Best Sagely Poems
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Man blathers on and on and on
Abject grief traveled many miles
Death has come to their precious son
Solemn church has six empty aisles
This brave soldier has long been gone
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Man blathers on and on and on
Dressed up child looks at dull gray tiles
Wishing she could blink and be gone
Outside window a gentle fawn
A teen's cell phone now butt dials
Sagely silent woman half smiles
Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates.
Ramifications of reality’s realm reached
make your insides want to abandon the body ship.
Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain
expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity:
You’re not good enough to be loved.
Breathing in is treason.
Your heart demands release of life’s lease.
On the kitchen floor
crumpled dreams drag to prostrate form.
Alone…..
Every reason to stay is obliterated.
Ascorbic failures scream.
Heart blood transforms to salty rivulets.
Self-loathing usurps the throne of belief.
"Appeasement sacrifice,” it sagely suggests…
"Your life!"
Relevant Reasoning...
For someone for whom love is cell oxygen
grey matter food
supreme soul sustenance,
life without full bodied Love is death.
Might as well...
Cowardice cackles and goads….
The cut isn’t deep enough.
Red streaked line mockery of mental hell feels
abhorrence breathing between the sobs
that one hears …
No one hears
Troubled mind has drained desirability’s delight.
Not strong enough to live not strong enough to die,
you are spent…
negligence purged.
Silence begs to benumb,
yet a reminder remains.
The thorn of truth finds a home.
Embedded in my side,
it won’t be denied.
Removal immuned
it is unseen by naked eye-
exposed to the naked heart.
With every movement of love making
matrimonial mattress yet exudes
the faint scent of virginal dreams...
Pain permeates
It digs in deep.
Nothing will change.
YOU cannot change.
You are unlovable.
You're troubled and troubling brain
takes beauty down to notch of insane.
Give it all away.
Lavish and ravish.
Obsessively bid for love
while you auction respect away,
but herein is the cursed truth:
You are not good enough to be loved.
You never were.
You never will be.
For Charlotte's Heart and Soul Contest
September 2, 2014
Little drops of water wash the largest stone away.
They won't do it in an hour or even in a day.
Once those drops get started, you can kiss that stone good-bye.
Those little drops of water always finish what they try.
Remember if its victory, and nothing less you say.
I does not have to happen right now here today.
Little drops of water wash the largest stone away.
They won't do it in an hour or even in a day.
Once those drops get started, you can kiss that stone good-bye.
Those little drops of water always finish what they try.
A wise man takes his time and wins, a fool rushes to his defeat.
Victory, no matter when its time is always oh so sweet.
Little drops of water wash the largest stone away.
They won't do it in an hour or even in a day.
Once those drops get started, you can kiss that stone good-bye.
Those little drops of water always finish what they try.
Think on this now sagely, the next time you wail and cry.
We can't change it anyway, so why should we bother to try.
Little drops of water wash the largest stone away.
They won't do it in an hour or even in a day.
Once those drops get started, you can kiss that stone good-bye.
Those little drops of water always finish what they try.
Like those little drops of water that makes up the deep blue sea.
It is only one human being at a time that makes up our society.
Little drops of water wash the largest stone away.
They won't do it in an hour or even in a day.
Once those drops get started, you can kiss that stone good-bye.
Those little drops of water always finish what they try.
How chafed the foot bereft of sole,
when unshod thoughts meet splintered floor.
Known terra firma drifts from whole,
as reason loses sight of shore.
I’ll wander where the breeze seems kind;
sweet apple blossom fairies lure.
Away from those who cage the mind,
indulging revelations – pure.
I’ll play the bride in quaint repose,
replete in sagely fettered yearn.
A farm house dowry, heaven chose;
soon I will quell all mused concern.
Old voices join the pipers tune,
a melody once clear – opaque.
Reality lies roughly hewn,
upon this page; my soul awake.
**29 May 2017**
Twinkling with mysticism,
magically peeping among fragrant
blossoms, reveling the aliveness of
frolicking, rollicking cousins.
Faeries congregate in tittering
pairs, occasionally in triplets
or quads, encouraging, and cajoling.
Sagely inspiring lively flowers
to show off their most beautiful.
Hiding from the non-believers,
delighting the rest of us, luring
us back into their gardens.
Aspiring us, and uplifting
us, without pixie dust, rather
with soul feelings that sprinkle our
day with goodness – so pronounced,
we can only get it here.
