Long The buddha Poems
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When It Is Winter
Whence from shine the seasons to whom and to where
High on snow peaked mountains sits the Buddha under a fir tree
Exalted warm in the glow of change and stillness he mediates
Never ending contradictions assembles frost transcends right there
In the heat of the desert Northern lights shed their guidance
To similar truth’s complementation seek meaningful sense
In abandon vast perception’s years cycle from our point of views
Swift within and without riches and scrap heaps of dissimilar hues
When periods swell and spell interchange across planets and orbit
In constant revolution vison blind folded deceptions and ruses
No one come high tides water or drought can simply absorb it
The winter is summer as spring turns to autumn and perspective
Emerges in harmony when my lights in the South levitate from
Reclusion where wise humans freeze sweat which is highly subjective
Upon the earth and within men’s hearth
All wander to labor when Helios beams
And slumber and dream to the gleam of Selene
Above Meru’s height are devas lofty and bright
Their wealful delight are theirs by virtuous right
They glide beyond the skies in their very own light
But there is a brilliance more harmonious
Much fairer and many times more luminous
Than all the resplendence of heaven combined:
The Light of Amita hath warmth and enlightens
It heals the afflicted and comforts the frightened
It eases the mind and sees the heart to brighten
Boundless, everlasting and all-embracing
It shines forth augustly and upon those passing
Freeing them from falsity and Yama’s lashing
His golden stature, peerless and splendrous
Behold his Pure Land! Wondrous and marvelous
Adorned with gems and devoid of the heinous
Thus, chant his name and have faith in his Land
Vow to arise in the Buddha-land most grand
To be amongst the beings redeemed by his hand
All rights released into Public Domain
Tie my hands,
so I may not touch others
with potent realities
Bind me from
what transpires about
Shackle my passions
of indignation’s
Muzzle my voice
meant to bellow and not lilt
Blindfold me not see
with a painter’s eye I rely
The art you’ll recognize,
warscapes that captivate
Hinder me from
perceiving what to navigate
Shield me from
poet’s stories begging to be told,
like the Buddha confined,
b’fore escaping his privileged environs
Shroud what are already
squinting eyes kept from comprehension
Gagged and kept in ignorance
and with festering hypertensions
Cover my mouth for
I shall not speak what is called truth
Crush my spirit in defeat,
trampled since my youth
What is left for me on this earth?
Taken a fin d’une époque,
an end of mine mirth
with a madcap army closing in,
and a harsh prison penance
a desperate gaiety leaves its efflorescence,
crimson wall art stains
no more shall be a poets words
and nothing beautiful remains
ergo focusing on the vanguard
this rendered impotent,
when the rearguard deserts
Lavender lovers are fine
they share a rapt audience,
tho we need to discuss
harsher matters with more gravitas
For this is chattel slavery, is it not?
Man enslaved like cattle,
let me speak out for my heart is worn
My tears run dry, free me
for life has taught me that when
there are many coincidences, they are not
Excessive serendipity harbors
an urgent message
speak softly at me be aware
I scream loud from the top of my lungs
ask questions not to be in the dark,
my spirit cast a monochromatic
stark palette of black, white, and gray
keep my spirit free respect me!
Jail me in the dept of dungeons
like the poets of yore,
Tho stone walls do not a prison
make, nor iron bars a cage
War is this fellow poets,
if you want to see a man
returned from the dead
if you wish to confirm
with your own eyes
that someone escaped the claws of death,
then I’m sorry to disappoint
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
Moby Dick, geometry, physics.
Study every subject everyday.
Homework is an indicator of future success.
Success is not necessarily happiness but it helps.
Freedom is to formulate your own definition of success.
Happiness is an imaginary tree, its own reward, and a fact.
Facts and fiction may be memorialized in memos or found in dreams.
The story starts thus: Each summer the honeysuckles and the
huckleberries . . .
The web is that extra brain we've all been dreaming of having.
Like jumping 4 meters or flying without a plane.
To fly like that must one first have homework?
Some say yes, some say don't. It depends on how you vote.
Happiness is what happens when everything that happens
Fits the time perfectly and it's all out of your hands.
Not exactly. You don't let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in
the passing lane.
You look left and right and check your blind spots.
Homework is an introduction to everything you're not
And all you do not know. It's supposed to help you learn to know where
you want to go before going where you have to go.
Otherwise you end up on Ulzana's raid
Bleeding, without a bandaid.
All the achievement in the world won't relieve your loneliness
Or satisfy your sexual longing. What girls are like behind their eyes.
Survival, procreation. That's all there is to love.
But the loved one is the one who can be trusted with your life.
Whether Christ or your wife. The Muslim moms.
On my walk in the woods I come to a sitting spot
Above a small gorge cut by a stream through hemlocks.
Here someone has left a statuette of the Buddha and the flags you see
Flapping in the wind at sky funerals.
This is a pretty good place to sit quietly and think about homework.
