Short Gautama Poems
Short Gautama Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Gautama by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Gautama by length and keyword.
In Zen Mode
He meditates under the Bodhi tree
like Gautama Buddha; his mind so free.
Couplet- any theme, any length Poetry Contest (Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
Date written: 04/25/2020...
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Categories:
gautama, deep, peace, senses, spiritual,
Form:
Couplet
Siddharta Gautama Buddha
Siddharta Gautama Buddha
born with a silver spoon in his mouth, tired of reading sutra
awakened to the fact, fine clothes were uncomfortable, impairing
sat under a tree, contemplating the spiral of existence while navel staring...
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Categories:
gautama, faith,
Form:
Clerihew
Darkness and Light
Like a Buddhist mantra,
its chord transcends worry and strife
In the song of Gautama,
souls flee the delusions of life
Its highest form, charming saints
and sinners alike
Beyond distraction and pain,
—playing through both darkness and light
(Villanova Pennsylvania: October, 2016)...
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Categories:
gautama, music,
Form:
Rhyme
The Prisoner
“I” is just a concept made by mind. Siddhartha Gautama
Mind has to dwell in a coerced seclusion:
mind is a prisoner of the conclusion
that mind is mine. I share your letdown,
my mind. Minds cannot shatter the illusion
of the first person singular pronoun.
5/6/2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019- Five Lines- Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Dear Heart - Wiishkobi Ode...
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Categories:
gautama, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Helplessness
the king travelled incognito
mixing among the commoners
both delighted and also envious
of how they find joy in simple things
content even in poverty and shortages
and then the king discovered their secret
they were all centred in heart
and not in narrowness of mind
even after garnering this deep knowing
the king was unable to become as such
for he was not yet like Gautama Buddha
08-April-2023...
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Categories:
gautama, introspection, spiritual,
Form:
Free verse
Woman In the Flower
In his silent 'Flower Sermon',
Siddhartha Gautama held up a flower;
he said nothing.
Time passed, the gathering began to fidget.
Some thought to look wise,
some lowered their eyes in confusion,
most saw only a flower.
This morning,
I carry a vase of purple Iris to the window.
Outside in the garden, flowers are dancing.
We call it `dancing' when the wind moves them,
but there is no specific word
for what the woman in the flower does
when she is waving.
~~~
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Categories:
gautama, poetry,
Form:
Free verse