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

[Jundo]

I hope this is the appropriate place to post this.

Having just read through Jundo's book again and almost finished, the second to the last chapter is Uji (Being Time). I wrote a song called Being Time and released it on a CD called Being Time in 2010. Here is the poetry/lyrics


Being Time


(Verse)
Can you feel the heat from all of your emotions?
Crested high upon some inkling of the truth
Exposing time as just another fixed creation
Forever branded there from teachings in our youth
(Chorus)
A looking glass reflecting mind
An hour glass, the sands of time
(Verse)
Blended moments pass before our chance to reason
Unveiling mysteries that lay inside our mind
Just as winter dies and spring appears in season
So are we - extended lives that intertwine
(Chorus)
A mirror shine reflecting space
A rhythmic dance is keeping pace

Gassho,

Daiman
SatToday

Love to hear the CD, maybe purchase a copy, if you have a link. It is okay to link to one's music in the arts section.

Lovely.

I sometimes think that Treeleaf needs to put out some albums. A Treeleaf record label.

Gassho, J

stlah

I hope this is the appropriate place to post this.

Having just read through Jundo's book again and almost finished, the second to the last chapter is Uji (Being Time). I wrote a song called Being Time and released it on a CD called Being Time in 2010. Here is the poetry/lyrics


Being Time


(Verse)
Can you feel the heat from all of your emotions?
Crested high upon some inkling of the truth
Exposing time as just another fixed creation
Forever branded there from teachings in our youth
(Chorus)
A looking glass reflecting mind
An hour glass, the sands of time
(Verse)
Blended moments pass before our chance to reason
Unveiling mysteries that lay inside our mind
Just as winter dies and spring appears in season
So are we - extended lives that intertwine
(Chorus)
A mirror shine reflecting space
A rhythmic dance is keeping pace

Gassho,

Daiman
SatToday

[Tokan]

Hey there! Embarrassment is normal I think. Us writers and poets are always so self-critical. Please keep sharing, they’re great

LAH is short for “lend/lent a hand”. Where signing ST/Sat/Sat Today is what you’ll see most, LAH is usually after if someone feels called to share

Gassho,
Jesse
ST

Hey shawnzen, you get a thumbs up from me too! If I may add something, the writer of poetry may have a 'reader response' in mind, but such things have a mind of their own. Your poetry seems insightful, open and honest exposing your human vulnerabilty (which we all share), it is encouraging and affirming of our practice, and has a lovely sense of calm connection to nature and reality, so please continue to share. I'm aware that this post is a little out of date, but only just came across your writings.

Deep bows and gassho

Tokan (satlah)

[Tai Shi]

Jar of Open Space

So much depended upon
Data data data, siting
Just sit, sit twenty minutes,
Savoring completion,
Furnace become instant roar,
Calm, I sit open mind,
Pain throbs through

Stanza of bright light,
On this page became words
Star dust satiating coming
My after life when pain
Will dissipate amonting one

Black of galaxies
Of endless signature
Disabled curved spine
Gone into simple yoke
Of Yearning down, five

Million years to travel
Back to Sun exploding
Out then back to ball
Of neutron substance
Realizing my future

Birth beyond curved
Bone cartilage gristle
Sinew into dissipation
Relieved at last my
Wisdom gone to nought

Thru nothing keyhole,
Star someday washing
Every pain all away
Belief all shattered, gone
To some distant nothing

My, my, my duka into
Eternal coming black
Toy relief of sitting
Somewhere into some
New middle way done

Is instant being known
Not knowing turnpike
Ever again some planet
Or planetoid remembered
Gone is pain of sit just gone.

Taishi Gassho
sat today, middle way
Helped another.

