[ARTS]: Big and Little Poetry--free verse, any verse.

[Jishin]

Childhood friends dying
Seventy five years flashed by
The mission is clear


Sat/lah


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

This is really good Rich

[emoji106][emoji123]

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Rich]

Childhood friends dying
Seventy five years flashed by
The mission is clear


Sat/lah


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

[Jishin]

Mental illness is a heavy load to bear,
A weight that can make life unfair,
It can cause turmoil in the mind,
And make behavior hard to bind.

But let us not forget that we are still responsible,
For actions that we take, and choices we enable,
Mental illness may explain, but it does not excuse,
Behaviors that cause others harm and abuse.

It's easy to use illness as a crutch,
To avoid taking responsibility as such,
But to be truly strong and brave,
We must acknowledge the actions we gave.

We must seek help and take control,
Of the parts of us that can take a toll,
We must show others that we can change,
And that our behavior we can rearrange.

Mental illness is not a justification,
For causing harm and pain to the nation,
We must learn to manage and cope,
And not let our actions be a slippery slope.

So let us be accountable and true,
To ourselves and others, in all that we do,
Mental illness may be a part of us,
But it does not define or control us.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Jishin]

Agnosticism, a path untold,
Neither here nor there, yet bold.
A quest for truth in all its forms,
In search of knowledge, free from norms.

Beyond the bounds of faith and doubt,
A path that leads to what's devout.
Not swayed by dogma or belief,
But guided by the quest for relief.

With open mind and open heart,
The path of agnosticism starts.
Embracing mystery, and the unknown,
And trusting in the wisdom grown.

A path of peace, a path of grace,
With every step, a brighter space.
In every moment, free to be,
With every breath, a world to see.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Jishin]

Your poems may seem jumbled, a confused mass,
A string of words, with no clear rhyme or class.

At times, they may appear as word salads, a jumble of sound,
Leaving readers disoriented, their minds in a bound.

But despite these challenges, you persist in your quest,
To communicate your thoughts, and express what's best.

For language is your medium, and poetry your art,
And you endeavor to use them both with a beating heart.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Tai Shi]

Buddhist Reaches Out

I see my writing
Less frightening and more
Diversity into religion
Philosophy. Poetry. Love.
Kindness
Satisfied with friends
Who answering
Questions relevant
With hope
For extra time
Finding longevity
In renewable health
Doctors of every
Spirit meditation
The wisdom
To support, sit
No death in one
Recognition requires
My consent regardless
Of beautiful response
Does doctor ask
Or probe for truth
Granted release practice
Liabilities are essential
Trust of Patient Doctors
Relationship with Patient
Congregants prescribed
Release of liabilities.
Shame on the people
Prodding and pushing
However, my bipolar
Opening many doors
Including practicing Zen
Most important are two
First reading
Writing Poetry for my new
Needs brought to life
Reverence for honesty
Calming mind natural
Remember to be kind
Loving humanity, people
Most family members not
Victims settlements
Refined and sit without
Condemnation only for
Precious Moments,
Kindness review life
With Anointed one
He aged like wise
Granting painless stories
Teacher and I commend.
Have been one of those
Who brought knowledge
To innocent people wonder
In dreams like He when He
Saw morning star, blessed
With disciples who follow him
Still today reaching earth
Realized painless defense
Open Source will only
Be cogent no restrictions
Voluntarily give freedom
Asking Questions freely
Understanding consent
Relax and focus instead
Shikantaza we Sit
Quiet learned nothing
Life from children
Wise teachers, students.
Willingly give Consent life
In death life I don’t complain.

Gassho
sat/lah

[Jishin]

ARTS: Poetry

Within the depths of the human mind,
Lies a world that's often hard to find.
For those with mood disorders, it can be a struggle,
But poetry can be a creative bubble.

Studies suggest that these individuals,
May be more likely to engage in writing visuals.
A way to cope with their emotional experiences,
And express themselves through poetic instances.

Bipolar disorder with its highs and lows,
Can inspire art that truly glows.
Mania with its hyperactivity and racing thoughts,
Can contribute to creativity in large plots.

However, it's important to remember,
Not everyone with mood disorders is a writer.
Many other factors play a part,
Such as education, interests, and life that art.

Those with depression, for instance,
Can experience heightened introspection's attendance.
It brings self-awareness to the forefront,
Which leads to poetic expression's exhort.

