Long Buddhism Poems
Long Buddhism Poems. Below are the most popular long Buddhism by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Buddhism poems by poem length and keyword.
Siddhartha, a young prince, with earthly life unsatisfied,
Left the palatial joys seeking enlightenment, worldwide.
Meditating in wild woods for long, he got his mind trained;
From Bodhi tree he walked toward the world, wisdom gained...!
Life is full of pains, he said, caused by ignorant desires,
Detachment to mundane things would ignite divine fires.
Right view, intention, effort, speech, action and livelihood,
With concentration on conscience each must live as they should...!
Extinguishing the birth-death course of human existence,
Buddha adopted Nirvana, whose path of consistence,
Intermingled in pathways of Hinduism and Jainism,
Made his faith of life, which, later came to be the Buddhism...!
Nirvana is peace; absolute happiness; endless joy;
No birth, death or judgment for one, after this, to annoy;
It's like the fire extinguished getting mixed with the air,
Or like rivers released the motherly sea's waters share...!
Experiencing eternal bliss I'll stay; take me there.
The obstacle arising on my-way, I'll gladly bear.
Beyond hatred, ignorance and illusion may I go,
That reaching the goal of life, my fulfillment will aglow...!
08 September 2022
Why this life?
Life is so incomprehensible often and often. Why this life? Why is this mine?
Many people live on our planet, with different and different fates, endless life
Different people, different nations, cultures, traditions, languages, lifestyles
Everyone can ask why this life. God knows the true answer, says the priests.
I am not sure. Hinduism and Buddhism explain my question about karma
But whose karma? Suffering is sometimes created by others, and that is my fate.
My negative karma sometimes not my creature, comes from dark energies
A Catholic theologian told me years and years ago, ‘We cannot understand it!
Our brains and understanding are limited! God’s Will is always hidden! His business!’
Joseph, the teacher was right, dear old religion teacher. God bless you, old friend!
Joseph said we must follow the ancient commandments to live and for live the life
Joseph was wise, I am trying to put myself on the way and walk on the narrow path.
I am staggering, stumbling
No more question
‘Why is this my life?’
Walk towards the light
I walk slowly by faith
My karma following me
… Goodbye… fate
(“Lost Horizon Merit Badge”, 2010, original oil)
Memories come and go, stored in grey matter,
Cells, muscles, gut and bone
And where ever else they may lodge
To transcend the limits of time and space.
Moments remembered as thoughts, events
Sights, smells, sounds, feelings
All vibrations not just stored but layered
Into our structure
Physically, emotionally, psychically, spiritually.
This is the natural order of things
All things
And yet we think it special
When it happens to us.
I had a vision once in Canada
Sitting in meditation in a Tibetan temple
Of a wide rammed earth open windowsill
With a vast open view of a valley below,
And in that moment I knew
I was in a monastery in old Tibet
As I could feel the vibe
Of the sacred space.
And I knew it was a memory.
Later when I told my lama of this
I also told him maybe it was my first meeting
With the dharma, maybe even with him,
And that maybe also in that moment
I was a bird, attracted by a bit of food
But captivated by the sights and sounds
Of a holy place,
Like a higher dimension, octave, tone
Of a natural world I knew as home
Without a doubt
Planting the seed for some later life.
When I told my lama this
Cutting through any attachment
To being someone special in that moment
He just said, “Yes, probably just like that.”
(1/11/26)
In a life that is full of chaos I seek Zen,
to Buddhism and Taoism for insight to this life;
I do yoga in the morning and then,
meditate especially in times of strife.
Hoping to pass from my prison into the light,
from ignorance and negativity and fright;
it is a daily maze and fight.
To enlightenment is is an endless path,
and so hard when life is full of wrath;
but what helps is a scented candle and a bath.
I like to chant a song,
rather than a sound, perhaps this is wrong;
but the peace I get is very strong.