[Meian]

Entropy. Cartilage has vanished from between
long leg bones, and I have become
dependent; may I have some help please
with these pants, these socks, this clacking

knee brace, this burgeoning heaped skunkish
laundry full of everything that leapt from
the spoon onto my clothing, this tea welling up
somehow from my cup's brim to spread across

the tidal flat of my shaking hand and fill
the sea cave of my sleeve? Huh, and if
last night's frost has subsided enough,
perhaps even with such a day's beginning

I can hope to step into these two unmatched
clogs and shamble on, past undone chores,
gathering up my left-hand stick and my right-
hand stick, and walk the dog. There is no dog;

what he left behind lies there: that small
basaltic stupa, littered with seasonal
offerings -- lately, deadnettles that wilt
in such hurry. But I call to him anyway;

he loved these walks so, that I feel obliged,
knee brace and all, to retrace our kinhin route
each weekday Armageddon fails to materialize.
Oaks throw shade; in summer I seek them,

in winter avoid. This is a ritual. As when I sit,
as when I chant, I know, even when tongue tied,
or falling asleep, or feeling my knee brace loosen and drop
just as I stagger into the ditch to avoid a truck,

that ritual is a kind of living being, made up of
my life and also the lives of all who participate
in some way, such as: "are you going to 'walk
the dog?'" Yes. "Have you got some water and

your phone?" Yes. "Okay; if you're not back
in an hour, I'll come looking for you." I bobbled
the Heart Sutra this morning, as I always do,
but this little exchange of hearts is itself

the Middle Way. Along the road, taking tiny
steps, tinier every year, I stop
to watch a robin angling for its worm.
The little dog that isn't there

wags his universe of tail.



gassho
ds sat but mostly slept

[emoji120][emoji120][emoji120] [emoji170][emoji170][emoji170]

Gassho2 stlh

Sent from my SM-G975U using Tapatalk

[Shonin Risa Bear]

Entropy. Cartilage has vanished from between
long leg bones, and I have become
dependent; may I have some help please
with these pants, these socks, this clacking

knee brace, this burgeoning heaped skunkish
laundry full of everything that leapt from
the spoon onto my clothing, this tea welling up
somehow from my cup's brim to spread across

the tidal flat of my shaking hand and fill
the sea cave of my sleeve? Huh, and if
last night's frost has subsided enough,
perhaps even with such a day's beginning

I can hope to step into these two unmatched
clogs and shamble on, past undone chores,
gathering up my left-hand stick and my right-
hand stick, and walk the dog. There is no dog;

what he left behind lies there: that small
basaltic stupa, littered with seasonal
offerings -- lately, deadnettles that wilt
in such hurry. But I call to him anyway;

he loved these walks so, that I feel obliged,
knee brace and all, to retrace our kinhin route
each weekday Armageddon fails to materialize.
Oaks throw shade; in summer I seek them,

in winter avoid. This is a ritual. As when I sit,
as when I chant, I know, even when tongue tied,
or falling asleep, or feeling my knee brace loosen and drop
just as I stagger into the ditch to avoid a truck,

that ritual is a kind of living being, made up of
my life and also the lives of all who participate
in some way, such as: "are you going to 'walk
the dog?'" Yes. "Have you got some water and

your phone?" Yes. "Okay; if you're not back
in an hour, I'll come looking for you." I bobbled
the Heart Sutra this morning, as I always do,
but this little exchange of hearts is itself

the Middle Way. Along the road, taking tiny
steps, tinier every year, I stop
to watch a robin angling for its worm.
The little dog that isn't there

wags his universe of tail.



gassho
ds sat but mostly slept

[Tai Shi]

leon, I simply love you, as teacher poet to nurese poet, and please write add implant enfolded words of love, allow your brilliant voice to sing in words again. May you ever be in this old man's heart.
Gassho
sat/lah

[Tokan]

Tai Shi

As Ever you are infinitely productive, I bow to your efforts to bring light to the world

Tokan (satlah)

[Tai Shi]

This was His gift.

From his daughter
For his birthday,
When she Arrived
Investment Home

Allows one to rent
Or own homes
For 100 dollars,

Yield at three
Point two percent
Per year.
When they bought

At Five point five percent,
If his mother, his origin
Had opening
To their Home

She would have thought,
His Silent grace Greatest
Life in mother's poetry,

As an old man
His at 71, greatest hope
Little girl in elementary

The other child
For Patty Brown...
His Book of poetry

His wife, his Marjorie,
Meaning pearl,
Brought about shadows

Love cannot get
Angry at a child

Or child's mother
About shadow change
In his heart, in his life

Departed to a home
Brought silently in good,

She leads
Him out of anger

To live her life,
In old age without games

Of daughter's poetry,
Which he taught
When she loved her mother,
And loved his poetry.

