
it seems insanity
squared—
nothingness
randomly speaking
in tongues
to cubicles
with no one there.
We
thumb tack
individuality
loosely
to coarse fabrics—
arms stretched out
from wall to wall,
as mouths open
to mirrored
silences
we never
scream.
Pouring out the golden glow
the full moon of Vesak,
trying to melt in the blooming sky...
Given the courtesy of trees & breeze
Even the birds show their clarity
Reminds the glory of a legendary day
happened the birth, the enlightenment
& the Parinirvana of
the Lord Buddha...
The Vesak full moon...
It is time, it is sign
to collect good deeds
to prove yourself
Pay homage the Triple Gem
renew the Five Shiksha...
Follow the path,
where the Lord Buddha led...
The Buddhism, A philosophy
deep & logical, explains reasons...
All in all, pinched to a quote
"He who lives by the Dhamma,
is protected by the Dhamma"
Sadhu!! Sadhu!! Sadhu!!
Vesak : The full moon day of month of May, in celebration of the events of Lord buddha's life
The Parinirvana : The final deathless state of the Lord Buddha
The Triple Gem : The three Refuges (Buddha, Dhamma, Sanga)
The Five Shiksha : The five precepts
The Dhamma : The teaching of the Lord Buddha
Sadhu : I partake of it
Starless night, a fire ahead
upon a wind sheltered hill.
Drizzling rain and steamy breath,
I feel the yearning for you.
Lighted by the flickering shine
you seem to be nameless to me.
But your words, your versant vein
recall the charm of the past.
Like a swallow in fall,
untamed and wild,
you’ve vanished silently.
Your cold, weary eyes
have lost their bright glow
of periods elapsed too fast.
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and carry me home.
To consoling shores, and healing refuges,
till my heaven's starry again.
Wandering through a twisted maze
in search of where I belong.
Deep beneath the outer coat
I’m all confounded and lost.
I may count the stars by night,
but they don't look out on me.
I may walk a million miles,
but life is not coming forth.
Like a swallow in fall,
untamed and wild,
you’ve vanished silently.
Your tedious glance,
your meaningless look
are saddening me deep inside.
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and lead me along.
To uncharted soils, beyond cumbering bounds,
till my heaven's starry again.
By and by my life
got a dreary taste.
Childlike magic disappeared
and sternness began.
Elusive confidence,
blissful ignorance,
peaceful mindlessness,
defeated and buried in pain.
I couldn’t resist
Love of life, my friend, come back to me,
spread your wings and teach me to fly.
To salvation’s dawn, beyond crumbling walls,
till my heaven's starry again.
You've stumbled off the righteous path, into the hushed
Wilderness of the unknown, beware for salvation's sake,
Go back nomad; travel not these paths of no return.
But nay this is the domain of the shades, little is
The light, allowed to seep through the thickets, heavily
Forested canopy.
You hear the underbrush cracking, braking, and freeze.
It's too late for you nomad, for this is death's sacred land.
A place of shadows and darkness, and you are the pray.
It is the scent of fear, drawing these demon dogs of
Damnation's lost, unto your path
Run nomad, for the devil's hounds lie close behind thee,
Those whom need no rest, the depraved, hungering for
The taste of raw flesh, cravings lustful, with an insatiable thirst,
Nay never to be satisfied, instinctual beasts on a blood hunts
Trail.
A packs brethren of the undead, dwelling along the fringes
Of humanity, ever watching, ever aware, just waiting for
The innocent to be caught off guard, than attacking without
Mercy.
Run no mad, for the bastard's of hell's keep, have sensed
Your presence.
In keeping with thy hearts rhythm blood pumps, in unisons
With thy breath,
As exhaustion's limbs tire of this chase, for your lives own
Survival, run nomad, you must move onwards, at any cost.
For the howl of the white fanged, nip at the back of thy heels,
Flee do not take time to gaze behind thee, run nomad,
Refuges salvation lies not far ahead.
A primeval moon glows above thee, illuminating this spectral
Land of the forbidden, it's just then, that you truly realize, the danger
Zone you've entered, as yellow greenish eyes pierce
Through the thickets wild, nomad your surrounded.
Climb to the highest point of observation, as primitive instincts kick in,
But these creatures have all eternity to wait, patient are the kin
To the dead, slippery is the branch, on which humanity grasps,
And beneath lie the tongues of the hungry beast, drooling with
Anticipation feast to come.
In the forest does anyone hear the falling of a tree?
