Long Banyan Poems
Long Banyan Poems. Below are the most popular long Banyan by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Banyan poems by poem length and keyword.
Laughing Buddha with a tabby on your head,
You will be the death of me, the fern willow said.
All you do is extend ridiculous mirth and joy.
Even when under the influence of this weird boy.
The Laughing Buddha kept up his happy smile.
In many years, he had experienced those who rile.
He knew it was something unhappy entities do.
He would try to give fern willow joy before she was through.
The grasses began to taunt and tease him now.
They wanted to find out why and how.
The laughing Buddha kept up this crazy farce.
The cat jumped down, fell on his ****.
The whole garden was ablaze with curiosity.
What made this Laughing Buddha so wild and free?
He’s not alive, you nitwits, the banyan tree said.
You mean he’s deceased? You mean he’s dead?
They did not understand, so he let that slide.
He liked the Laughing Buddha; it gave him pride.
Don’t worry about them, he told his friend.
His stalwart love for this statue would never end.
I stand before a mirror to look for green leaves
like the children as they play in a morning-street
I have to wait with amber patience for I
know that most of them have fallen asleep long ago
I therefore sometimes keep sitting with the mirror
my eyes sitting on each molecule of the smooth rectangle
And there are hundreds of leaves wandering in air
all confused profiles of Autumn leaves
I still persist for a whole green leaf making room
for the flower destined to unfold fragrance
And just see there from the dark cave suddenly in the mirror
into orange sunlight leaps out the child
Bubbling swirling rippling swinging like a wave of a river
a headful of tight curls and wonderful eyes looking for the world
Behind him stood a lean looking boy
with dreams in his eyes to become a banyan tree
And then a procession of leaves and flowers
overwhelming me with their sun moon and sky
As the girl like a swan turned up I closed the mirror
preferring to pass a few minutes if possible exclusively with her
September 21, 2017
AUDIO: 'Meoto Zanzai' sung by Sayuri Ishikawa.
Japan's Enka Music
Labyrinths tuned to where the Far East lies,
Spilled words occasion a symphonic breeze,
Unfurls white banners where sun paint red rise,
Labyrinths tuned to where the Far East lies,
Cherry blossoms canopies mesmerize,
Import harmony stretched from overseas,
Labyrinths tuned to where the Far East lies,
Spilled words occasion a symphonic breeze.
A stroll pauses, eyes soothe at rock garden,
Silk threads ornately weave life's tapestry,
Innate genteel graces, bows in pardon,
A stroll pauses, eyes soothe at rock garden,
Yon their themes stands banyan tree, roots harden,
Hear lyrics breathe verses to us with glee,
A stroll pauses, eyes soothe at rock garden,
Silk threads ornately weave life's tapestry.
2020 August 23
How large the pearlescent sun seems today.
Yet it is dying, its flaming rays ineffective.
After a long hot day, tired, it must be spent.
So patiently it descends out of humanity’s vista,
Far across the sea, behind the shimmering horizon.
We enjoyed the calm stillness of eventide.
Quietly the moon takes its rightful place.
Shining in a wan mysterious way,
Night intensifies as stars twinkle all around,
Above gardens plumb in the middle of the vale.
How we adored the perfume of so many flowers,
Especially the crimped fuchsia edged white star flowers.
The moon lightening effulgently the rugged paths
Of the mysterious countryside around,
Fragrance everywhere with a gentle tang.
On mountains far away feral dogs howling their random growl,
While countless cicadas commence their orchestrated song,
Hell bent on mating before their adulation time is up.
It is good we need have no hurry, dear,
So, we can relish our time together.
With a small mandolin I thrum a love song,
As we huddle close under the banyan tree,
Fireflies dance their intricate dance.
I snuggle my head against your soft cheeks.
How smooth and pleasant it can be,
As our lips meet and savour our delight.
Dreaming of our future and days to come.
16 March 2021
Placed 2
THE GARDEN OF LOVE
The grandeur of my garden
swept away by the northern wind,
the patina of the pained petals
froze beneath the withering frost.
Spring comes rippling in the air,
from the Garden of Eden up above
colors cascade in splendored shower,
whisper, beauty never fades away.
Perched on the ancient silky oak
little robin sings the morning melody.
Daisies and dandelions raise their face,
dew drenched roses and marigolds gleam.