Gassho
sat/ lah
Tai Shi

[Tai Shi]

Strongest Blizzars in Years

Blizzards in Years

In so many words,
Snow laden clouds at 50 below F,
Wind chill 40 mph and two feet
Of snow. Blizzard winds night down
Shoots of cold flame; last week
Saw death or fairing cattle, farmers
Placed blankets on backs of animals.
Still someday the death.


We saw the week before Christmas the worst weather in decades. Fifty below F wind chill in many places in the Upper Midwestern USA broke records since recorded weather, snow blowing down from Canadian plains where in many a day there even lower as to see, as much as two feet as we saw to four feet drifts around our neighborhood, then this week snow melt as temtrature rose yesterday, and day before to 40 degrees above 0 degrees F, and snow melted both creating treachous roads and damaged cars. There were many weather related deaths; So much for gunfire, and even children die. There was a time that professor with MA on my committee sought to block my MFA creative writing poetry. Professor at my university, and I know she fought to give me passing in my comprehensives, and stole my poem to make herself better than poets like me. Our daughter's was in translation actually better than one A; in Calligraphy and translation daughter was told to go on for her PhD and earned money for her poetry translations telling me she did not like poetry she wrote for her workshop, and I was to be told to teach in Commmunity College. There were no jobs for me, none except I wrote to 523 applications; blind applications I sent to many universities where nothing was, not advertised. My wife says ancient history. Why Dwell in empty halls? My explanations belabored go on to infintesimy. Is there such a word for "Infinaty" where records broke in Buffallo, New York. This too is poetry.
Gassho
Tai Shi

[Tai Shi]

Red Pine is a great winner of The Pen award of London, translation. Our daughter is a runner up for her Novella Translation, for her MFA thesis, Japanese to English. She is beginning to be paid for her translations, and at the end or her PhD Japanese literatiure, comp lit. However, I wish she were not too proud but to drop by and see Jundo when in Japan, her excuses, no time.
Gassho
sat/lah

[Kokuu]

A student of Zen
has to be fierce
a sword that splits hairs
into shimmering moonlight
let buddhas and patriarchs come
cut them in two on the spot
a wooden horse neighs in the clouds
a carp of the mountain bleds
return to the towering cliffs a hero
step right through the Huating moonlight

~ Stonehouse (1272-1352), translation by Red Pine from 'Stonehouse's Poems for Zen Monks'


Gassho
Kokuu
-sattoday-

[Tai Shi]

This Dove

Flies on wings of living
Silver, discenting
Heaven caught flight,
Into glorius invisable air,
Smootrh glides bird,
Whose spirit this bird
Whelms us beyond,
over, under, melodious
Tones of air, tomes declare,
Fire discharged as rare
Dance upon wings upward
Upward, so wings Poet,
Singing into night, in dark
Dance remain still in air,
Let dust be left below,
Above intoicantss, CO2
Made CO what to do?
What to do, but dance
Above clouds, above dense
Air, filled with particulate,
Stench lasted only
So hight, then disapated,
Spellbound, raptureous,
Beginning, let us be let
Us but see, let us see.

Gassho
Tai Shi
say/lah

[Tai Shi]

Fatherhood

Do I know Japanese?
Most only Goodbye,
Kanji, wistfully
I see daughter,
PhD she gave up
Classes at Famous
Japanese University
To finish writing longest
Writing! For me my
Research into writing
Into Journals, Chi Square
I found young students
Came to like Journal
Writing. Daughter may
Delve into chapbooks
Lost in Bird chatter,
In twitter, in faceless
Books of Japanese poetry,
Laughing into lost
Obscurity. I know
So little of her book,
Of Japanese literature,
Written by women
In solemnity, in wistful
Wonderment with wind
Gone with flowers into sun,
Sunrise it is my homeland
Bright surgery remembered
To augment my fatherhood
To daughter becoming famous,
Or is it for girls' obscurity?

Gassho
Tai Shi

[Kokuu]

That's lovely. Tai Shi!