Or the screaming of a nomad, who has lost his way,
Maybe it was just the wind that you have heard,
I wonder, what the noise really was, as it echoes
Deep within the forest of the unknown.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
We the people of ‘Poetry Soup’ land,
Stand united, supportive yet very sad,
For we stand for peace love and no hate,
And cannot withstand,
Or understand,
We ask,
Why innocent people have to suffer and die.
God in heaven will one day reply,
We lend you our hearts and often cry,
And together with you heave a great sigh,
Whoever you are, we are an ally,
To humanitarian deeds we only comply,
And to worldwide rulers who have gone awry,
We Ask,
Why innocent people have to suffer and die.
Poetry Soup compared to any other land,
Are a much smaller band,
Our poems from our souls we supply,
Have no magic answer, wipe a tear from our eye,
We Ask,
Why innocent people have to suffer and die.
We pray that all refuges finally find peace,
And the bad must know, they are on short lease,
Their doings are insane,
Why in God’s name,
Are the infamous seeking power and fame,
We Ask,
Why innocent people have to suffer and die
These are the spaces I confide
These are the narrow crevices
These are the places I reside
These are the secure refuges
Upstairs attics with small windows
The quiet corners where I go
The hidden chambers no one knows
Downstairs cellars through secret doors
There I have my room for dreaming
Room to create and postulate
Pose questions and probe for meaning
Riddles and rhymes to contemplate
In there the world does not dictate
And there I have less room for hate.
Ignorant Madness
I thought initially and first my worst fear is fear of fear
that is too global though and I hold dear the fear quite near
misguided far on global planet humankind removed from sanity
with ignorance and fighting firing greed destruction vanity
This morning I woke up to UK Brexit xenophobia social exclusion
and am afraid of nationalism egotism and infused perfusion
of hatred mongering of warfare propaganda into mindless mind
when harmony and peace togetherness cohesion would be kind
Compassionate and loving sharing compromising stance solutions
on cooperation refuges disaster poverty are better contributions
to equal chances on the planet kindness love and loving kindness
rather than deluded independences of ‘us and othering’ blindness
My anxiety and fears stem from history crusading slaughter
with crosses skeletons marching fascists many poppy fields to water
On every TV screen we cannot fail to notice killing for no reason
bleeding hungry marginalized annihilation genocidal treason
I fear more wars on the horizon bloodshed fused insanity the maiming
of humans peoples nations countries dignity when inhumanity needs taming
First prize to fear of wars destroying Universe my children and what could be
so beautiful if we would feel could reason use some empathy and see…
The Arab Spring
Saddam Husain, Mubarak and soon Assad
will go… and we can be jubilant and call it
democracy and freedom.
But this does not include the Christians,
In Iraq there are hardly any left, in Egypt
they are under attack and when Assad falls
the Christian Arab will hounded, those who
are no able to escape…killed.
The rebels in Syria we now supply weaponry
to will, like they are doing in Egypt, be ready
to enforce their odious idea of Islam.
We, in the west must, if we are upright take
In the refuges and not let them fester in some
camps and fed by the Red Cross.
Give our Christian brothers a new spring, far
from the battlefield of hate and ignorance.
Opening a new 2019 calendar,
January unveils an Arctic Wildlife Refuge view
of glaciered mountains
behind a frozen river
surrounded by bedrocks
grey and bleak black
and rusty brown.
The Wilderness Society caption
claims this as our "treasured landscape
that the indigenous Gwich'in people" name,
proclaim?
"Sacred Place Where Life Begins."
Rather than
The same old frigid and barren secular place
where any decent life
could only abruptly end
in hopelessly frozen defeat.
This juxtaposition seems to capture essential compassionate v narcissistic
human destinies of choice.
Both Wildlife Refuge views
could be valid,
but the indigenous birthplace choice
to see opportunity
feels more integratively useful,
more communion sustainable,
resilient, rather than bitterly brittle.
The Dalai Lama teaches,
and presumably practices,
as have other messianic/bodhisattva re-creations,
a distinction between empathic pictures
and compassionate stories.
Empathy may associate with RightBrain feelings
of happiness and despair,
ecstasy, but also cynical disenchantment,
with some Other
past,
present,
future,
human,
animal,
plant,
planet...
Compassion is more about LeftBrain planning
what I, we, cooperatively together
walking in newborn, reborn solidarity
will do to heal wounds, minimize risks,
and more resiliently sustain sacred opportunities
for unborn/reborn future life.