Sometimes I hold a pretty flower,
for what is minutes but somehow feels like an hour;
meditation has a lot of power.
Contemplation in meditation is not a prayer with an amen
sometimes, what is revealed is like a knife;
but it does bring me mindfulness for my pen,
yes, Zen is good in times of confusion and of rife.
______________________________
November 11, 2018
Poetry/Rhyme/'My Zen Mindfulness'
Copyright Protected, ID 18- 1120-913-01
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
In the breath of seconds, where Coltrane's music in silence meets sound/
Sonny Rollins ' Buddha thought Jazz flows like a river, unbound and profound/
Improv, give the drummer some Mike Clark's sacred dance beat on the edge of now/
echoes the Buddha’s truth—how to be, how and now simply/
Herbie’s keys whisper secrets of the eternal present, while Coltrane’s horn soul soars—love supreme, transcendent/
Wayne’s Emanon, a mantra of self and beyond, journeying into Nichiren's Buddhist sacred pond/
Meditation’s stillness is a fertile ground to ignite the jazz flight/ Notes bloom like lotuses in the quiet of the night/
Both paths converge—music and mind—one breath, unfolding the cosmos, escaping death/
In the stillness of the moment, the universe reveals its face. No need for judgment, just pure grace. Jazz and Buddhism, a union of the free,
Beyond consciousness to a Buddha's enlightenment/
Sitting under the Bodhi Tree/
Straight ahead into the real/
A free jazz collective to attachment and non-attachment to the jazz note you just played/
Take your giant steps on the stage of thought/
Let your music take action as a serenade to what is now/
But after leaving no trace of self and no shadow of the jazz notes you just played/
On the June 11th, 1963,
Thich Quang Duc, a Buddhist Monk,
sat down in the Lotus position on a street in Saigon.
His fellow monks poured petrol on him as he had requested.
He sat there for a moment not taking a breath.
He nodded and set himself on fire and burned himself to death.
He was protesting against the mistreatment of Buddhists,
by the Catholic South Vietnamese government.
It is difficult to imagine what he was thinking in his last moments.
I trust he was saying a Buddhist prayer like this one:
“ Today has passed, Life is getting shorter ,
Like a fish out of water, nothing fun about that
Masses must be diligent, Let go the fire in the head
Just remember impermanence.
Do not let go of it, hear the bell, reduce afflictions
Greet wisdom, Leave hell, Escape ignorance
Save all beings from suffering ”.
Is this the age of Fire and Ice?
The time when men take up guns again,
Or will tomorrow see the glorious rain,
Forgo the need for Fire.
Climbing up
The rugged slope
I follow a rope of mountain creek a map has never found
Cold rapid pulse
I hold from its succulent wrist
Cup my thirst
To the empty canteen of my hands
Sip to lips
My body vibrating against the loose blue canopy
Overhead
Heart pounding
Out of breath
I slip
From the beating sun
To a cloak of Alpine Spruce
Lean to the shaft of those feathered flung spears
Burrowed heads
From an ancient ambush
Stuck
Into the mountainside
I slump
In their mint shade
Arms wrapped best I can
Around 700 years of growth
The Buddhists say
Detach
But perhaps
They’d forgive my weakness
(And maybe this is why and when
Jesus was baptized and split from Buddhism as well)
For believing we are in a beauty of here and now
And oh God my God
My wife and children re-born
At the foot of these hills
Laboring along the same silvery path
Calling out like lost Caribou calves
I am here I am here
I echo back
As I tear like breeze
In the angled needles of these trees
I am certain all have souls
Living forever and ever and ever and ever.