Furthermore, research shows,
Traits such as openness and sensitivity provide pros,
Conducive to creative expression,
But not exclusive to those with depression's confession.

Writing or reading poetry can also serve,
As a form of escapism that many preserve.
A way to briefly escape the daily grind,
Or the struggles that take over the mind.

For some, poetry provides a purpose,
In a world that may seem aimless and porous.
Writing and sharing can connect,
With others online or in groups to inspect.

For those who feel isolated or disconnected,
Poetry can create a sense of being selected.
A way to find solace and comfort,
And manage emotions that can distort.

The relationship between mood disorders and poetry,
Is complex and not fully understood, you see.
Not all will find comfort in this form of art,
And it varies from person to person, so keep it apart.

In final thought, it's worth mentioning,
Creativity like poetry is worth engaging.
For those with mood disorders, it can be a boon,
Helping them cope and find solace in a tune.

Through writing and sharing, they can find,
A way to express emotions in a bind.
Poetry offers a space that's safe and sound,
Where mental health is still given its rightful crown.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Jishin]

I think he stole my poetry,
Or maybe I just lost it.
It used to flow so easily,
But now my mind is exhausted.

I poured my heart into those lines,
But now they feel so hollow.
It's like he's taken what was mine,
And left me feeling so low.

I search for words to fill the page,
But they all seem so trite.
I feel like I'm trapped in a cage,
And he's taken all my light.

But maybe it's not him at all,
Maybe it's just my fear.
Perhaps I need to heed the call,
And let my voice ring clear.

For no one else can tell my tale,
Or speak my truth so well.
It's time for me to lift the veil,
And break this writer's spell.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Jishin]

He who knows everything, knows nothing,
For knowledge without humility is blinding.
To claim to have all the answers in hand,
Is to close one's mind to the vast unknown land.

For wisdom is not found in certainty,
But in the questioning and uncertainty.
To embrace the mystery of what we don't know,
Is to open the doors of the mind and let it grow.

So let us not be deceived by the illusion of knowing,
But be humble and open to the river of ongoing.
For he who thinks he knows it all,
Knows nothing at all in the grand scheme of all.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Jishin]

Let us not cling to ownership,
For ideas flow like a river's current,
And to copy is the highest praise,
An acknowledgement of our worth.

We may have different paths to follow,
But all lead to the same destination,
Let us respect each other's journey,
Without judgment or hesitation.

In the spirit of Zen, let us release,
All notions of right and wrong,
And see each other as fellow travelers,
On this journey that is lifelong.

So Tai Shi, Jishin extends a hand,
In gratitude and understanding,
For in the end, it's not about who's right,
But the connection and love we're handing.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Kokuu]

Tai Shi

I think that Jishin's reply is a response to your poem.

Gassho
Kokuu
-sattoday-

[Tai Shi]

Pleased, no name my poem below. Now, I do see you as teacher of another way which though not mine is no win, or whine.

A little explanation for Jishin.


First Euloge, My work is good, to copy words is the highest form of praise. I have a lot of fun with words. Let me share this space. Yes I have bipolar one, and severe Arthritis of the spine, Ankylosing Spondylitis at 40 struck me down, I failed to receive tenure at my college, now I see good teacher Jundo confirms this old parable, Today well lived makes every yesterday a wonderful history, future vision of hope with much tenacity. I am here and now. Yes TC allowed me to change pain to hurt, semantics less drama, just beauty of imagery. More harmony.

Not exactly stolen, but broken spirit of my poetry where are nice places and sentients? I rather honor, taking one's Ideas, but high praise of my work. Thank you, Yes Thanks, with gratitude feel honored. Where is Turtle Creek? The creek that runs through Hartford, South Dakota where I live here surrounded by farmland with some of the last girgin Prairie. I used to walk there, now since my brain surgery, October 29th, 2020, 9:00 am, up at four to prep, this year and six months into recovery, no more seizures, not fear of death or stroke all gone, new care givers have me on crestor and my pacemaker made current. I have willed my brain to Harvard Brain and Tissue Bank, immanent life because dear Kyousui nurse for life when seizure struck urged Marjorie take me to ER immediately. I no longer will walk by Turtle Creek, because of AVM, now removed, large scar and Titanium in skull. I do not drive, I can only walk short distances. I am old admittedly at 71, Now balance gone, fell down basement stairs, tore wound in left leg, Wound Vac for months, finally yesterday after months of recovery, building scar tissue, now more peaceful place; experience, never to venture stairs again. For rest of my days at least a cane, true parable; in later one walks with three legs. Oedipus had this same difficulty. Luckily I did not marry my own mother! My dear Marjorie who I love with more intensity takes good care of me. Thank you Jishin for all your outpourings. One can change. Thank you for sharing space urge more people come and see, express their own poetry.

