Long Meister Poems
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(“Original Mind”, 2017, original encaustic mixed media)
The Buddha Within
People speak of the god within
Or the light within
But I like to see it as the buddha within
Buddha, as in awakened mind within.
This awakened mind in never separate
Or elsewhere from this moment,
This sense of self.
It’s just not of this self,
Not even the silent inner watcher.
What is it then? How can we know it?
More importantly how can we not know it,
And this absolute intimacy
Is why and how it goes unrecognized.
As for what it is, how can we say a thing
About what isn’t a thing?
We are left to write poems and simply dream
Confident that whatever inspires us
Is connected, inseparably, from the awakened.
Maybe this isn’t true for everyone,
But as Meister Eckhart said long ago,
“The only thing that burns in hell is the part of you that won't let go of your life: your memories, your attachments.
They burn them all away, but they're not punishing you, they're freeing your soul.
If you're frightened of dying and you're holding on, you'll see devils tearing your life away.
If you've made your peace, then the devils are really angels freeing you from the earth.”
(9/13/25)
Lemme titillate thee
regarding myself daily soldiering thru breastworks
read out loud to experience where dangerfield lurks
twenty five years a husband unknown marital perks
bachelorhood to die for, cuz warp and weft
courtesy webbed and wedded bliss
incorporates life threatening quirks.
Hazardous beyond belief
analogous crossing a landmine good grief
ensnared yours truly mistaken for Baghdad thief.
Impossible mission to step up pace
when ambling one room to another
footfalls of generic guy approximating brisk,
cuz one misstep could find me flat on back
with damaged spinal disc
worse fate than experiencing
strong arms of law reach out his hands that frisk
old meister wordsmith
merely ventures innocent risk,
yet may as well surrender self to Taliban,
who would willingly whisk
Garden variety Caucasian American bloke
afraid to tread amidst belongings strewn
pell mell outranking rating tornado 5 courtesy
enhanced Fujita Scale
whereat Good Housekeeping ostracized spouse.
As precautionary safeguard, I carry amulet
to ward off ill luck toward life and limb you bet,
especially when gingerly
taking one step after another with lights turned off
owing steadfastness to prayerful debt
intoned toward guardian angel to get
self groping in dark without bifocals
envisioning severely myopic
(blind as a bat generic guy
without spectacles) met
bedded objective where
menagerie of stuffed animals
(albeit Woodstock favorite pseudo pet),
which aforementioned Peanuts character
called warm fuzzy as sobriquet.
The missus bursts out laughing,
whom I damnably scoff at and berate
as I trip head over heels
cursing said spouse ever since first date
at Tex-Mex restaurant
in North Wales, Pennsylvania,
a gut level intuitive sense -
even then our sealed fate
cursed analogously crashing thru Hades gate
antagonistic altercations in actuality
displaced suppressed anger toward parents,
which father and mother (both deceased)
their sole son of did hate
for afflicting psychological trauma
regarding them furiously irate
doling out ultimatums
interestingly enough comfort found
within company of loving mate,
she weaseled compassion
evidenced by poetic prattle I prate,
whereat ye can (of course) highly rate
feedback I eagerly await.
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
The haggler has no idea how to haggle really, the
vendor thinks, not realizing she gets more things for
a dollar, a fifty cent piece and a quarter than anyone
else in the world.
The buyer leaves with her dollar intact.
There is another garage sale two houses down, right?
Would you take a dollar?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a fifty-cent piece?
No.
Okay. Thanks.
Would you take a quarter?
Yes. Sure.
Thank you very much! I love it!
Form:
The cat was crazy, so we named him Craze Meister Threes.
He was irrational, a fire ball who took down Christmas Trees.
Why did you name him Three’s? My mother asked concerned.
It’s because he has three times three lives, we easily discerned.
Craze Meister Threes was a runaway tornado and storm.
He took no prisoners, and kept our feet cozy and warm.
We woke up sometimes with his harem of ladies in our bed.
We did not know if they had shots, or if they were betrothed or wed.
Can large white tom cats have more than one wife? I asked my vet.
He rolled his disgusted blue eyes; he thought I had a despicable pet.
Craze Meister Threes had bit his finger off, and it had turned pee brown.
He had never forgiven him, but there was only one vet in our town.
Take that monster to cat day care, my mother said, I will pay the way.
So we took Craze Meister Threes to Cat City that very next Wednesday.
He gets to go three times a week, and he loves it like his kitty crunch.
When he gets home he is so tired, all he can do is lie in a heap or a bunch.