Siddhartha Poems

Steam Radiator

The radiator whispered like breath
beneath the old window 
               (half opened for mercy)
where cold fingers of air
braided themselves with steam
and the snow stayed only for seconds
dancing above the sill
in the breeze.

The sofa, burgundy and bruised,
sagged like an old confession.
I curled into its velvet hush
and watched the cupola burn gold
               (above the parking lot at dusk)
through the veil of falling snow.
This was my aerie,
thin-walled and tranquil,
where I painted, and read,
and wrote my way
into becoming. 

Below, the café breathed 
lentils and clove,
hippies hunched 
at secondhand tables,
hands wrapped around chipped mugs
               (arguing softly about Hesse)
as incense tangled with the steam.
I read Siddhartha in the original,
while Han Fook waited in the margins,
quiet as smoke,
his silence teaching me
to listen without answers.

Sonnet 14 New Conception

The concept of dignity and life varies amongst the living.
It does not vary amongst the dead unless they are part of the spirit world.
After death many believe that the people are still living!
Does the conception of life and death exist on the same line; therefore, there is another world?

Am I dead or alive?
This is a question that seems awkward to ask.
Still the conception of life being on the X of the Cartesian Plane is intriguing when it concerns being alive.
Well, I guess we just sit outside pondering these thoughts as we are ready to bask.

Do we end up with person that multiplied the fish?
Are we to dine at a banquet in a great hall?
Do we go to a place that we made it become a wish?
Are we to be in the sky with Siddhartha and not fall?

Is this life our only shot?
Are we to be taken by extraterrestrials as if we were bought?

The High Heavens Way

 Flailing Far-Darting Light Spears like a Solar Sage
 Ascending Mountain Tops to Crush the Veil of the Earthly Cage,
 Abode the Precipice of No Mans Land
 Walking and Guided by Gods Hand,
 Into the Sacred Pantheon of Light and Bliss
 Saddled Up, We Ride Through The Narrow Bridge
 and Breach the Gates of Nirvana
 Harvesting Fruit from the Wheels Of Dharma,
 Brandishing Boons like Siddhartha
 to Balance Scales of Karma,
 We Fly High to be Seated in Thrones Of Victory
 and Liberate our Souls, Sword Pinched on the Serpent of Misery
 and through the Drudges and Crutches, We Prevail
 and Conquer the Lower Realms Of Hell,
 Rising Upwards through the Flames Of Sovereignty
 We Kings Of Luminosity,
 Ever-Triumphant, Raising the Golden Blade for a Golden Age
 Ever-Onward, Ever-Forward, The High Heavens Way

Right Living

"I have been a stranger in a strange land."  Bible, Exodus 2:22

Siddhartha 
Wanderer, ascetic, teacher, awakened
Son of Suddhodana and Maya
Lover of right action, right thought and right speech
Who feels ‘Desire is the root cause of all misery’*
Who fears Ignorance, Attachment and Suffering
Who would like to see people live life with right purpose
Lived in Bodhgaya
Gautama, The Buddha.

*strangely true, yet cannot be realized

Siddhartha

Divinity’s candle
stays burning alive
not born or created
conceived or contrived

Its light from the center
forever shines through
the moment’s unveiling
delivering you

To places all knowing
through spaces unknown
the mix in the crucible
its myth to atone

The vision self-granted
when time is deposed
confirmed refutation
— with nothing to know

(Villanova University: January, 2024)

Be Where You Are

“As you walk and eat and travel, be where you are.
Otherwise you will miss most of your life.”
– Siddhartha Gautama

Be where you are in present time
no matter what your circumstance.
Let life herald a vernal chime
to announce its boundless expanse.

Focus on your surroundings to 
be where you are in present time.
The beauty is most brilliant 
when your presence is in its clime.

Eat, drink, and view, all in full-time.
Life proffers fortunes if you can
be where you are in present time.
Be 'now', forget where you began.

Treasures spill before you as gold
but not from ill-begotten crime.
Live the precise instant you hold.
Be where you are in present time.

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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Child God

One day you stop asking God for anything,
you only ask yourself.

Then it happens,
you know without question
that asking God and yourself
are the same thing.

This is the mystery,
one that is as simple as a child's riddle.
However you have to have a child-mind.

As a child, the boy Siddhartha
had an old mind.
It took many years for him to become
a child.