Where black-necked cranes come to chat with me
In the company of wine and deep brown honey
Flowing from apple twigs in the heavenly valley
Of Bumthang , carved into the sublime Himalayas
By glacial melt and monsoon rains in collaboration
Giving rise to lovely landscapes offering relaxation
In Buddha’s silence, there lies my dream destination
To fill some vacuum in a week of my next vacation
In the north east of the Indian subcontinent where
Beautiful girls and Buddhist monks are very sincere
(Bum refers to girls and thang a flat piece of land)
Everywhere you will see Buddha’s lifted hand
In consonance with the land an ever demure voice
Of Buddhism says: go to the mystic blue and rejoice
Along the murmur of icy rivers and lakes everywhere
Pink rhododendrons exude fragrance in the fresh air
Flowers red, yellow, pink, white, lilac, green and blue
For our sore minds and thirsty psyche all these hues
In the shades of Pine and Oak monasteries as a nest
The imposing peaks descend here to take a little rest
Four charming valleys, Tang, Ura, Choekhor, Chumey
Will greet us in a smile on our trip to Bumthang valley
Morning is wakened here by blue-capped rock thrush
Beside the flapping flags the gurgling streamlets gush
Where Gross National Happiness instead of GDP
Determines economic progress of the society
Come, dear friend, to join me in the amazing journey
From the chains of self to a deep sense of infinity
_________________________________________________
February 13, 2016
By Phan Tan Hai
The teacher taught: look into mind, no words appear—
in the wordless dawn, sunlight speaks.
Ancients and future ones smile like a dream;
who strikes the bell and steals a character today?
The teacher taught: rings, bracelets, ornaments—
all are one sky of non-duality, pure gold in nature.
To stir the mind of distinction is to drift away
into the vast waves of three realms, six paths.
The teacher taught: a hundred thousand cakes
are but one invisible dough.
Liking and disliking open countless worlds;
seeing the unborn mind is the unborn.
The teacher taught: this world is a play—
today this role, tomorrow another.
Suffering, like the great ocean of waves,
is still one nature of water, never apart.
The teacher taught: impermanence in all worlds—
to see it as real is delusion.
Do not say “is” or “is not”;
in wordless stillness, one does not err.
The teacher taught: emptiness is form—
like a hand turned over, palm to back.
To see nature is to see no self-nature;
hearing the bell, one sees the Dharma.
Our plane went down in the mountain snow, but I was alive
I walked on ice in the thin air, the only way to survive
Then on a ledge, I saw that light, a valley pure and green
With rivers rolling, flowers blooming, almost like a dream.
I stumbled down a narrow path to find a monastery gate
From probable death to verdant life, I seized my change of fate
An old monk gave a smile on an ageless face
He led me to gardens within gardens, a place to meditate.
I met the Lama, and he said, "It's good here, but here’s the deal
This place don't age, and folks don’t change, it’s a place for wounds to heal
But climb those mountains, break those walls, and boy, you’ll surely see
That out there time still moves, and freedom isn't free"
I stayed ten years in the gardens, a story never told
Then I met a woman on a path, such radiance to behold
I told her, "Darlin’, this ain’t home, it don’t change and there's no goal
Come with me, I know a place to make you whole."
"It's got Ponderosa Pine and mustangs run and eagles fly
My Dad is a rancher, Mom teaches under that big sky
I have so many friends there, if you come, you'll see
I wish now she hadn't listened, because freedom isn't free.
She took my hand, we climbed that wall, balanced on a ledge,
Between paradise and a snowy realm, we teetered on the edge
I knew we had to go, pulled her into time's flow
To a grounded planet where I hoped we both could grow.
The helicopter found us, landed safe on that frozen lake
She looked into the icy mirror, but the ice began to break
Her reflection showed a face grown old, I felt the sudden chill
Her movements became slower, but I was hoping still.
I reached out once more, but she died outside the door
She should have stayed in Shangri La, it shook me to the core.
I did make it home, but they've broken rules here too
It's not the same as it was, not grounded in what's true
Less room for us to grow, a lesson Dad taught me
You're fooled by utopia, then find that freedom isn't free,
There's a lost horizon somewhere and I sometimes feel the call.
Because we've long left Eden's garden, and we're in free-fall.