Empathy opens windows,
pictures,
landscapes,
refuges,
sanctuaries toward proactive
cooperative co-passion.
Practiced,
informed,
experienced,
trained,
educated,
supported development of co-responsibility,
green integrity,
Synergetic vulnerability,
matriarchally cooperative wombs
open life to empathy,
co-empathy,
eco-empathy with wounded and therapeutic lifelines,
compassionate rebirth conquering narcissistic pre-death
In 2019,
2020 sharper revision,
and so on.
Everything was easy and the good guy was me
Chasing bad guys through the cobbled streets of Galilee
The wine was sweet joy, the mad loving intense
Lead bullets were flying, lives lost makes no sense
I’m a man of action with a mission as you will see
I then gather myself in, a two bit actor, an old re-run movie
I help the hungry to eat, each and every day
I teach the lonely and sad, a much better way
I fueled the aircraft that swept poor refuges away
I tell the politicians my vote they will not ever sway
Just when it appears wrongs are righted, everything’s groovy
I see all the desolation, no relief, it’s just an old re-run movie
A Christian once told me the secret for life’s happiness
Was love your brothers and sisters, easy as yourself
Live a life of wholesome goodness and never ever strife
Put others before yourself and give thanks to God for life
For your sole purpose on earth was passing kind unbound love
Giving all the glory and thanks to our forgiving Lord above
Make each day honest with purpose, believe and be free
You’ll not be just another actor, in an old re-run movie
I always thought I could change
The line in my course's reach,
But whispers still floating on nights
Doom.
I've learned how to recognise
The limits
And to keep my lips sealed
With stamps cerous,
When Silence wishes to comfront
The echo of my screams.
Yet, I never knew how
To stay still above the sky's empire,
Or how to tune up the rythm of a night.
In dreams I hide,
Refuges wet are my illusions,
As I follow the stars for a destination determined.
My spirit climbs,
As the wine I never taste
To remind me the impossible that mocks
And fools the human imperfection.
Look at the bible
it was written as a rock thrown to the future
in case history repeated itself
and there was yet another religious war
here it is
in our presence
bullets and bombs
and enemies who have no reason to hate
send someone in there with a plan to slide
some signs
to get the women and children out of the arena of death
known as their village
that is under attack by evil
a satanic massacr of men hypnotised by demons
send someone in there
to lead them out
a stage an act a subtle plan of candle in the window
church bells
and bakeries closing for the food for the road
for even jesus fed his followers a crumb a day
dont fall into that trap
plan and plan
history has repeated itself
jesus saw it
threw a rock into the future and is trying to tell us
we have to work together
get the innocent out
turn the war zone nightmare into a ghost town
and lead the refuges of the nightmare somewhere else
was no one listening to the gospel
the chines
the indian
the jewish the german
all the bibles have prophecies to help mankind in the future
right now its english
put your plans in action instead of watching the innocent suffer
where is the love
atree has a price
think of lumber and paper
a bird cost to catch it and put it in a zoo
a human life is priceless
learn from jesus
lead them
like a thief in the night
out of the nightmare
with a subtle plan when history repeats itself
and turn the nightmare to a ghost town
nothing more to fight over
an dthen the next religion can shine
Mass for the instant, coffin for the hour.
Where is the strangeness lost and constancy refuges?
A flight of revelation in vague borders.
Absence, there’s so little of it. It´s masked.
It's hard to find where errors inscribe.
Thermal chambers can penetrate bricks.
When you're in the fridge, heart bark
becomes slow and the arrhythmia plays its melody
LET IT BURN
Let my love light the way
through all your darkened journeys.
Think of me
and the flame will always and forever
be there, shining,
like Polaris to guide you.
Luminous.
Let it burn on like a candle
in holy refuges,
burn on.
No disbelieving wind will extinguish
this pure love flame.
Burn on.
Let it burn from year to year,
from star to ever-shining star
through the eons.
Burn on.
WINDBREAK TREES
Unchecked prairie wind cold
Engulfs our archipelago
Of barns and farms,
Small snuggled refuges
Swathed in birch, oak and ash,
Warm yellows oranges.
Still thick, hiding the rafters,
Wrapping our immersed walls,
Rooftop pennants - silent wafters.
Hugging close at quoin and sill,
A muffler around each recess
Stemming all the greying chill,
Slows the wind in its fold,
Protects against the virago,
Shields like a mother’s arms.