Which Whispers Love

Her eagerness to be successful
bought her to him to be alone
Her need and. desire to copulate
Made loving her less a chore
The wines and bread to began
The evenings scored in song
Might this night start our togetherness
A perfection of you and I
Nothing to sort through
Alone just you and I

Months later he spoke the names of Kong Oru
Kung Fu-tzu Siddhartha Gautama Yosef Ben Yaakov
and Yeshua Hamashlach  Batjoachim in Prayer
AS he worked up his nerves to marry him as she
Was pregnant.
He had this as there supper.

Apis Mellifere Mare Crisium

Pigeon and Gamehen
With Mushrooms and Rice

Marinade, Olive Oil, Pomegranate molasses, grated ginger, crushed garlic,red current sauce,soy sauce, lime juice,fish stock,
Liquid smoke, marinade for three to four hours.

Veggies
Green peppers,red peppers,onion,garlic, yellow squash, mushrooms, bacon, sunflower seeds,sesame seed oil,slithered almonds, raisins.

Nelumbo Nucifera

he was sick of the racing stripes on his automobiles

a modern-day Buddha in his garage full of himself

and vintage cars of classical acclaim and chrome

had become nauseous at the mere site of his Lotus

decided to live like the monk who sold his Ferrari


ascetic instead he would attempt to move mountains

traded his bicycle for begging bowl and orange robe

roamed the streets like a vagrant off his or her trolley

eventually sold his puncture kit for a can full of petrol

and considered his enlightenment by self-immolation


the service station attendant had other plans however

a beautiful woman with olive tanned skin and a bindi

‘you don’t have to emulate Siddhartha to find the path of

the third way between all or nothing greed and starvation’

she whispered and gave him a lotus flower from her heart
 


29th December 2020

Nelumbo nucifera is the botanical name of the lotus

My Favorite Legend

A prince born in the cradle of royal opulence
in the picturesque vale of the Nepal Himalaya, 
Siddhartha Gautama renounced worldly life,
turned a mendicant, embarked on spiritual quest.

Striving to escape the mist of mundane illusions
in the mortal life of overwhelming ignorance,
mind intensely controlled meditated beneath Bodhi tree,
until awake enlightened to become the Buddha.

The tanets of his teaching seeded in the Gangetic plains
flourished as a new spiritual concept of awakening,
spread beyond the shores of ancient India
to emerge as a world religion, the Buddhism.

Distressed mind withdrawn from the sense-responses,
stilled in the quietude of mindfulness,
finds the beam of divine light at the end of dark tunnel,
the righteous life gets the insight of wisdom.

Unsatiated cravings open the floodgate of suffering,
leading to karmic cycle of dying and being born.
The Buddha, my favorite spiritual legend, showed the way
of liberating the soul to attain the essence of nirvana.


Written : March 11, 2020
Contest : Completely Your Choice (7)
Sponsor : Brian Strand

The Bodhi Tree

The Bodhi Tree

I am a Bodhi Tree with branches reaching for the sky.
My cooling shade entreats a song, a lovely lullaby.
My roots run deep above and below the blessed ground
Where prayerful spirit looms my ancient trunk is found.

Siddhartha Gautama became Buddha beneath my tree.
In harmony reverent lines form to pay homage to me. 
Enlightened beloved spiritual teacher of India’s grace,
My humble trunk was honored to smile upon his face.

5-24-22

Wisdom from Trees Poetry Contest~Second Place~
Sponsored by: Anoucheka Gangabissoon 


12-31-19
I am a tree Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Delilah Ventura

What If

Archimedes slipped in the shower
          Diogenes drowned in a barrel 
                    Thor shook in his thunder
		              Ariadne lost her thread

Pinocchio had a broken nose
          Rapunzel sported a wig
	            The Little Prince had no transport
		              Aladdin no fuel left in the lamp

Spinoza bereft of lenses to grind
          Descartes left without doubt
	            Socrates no market place
		              Plato caved into shadows

Sleeping Beauty with insomnia
          Cinderella barefoot forever
	            Little Suck-a-thumb had a thimble
		              Jonny looked into a looking glass

1984 was mere fantasy fiction
          A Brave New World had courage	
                    My Lord had run out of flies
		              The Never Ending Story stopped		

What if the planet was flat and politicians told the truth
          Jesus played Balderdash with Mohammed and Siddhartha
                    The rising sun set in the East by a pot of tarred rainbows  

          I would still love you to the moon and beyond my princess
Go to the end of the earth as long as you will hold my hand

28th November 2019

The Woman In the Flower

In the flower, a woman,
in the bloom a woman waving something.

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,
a few saw something waving.

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.

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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