Faerie flower therapy,
nothing better to aid
in healing of psyche.
projecting our wanting love self
we imagine who we want
seeing our forever soul partner
fashioning them out of smoke
sagely ignoring reflective honesty mirrors
throwing ideas that do not fit
into a hot fiery furnace
ignoring the cries of reality
turning our backside to ashes
crucifying truths that don’t fit
projecting our wanting love needs
we envision an ideal life
with scoundrels who hurt us
expecting a revelation to turn
them into our prince charming
throwing away family and feelings
into wide crevices and ditches
turning our backs on screams
inside our heart that die
with unseen truths in mirrors
We can all read that the love will become cold
We can all see that what has been foretold
Is the world we live in now
We can be amazed that two thousand years ago
It was written where the world would go
It is the world we live in now
The love that is cold is from the brothers close
A bitter cup to swallow, a bitter poisoned dose
It is the world we live in now
We see selfishness
We feel loneliness
We see lawlessness
We feel lovelessness
As was sagely said
In the pages that I’ve read:
“To live up high with the saints we know,
Oh Lord, that would be glory,
But to live down here with the saints below,
Now that’s a different story!”
The man walked up the alley
A shepherd in a valley
Looking for that one lost sheep
When WhatsApp gives a beep
The man took our his phone
An ape picks up a bone
And uses it as a tool
To bash the brainless fool
The sheep had wandered off
As the feet on pavements scoff
Walking past the man seeking alms
Ignoring the poor lady selling charms
The man walked to his home
To his garden and its gnome
Expecting love and tea
And his baby on his knee
The sheep is out there cold
And the whino’s face is old
But not wizened or sagely
Merely worn out and agely
The Shepherd cries a tear
For the sheep so lost right here
In their homes
With garden gnomes
With eyes wide shut
Grampa?
It’s a question usually posed with an inquisitive frown
On an angelic face with large, limpid eyes
And whatever I’m doing, I stop and put down
Peer sagely over bifocals and look grandfatherly wise
“Can you fix this grampa,” shy tentative pleas
Red plastic toy held out in soft delicate fingers
Tear tracks on pink cheeks, scraped, dirt darkened knees
Touches deep to my heart, on child’s face my gaze lingers
Sad, liquid eyes under brows scrunched and worried
Timid, flowerlike smile slowly blossoms on small face
My broken toy examination, slow and unhurried
Parts and pieces put back together with exaggerated grace
Rose bud lower lip, bitten by tiny white teeth
With young brow furrowed with intense concentration
A wondrous thing, this childhood belief
Mouth morphs to O shape in amazed celebration
Grampa’s done it again, that ingenious ‘ol geezer
By fixing the toy has come through in the clutch
I’m arthritic, and smell funny and I’m a puffer and a wheezer
A pushover when she whispers, “gramps I love you so much”
A huge happy hug and a loud sloppy kiss
On grey bearded, prickly cheek
These things I’ll treasure and will too soon miss
When no longer ‘ol grampa they seek
I hear the call of friends but I am slow to harken,
What shall I say what would you want to hear?
I will not write of Erotic images, I will not spew phony
flowery words. I will only write the truth, what is in
my soul. I have written of the Love that we all should
have for one another, I have written to bring a smile, I
have written of loss, pain and struggle. Do you think me
too sagely, an oracle, a seer, a paradox, a riddle?
I am an enigma, a vision you cannot see, a word you do not
understand, a sad song too hard to sing, a thorn that pricks
at you, a dream that is never understood. This life is about
caring, giving, learning, sharing. I am the one that will
not be loved, a nuance, a shadow, a whisper, a tear shed,
one forgotten, a bitter taste. What shall I say, can I ease the
pain, take away the troubles, brighten lives? Nay I cannot, If I
could this world would be a haven of love, bliss, harmony, a
paradise, a comfort, a healing, a revelation. What shall I say?
My time here grows short and my heart is sad and broken, I
have no inspiration to write anymore. The words that come out
are too hard to write, too hard to read, a vexation of spirit, a sound
that is disturbing. This may be the last verse that I ever write my
soul is in despair, I have lost the desire to ponder on the things
of this world. The thing that you should know is that I love everyone
of you. What else can I say?
Note: This is a liberal English translation of an ancient poem found in the Classical Chinese Infinite Life Sutra (which dates back to the Cao Wei Dynasty of the three kingdoms era). I made some compromises in favor of meter and rhyme scheme, so it is not wholly accurate. But here it goes:
Assured Success in Achieving Bodhi (Chapter 7):
I will rise far beyond the yonder
And cruise upon the unsurpassed
If my vows won’t come to pass
Then from Bodhi I will wander
I seek to be the greatest patron
And give alms to the forsaken
To let all beneath the skies
Have peace in their long nights
Arising from virtuous roots
Accomplishing the Bodhi-fruit
If I achieve wisdom most high
I shall be known as Infinite Life
Beings who heed my name
And arrive in my Buddha-domain
Will have Sagely golden brilliance
And all the features of excellence
With the Greatest Compassion
I uproot the many passions
Of every order of beings
Endowing virtue most purifying
I shall shine my Wisdom Light
Across the ten quarters bright
Quelling the three dark taints
And pardoning those attainted
I offer salvation to those in perdition
I subdue all turbid emotions
I help open the Wisdom-eye
And grant bodies of shining light
I wall off every woeful path
And pave the way to wealful mirth
I mine the Dharma-treasure
And distribute merits with pleasure
I seek to be wise like the Buddha
To be kind like the Tathagata
To be the teacher of all devas,
To shoulder the universe like Atlas
To preach the Dharma like Simha
To save those mired in karma
To perfect each and every vow
And give Buddha-hood to all
If my vision is proved true
The whole universe will be moved
Heavenly deities shall fete
And scatter flowers like confetti !