On the cobbled floral path garlending
the serene shadow of the banyan tree
rustle of the wafting leaves murmurs,
the green waves of memory return.
In the surge of the full moon shine
floating on the flood of silken silver
you drift to me on fragrant breeze,
bloom rhapsody in the garden of love.
February 21, 2019
After the chill, a cheery Robin, I return to fly low,
as the migratory charming songbird of the season,
in the rippling crispy breeze of the sparkling spring,
with the wings spread on the blue canvas of the sky.
The bird born to beckon the bright flushing daylight,
I tweeter to the vibrant tunes of sunburst spectrum,
keeping the cadence of the enclosed avian delight
within my little beast beneath the scarlet layers.
When all the yonder thickets are silent in slumber,
I croon on the silvery tracks of the first sunrays,
the melody I compose for the blossoming dawn,
on the wings of morning wind the notes drift away.
As the storm clouds pile up in the charcoal horizon,
perched on the swinging tree I sing my dream songs,
feathers of my wings flutter in the shadow of clouds,
longing to get drenched in the colors of the rainbow.
When you see a Robin hopping on stretched boughs
of the banyan tree outside your window on the sky,
singing the sunrise song sailing in the dawn air,
you’ll know it’s me ushering in a new day for you.
July 25, 2020
Contest : I Am A Bird-Personification
Sponsor : Tania Kitchin
Two young lovers
Seeing eye to eye;
Ecstatic romance
Promises made
Language of love;
Reality can be harsh
July sun-bathing
Local fruitage surprise:
Durians, mangosteens, rambutans!
Two yellow butterflies
Zigzagging flight path;
Bourgainvillea landing
Sweet nectar sip
Momentary focus;
Long haul to tall casuarina
Old banyan tree witness
School boy quarrels echo;
All gone away
Time passes quickly
So many ambitious kids;
Now preside over meetings
Old school mates
Chance encounter;
Discuss happenings
Witty old father checks
Vivacious mother tags;
Facebook excursions
Fancy smart phones
Tablets for dummies;
Slow learning curve
Purple flowers
Creeping vines on fence;
Morning salutation
Morning Glory flowers
Here at dawn;
Gone by dusk
Leon Enriquez
23 July 2014
Singapore
In the crispy aromatic air of auburn autumn,
with the fluttering wings spanning the sky,
flies low in my meadow the little cheery Robin,
the charming migratory songbird I like.
The chirping bird of bright flushing daylight,
tweeters the hued tune of the spectral sunburst,
keeps the exuberance of avian delight
vibrating within the scarlet silken breast.
When all the thrushes are silent,
flying on the sparkling track of the first sunrays,
it sings the melody of the blossoming dawn,
and on the wings of wind the song reaches me.
As the storm clouds gather in the slate horizon,
the petite Robin chants on the swinging tree,
flutters feathery wings in the shadow of the cloud,
longing to get drenched in the colors of rainbow.
The crimson painted bird perched on the bough
of the banyan tree outside my window,
sings the sunrise song that drifts in the dawn air,
ushering in a delightful new day for me.
Like a pearl falling into the Pacific, he felt lost.
His human nature shrank and shattered like an autumn leaf.
Blood poured into sweat. Into his core, he was tempest-tossed.
Was he weak yet? Did he feel shaken by his strong belief?
Like cyclones shaking a banyan tree, dilemmas shook him.
The tug-of-war: to do or not to do, poked his conscience.
The whim of escaping all these too came to his heart's brim.
Constantly, all these hours, with his Abba, he did converse.
Of his twelve disciples, a few whom he chose to pray slept.
Was the fact that the soul is strong and the flesh is weak right?
Did their ambitions, which they cared for like rare pets, defect?
Were they, midst divine graces, like guinea pigs, filled with fright?
He knew, being with the Father, that these things would happen.
Doesn't birth in the spring pop up when winter goes barren?
They held goodness high like pillars of steel.
They were banyan trees that shook in no storm.
No burnout of the mind could break their zeal;
their love for life was beyond nature's norm.
They gave all that they had with no reserve—
self-sacrifice seemed to be their sole goal.
Who on earth could match them in inner verve?
As humans, did they play a steadfast role?
As true learners, they learned from all defeats.
They could break the walls that they themselves built.
Never did they take pride in their own feats;
with their wills, did they have an inner split?
To drop the earth is not to drop the race;
The unbowed spirit claims the cosmic space.