With cusped hands the Buddha sits silently under a fig tree
His thoughts are flooded but drought has shriveled the fruit
He owns nothing but a ragged loincloth in absolute modesty
Scratches his dry skin and impermanence in the infinite sun
Does not set out to be a hero simply searches for a kind way
To lead by example in a world that does not seem to care
‘Look at the old man he is a hobo a beggar and petty outcast’
But deep inside he forgives and waits for complete surrender
His faith carries the burden of seeking for truth and resilience
He has carved out a begging bowl crafted from generous nature
Mind open for kind alms and the belief in eternal benevolence
He puts his belief into a few grains of rice and handful of verity
Absorbed in floating meditation and prayer he begins to rise
Levitates on credence and lets go of distractions and wealth
Other than trust and the knowledge that he is never alone
A scorpion settles on his lap and challenges the conviction
Not to hurt any sentient being however dangerous it may be
He embraces the creature for all life on earth has its place
Is he hallucinating because of thirst fueled by dehydration
Scorched existence or direct effects of self-chosen humility
Has complete outcome detachment taken a toll on his soul
What are the merits of being a lone hermit and ascetic recluse
Is he not a far Eastern solitudinarian totally out of his depth
Yet we may come to think of Jesus who also rose from the planet
Miracles happen if we work our dreams and solid convictions
I sit on a cushion of comfort in the safe surrounds of my home
Close my eyes and light flickering candles of sandalwood scent
Imagine a chanting chorus of chakras merging into one essence
Float on a canvas of hope kindness love and inescapable compassion
Relinquish irrational need for perfection and escape for a moment
Calm in certainty that there is merit in quietude and ceding control
03rd May 2020
She says a Thousand things with one sweet smile,
And all that’s Broken comes together, repaired!
The Buddha sat, sometimes, not saying a thing,
Ah WHAT a LIFE together we have shared!
For twenty-seven sweet years, we hurt and helped,
We grew, and changed, and fell behind, sometimes,
And if she stepped on me, and then I yelped,
She was sorry, and made certain she was kind
Afterwards…
And I, when I fell short, or hurt her heart,
Apologized! Loved! Till I won her back,
Of her, of me, of each other, we are a part,
Though she has died, of Love, there is no Lack!
I feel her Warmth about me all the time!
And all her Wisdom went into this rhyme!
Form:
I followed him
with bowed head
and borrowed faith,
until my feet grew heavy
from walking
another man’s truth.
I walked away
not in pride,
but in sorrow.
For how can one become the light
by standing in its shadow?
I looked into the mirror of my soul
and saw his face
already there.
He whispered,
not with words,
but with silence.
Silence taught me
what sermons could not.
Listening became my prayer.
I lost myself
in desire,
in gold,
in longing.
Only then
did wisdom find me.
By the river
I learned time is a lie,
and pain is a teacher.
The water spoke gently:
You must break
to understand wholeness.
I walked away from purity,
and found truth in failure.
No path fits every soul.
I loved.
I suffered.
I let go.
And only then I knew—
love,
not intellect,
completes the soul.
Human minds muse the light
fire thoughts to the mind sky.
Fools flail for all their might
angry screams hide each cry.
To view the true sole source
take longs looks at the sun.
See earth's lasting first force
its rays can't be undone.
Dark dreams occur at night
while there's no sun up high.
Atoms fuse lumens bright
wise ones won't tell us why.
Myths are spun by the sages
unsure advice to try.
Faith filled tales through the ages
many truths to deny.
We all live with some fright
nature needs to be heard.
Hope that we do what's right
light shines the final word.
107 words rhyme 6/2022 Pen illustration: G. Gaul
Quasi-Humanistic genesis theory of the cosmos
focusing on the sun's light energy.
Inspired by Gustav Dore, Salvador Dali illustrations
and the teachings of the Buddha.
In Chambers Grand, where silks and laughter played,
A voice within, a question soft and low,
"Tell me, dear Yashodhara, what ails your heart?
Your eyes, once radiant, now seem weighted by sorrow's dart.”
"My burden is great indeed," the answer bittersweet,
"For my husband, Siddhartha, has forsaken me in his spiritual need.
But is he not the prince of this prosperous land?
With wealth and comfort at his every command?”
"Ah, you speak true of his worldly station,"
Yashodhara replies, "Yet his soul yearned for a deeper liberation.
Foolishness! To abandon such privilege and power!" a voice critiques,
"Surely, this 'enlightenment' he seeks is but a fleeting flower.”
"Nay, though harsh your words may ring,
" Yashodhara argues, "I fear his quest holds merit, like a bird longing to sing.
Can you not see? We are all prisoners, bound by desire's chain,
Seeking refuge in the shadows, while truth remains unstained.”
"An intriguing allegory," a voice ponders,
"let it enlighten us further on this path which he sought."
Yashodhara explains, "'Tis a journey of the mind, a shedding of illusion's veil,
Where one transcends the cycle of suffering, without fail.
Like a lotus, unsoiled by the muddy waters of earthly strife,
He seeks the pure, unblemished petals of an awakened life.”
"But is such a state truly attainable, or mere fancy's dream?" a voice doubts,
"For the world is rife with anguish, or so it may seem."
"A fair query," Yashodhara concedes, "yet I sense you understand,
That truth oft lies beneath the surface, like a grain of golden sand.
Though I grieve his absence, my love remains true and wise,
For in his noble quest, the spark of hope eternally lies.”
With a gentle smile, Yashodhara concludes,
"So you see, my friends, though the way seems shrouded in mystery,
My Siddhartha walks the path of the Buddha, towards ultimate clarity."