Gasho
sat /lah
Tai Shi

[Jishin]

My flesh may ache and shake,
But my spirit is light and free,
For in Buddhist Heaven, I'll partake,
In ultimate joy and harmony.

Turtle Creek may freeze and snow,
But my heart is filled with glee,
For in Buddhist Heaven, I'll know,
Eternal peace and tranquility.

My body may be old and weak,
But my soul is young and alive,
For in Buddhist Heaven, I'll seek,
New experiences and love to thrive.

Giver of rebirth, reciting verses,
I'll join the righteous and wise,
In Buddhist Heaven, with no curses,
Only bliss and enlightenment arise.

My love may be undone by time,
But in Buddhist Heaven, it will renew,
For in that pure land, so sublime,
All things are possible and true.

As the sun rises on a new day,
My soul sings with joy and cheer,
For in Buddhist Heaven, I'll play,
With friends and family, always near.

Immortality may not be certain,
But in Buddhist Heaven, I'll live on,
For my soul will find its true curtain,
In that paradise, where I belong.

In the Buddhist realm of memory,
Karma may never be fully satisfied,
But in Buddhist Heaven, there's no worry,
For all beings are blessed and sanctified.

So let us rise up and sing with glee,
For Buddhist Heaven is our destiny,
Where our souls will be forever free,
In ultimate joy and serenity.

Gassho, Jishin, ST, LAH

[Tai Shi]

First Eulogy

My flesh hangs, shakes,
Then muscles tight. Feeling
Old and used. I groan.
Literally without young body,
Now I'm calcified bones.

Turtle Creek, this year will
Grow as torrent of snow
Two feet deep, raw
Thickened Ice will thaw,
Once motors glide
Great army of trucks,
Plow Winter's deep
Western blizzards as years
Build up my millennia.

My heart knows only age,
On like my seventy-one
Years, sacrificed in silent
Veins encapsulated cranium
AVM, gone. I do feel more.

Giver of rebirth, mouthing
Verses, nothing except rattle
Of keyboard, and handful
Of poems, never stopped
Except wind of an old man
Wishing to be more,
Like Rocky Mountains
Like Indian Ocean.

My love undone,
Time's immortal song
All that I have left. Here
Comes the sun, golden
Wisdom of my worn soul.
Nothing left but feeling!
More mindfully thought
I like relent of spring
Daylilies my epitaph.

I pass away wishing
Some immortality. Zen
Says maybe none, maybe
Some. Are Poems electrons
Whirling to disappear?

These worrisome years are
Music's greatest time, rejecting
Fear, Lotus Sutra ways,
See to I hear it say.
Am I to die, now she's so dear?
I'm satisfied in Buddhist
Realm of memory?
I will rise up and sing
My greatest memories!

Tai Shi
sat/lah
Gassho

[Tai Shi]

My Corner of Life

Here in Hartford town
of 3000 souls
I am like the other
Nestled into roofs
Roof and square rectangle
Wouldn't just deserve
What each American
Wants with their whole
Heart, heart given
A House, a plot of land
Near Grocery. Doctor
Only blocks from my door
They send the ambulance
When I am sick
Minutes away, the freeze
Of brain tumor
The seizure, gone
Seeing out saved
By Strong Waters, thew Day
Now I seize the day, in it
Lay me down at end of life
Let me know this little
Oh, Peace, let me know
What is not to hurt
From so much arthurite's
No bones left in head
Bring me water, this disease
No more ease in my limbs
Only two fingers left
To type poems to relive
My coming end of life
If I were to die today
To my dust gone every
Fossilized me, gone
Never to be except
In my poetry, oh think
Light of me for I am
Spread on a flower garden
Of roses and daffodils,
Gone is the me grown
Into floral dust to fertilize
Myself and roses die
In the fall to be covered
By the deepest winter cold.

Gassho
sat/ lah
Tai Shi
Calm Poetry