All rights released into Public Domain
You want to know its merits?
Very well, then. Daylight slants
deliciously across the boy's
inclined, thoughtful face.
His lace collar, crumpled,
houses valleys of shadow.
Or what about the Water Seller?
Look at that poncho's warm
woven woollen texture:
and isn't the rip in the shoulder fun?
And the dimples on the pot!
They scream "potness" at us.
Or the beads of water
clinging to the larger vessel,
whose horizontal striations
practically smell
of the potter's wheel.
But oh, that drinking-glass!
Does it seem possible to you
that unctuous oils and minerals
of earth, gouged from the soil,
can render the ethereal soul of glass?
It was a winter afternoon.
I'd gone along to the gallery
on the off-chance.
Standing before this marvel,
I found myself entranced.
But even as I gazed, the sun
(though never very confident in London)
stepped out coyly from behind a cloud.
Duck's-egg orange light, resplendent,
now fell aslant the canvas.
Surely this was harmful?
Sunlight bleaches (does it not?)
the colour out of things.
Alarm bells should be ringing.
I summoned a uniform attendant.
He nodded sagely as I explained
- but did nothing.
Why should he care?
Minimum wage is no great motivator.
An hour from now,
he'd be hanging up that peaked cap,
and be a person until Monday.
No point in bursting
a blood-vessel
over a silly painting. Later.
But I couldn't leave it.
If I stood just thus,
my human frame was just enough
to block the sun.
One little skirmish could be won
if I remained here
until the sun’s trajectory was done,
or the gallery closed,
whichever came the sooner.
So I did. On tip-toe,
spine inclined, quiet,
I crowded out the light of day
for more than an hour.
Pointless, you say.
I can't deny it.
The very next day,
And each subsequent foray
of Phoebus would
merely recreate the problem.
That's hardly the point.
Finding myself there,
I beat my ploughshare
into a sword and,
for that tiny slice of time,
I made the sacrifice,
bore the quizzical looks
with equanimity, quirky,
standing like a turkey
on tenterhooks
and saved the painting.
My translation of calligraphy by Ven. Master Chin Kung:
Face difficulty with liberality,
Face hostility with patience,
Steer through scrambles
With leisurely grace and pace,
For peace is found in temperance
And the love of excess speech
Is the root of every calamity!
All rights released into Public Domain
Easy Elimination of Stupid People
By Elton Camp
(Note: All these are paraphrases of actual product warnings)
For meeting this goal, the best way to go about
Just remove warning labels, let it sort itself out
From the stupid, what could we expect
If these actual dangers they didn’t detect
The bottle of Windex wisely does advise
“Do not spray this product into your eyes”
Lack of this warning would give a thrill:
“Don’t use this rotary tool as a dental drill”
To admonish, Liquid Plummer does choose
“This bottle to store beverages don’t reuse”
On a bottle filled with hair dye:
“As ice cream topping, don’t try”
Zantac 75 urges users make no mistake:
“If allergic to zantac, do not take”
Bic lighter says safety please embrace:
“Always ignite lighter away from face”
So that earplug users may have no gripe:
Breathing hampered if caught in windpipe”
Cautions the mattress on which you wallow:
“Warning: Do not attempt to swallow”
The pepper spray most sagely does advise:
“Caution, never spray into your own eyes”
On the automobile windshield shade:
“To drive with this in place is forbade”
Perhaps elsewhere such things are not said
All of these, in the USA, have been read
With the subject, I am not through
Keep on the watch for the write of part two
To whom does the Jade Emperor,
The Sovereign of the Heavens above,
Bequeath the crown for all the lands,
Under divine clouds and starry skies?
Is it the mighty, scholarly or wealthy?
Is it a man of ancient and royal blood?
Or is it the favored son, a great orator,
Most proud, persuasive and popular?
The truth is: They have no right to rule!
The Mandate of Heaven is bestowed
Solely to those who have cast clean
Their hearts of all avarice, lust and wrath!
For in sagely Confucius’ Great Learning:
All those who wish to uphold the world
Must first be true and order their households,
And those who seek to be true must be pure!
For by eschewing vice and embracing virtue,
Comes a tranquility of heart that allows
One’s erudite inner wisdom to shine bright,
Leading to profound foresight and sincerity!
Only such a person is worthy of authority,
And can banish all woe and bring weal
To all above the earth and under the sky,
Yielding mirth for the minds of many!
All rights released into Public Domain