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

[Layzie]

Nothing Reflects Nothing

It is pointless to try to see
your reflection in agitated waters.
Only still water can give
an accurate image
of what is above it.

In the same manner,
only stillness of the mind,
and stillness of the body,
can reflect one's true nature.

What remains
when my body and mind
are left behind?
Three small yellow flowers
standing in my altar vase.

Gassho

[Onkai]

A Wu Wei Play With Words

People say nothing is impossible,
but I do nothing all day,
and I am full.

Gassho

Gassho Onkai

[Layzie]

A Little Wu Wei Word Play

People say nothing is impossible,
but I do nothing all day,
and I am full.

Gassho

[Layzie]

A Night or Two to Ryaku Fusatsu

Large clouds form a bear's claw
as they strike across the sky.
Revealing a luminous waxing moon.
As if it were a gift,
only for me to see,
on this lonely night.


How lucky I am
to be able to catch a glimpse
of it's beauty,
before it's swept away
in the rolling storm clouds.


Rain begins to fall.
Palms open, I do not worry.
Calmly walking back inside,
I light incense
and read poems
from ancient masters.

Gassho

[Layzie]

A Sudden Spring Storm

Blanketing rain across the leaves,
and powerful, pulsing winds
against my window.

Struggling to sit in meditation,
I worry about them all.
The nests in the cedar.
The squirrels in the pines.
The pregnant cat who's beginning
to think I'm all right.

What can I do, but continue to sit?

When the storm let's up,
and only a pleasant drizzle remains
I rise from the cushion
to see a patch of sun through the clouds.

The birds in their trees, wet and puffy.
The cat poking out from the barn,
and the first hummingbird
of the new season.

Gassho

[WhiteLotus]

I was encouraged to post a poem I wrote:

White Lotus

Weaving spider can't enter here.
Nothing's said so you can hear.
Weaving spider can't enter here.
Return to you with all your fear.

On the pond of clear reflection.
Beyond the void without detection.
Sits a flower of pure perfection.
Blossoms found every direction.

In the mirror made of mind.
There's no forward or behind.
The only peace there you'll find.
Is it's all made of pure mind.

On the mirror of bright reflection.
There's nothing more than connection.
Nothing to gain in any direction.
Nothing to lose is pure perfection.

In the mirror made of mind.
There's no forward or behind.
The only peace there you'll find.
Is it's all made of pure mind.

Here is a link to a song I made out of it: White Lotus
Thank you for reading and much love!
Salem
SatLah

[Layzie]

A Little Lesson

Sweeping my front porch.
Single minded.
Present.
Here, and now.


One final push
of the broom.
A sigh of relief.


Turning around
only to feel
a sudden gust of wind,
and my porch is covered
with leaves once again.


All I can do is chuckle,
and enjoy the sunbeams
through the trees.

Gassho

[Layzie]

A Spring Morning Reflection

I've come back home.
To Spring in the Carolinas.
Naturally,
most of my time
has been devoted to my garden.

A hidden sanctuary
of wild flowers, azalea bushes,
and blossoming cherry trees.
But honey suckle vine
has now invaded my homestead.

Even with all of it's own beauty,
it has begun to choke the life
from the fellow foliage.

As I spend day after day
pulling and twisting these vines
from my dear old friends,
how can I not be reminded of,
and liken it to my own
practice of zazen?

Clearing away the brush.
Throwing away delusions.
To see what is truly there.

Gassho

[Tai Shi]

I Sit Quietly On A Tuesday Morning

Snow, cold, cold
swoons to Earth,
Dimly Light and Wind
Mix into swath, pathways
Of ice grinder of my heart
Forgive my fear, my dim
Resolved mind filled
With my soul of excuses
Wishing for more
More than wind, puff
Of air and water this
Is snow, white, not blue
Blue white blue yellow
Smudge of land beneath
Breath of fresh air cold, cold.
Above possible sea of ice.

Gassho
lah/sat today

[Tai Shi]

Profuse Reality

When I look back to Junio,
I think I know not this name
This man. There are so many
I do not know of 3000 members

Where are they, I do not know,
Maybe 250
I have met in passing for These
I know only in passing
New Hampshire, happiness
Withstanding, why do I know?
Reality calls, to know
Reality's bow shooting arrow
Into sky missing its mark reality
Narrow we think we know

We do not know now gone
Now present hiding mirror
Of creation, bird song
Sing beautiful, bird reality
Singing screeching scintillating
Like sugar pouring into bowl
Spiced cinnamon reality song
Of bird, I bathe myself
Into pure song reality of bird,

Eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit
Reality, I begin to bathe myself
Into Reality, into buttermilk
Butter taken from milk,
This cultures what is left,
Jinko what is a name in reality
Bird call, I sing, I sink, I sing,
I rise to sing to perfuse reality.

Gassho
lah/sat today

[Tai Shi]

To City Park

He walks in the morning sun
With new-fashioned
Walker bright steel

Tubing with blue handles
Swinging bag beneath
On his walk they share

This day away from his house,
Home for thirty-one years
They raised a family of three

Their child, a flowered girl
Not roses, or lilacs but Laurel.
She flew away, she dotted

South Dakota highways
Cut her curls and he no longer drove
Yet, he was alive

To push his walker
At seventy-three years old
His wife still loves him,

She prepared his
Daily medications
So he can walk his path again.

The artifacts in their home
Lost to him. This day he
Dwelt in a family of trees

Until their daughter;
Would Return at Christmas
Come away to leave.

They are situated in this
Little House, he no cares that he
No longer drives anywhere

Except for his blue steel
Walker, sturdy blue with handles,
Steel wheels, warm vinal seat,

His survival; sits daily
In his chair on a wooden
Deck, spring has come

When he can roll away
To City Park, even sway
A little walk to hold his camera

Inside his steel walker.
Beneath the seat so he can rest
When he walks, stop, take pictures

When he strolls
Behind the blue steel walker
With the seat where

He can rest, then walk
Again--over time, his pain
Subsidies, his painful pushing

Because His wife gave him pills
When he departed to the park
Four blocks to shade

From the green trees of May
Canopy over him, he sings
As he withdraws to trees.

Tucked beneath the seat,
This keeper of his DSLR,
Rests, on the vinal and wooden seat

Waits again. Stopped by pain
Which returns.--he sits holding
The camera on his lap

He feels his arthritic hands,
His tendinitis slows his feet
He has left preoccupation

All that he has wished for
Walking away from a cold winter
His trip to his spot in Park

Once a week, once to behold
Hartford City Park,
Dandelion dotted parking

Nestled, aging in the sun
Upon this walk to his favorite
Resting place He has returned

From which to write
High poetry again,
Lost in words, or pictures

Held in mind's eye of Park
if he scans a day. He is better
In imagination, his mind's stroll

Of time to his favorite
Spot of old age he will
End in this City Park

He will leave her
Money, his cameras, and books,
Twine to wrap them

In packages to donate
When he is gone for the last time
Returning to Park again.

Gassho
lah/sat today


Snow comes in April
White on my neighbor's slant roof.
Knowing where. What wind blows?
4-20-2025

My mother gone, sad
Is my morning solemn song
Through my open window.
4-20-2025

Fluttering gray sky,
Dove lights with high round white wings
Resting on spring fences.
4-20-2025

Gassho
lah/sat today

[Tai Shi]

She is my Wife, my Love

When she was three
A priest put her on his knee
When she rose, she was
A rose, a rose her husband
Handed here, there was
This priest, he envied her
He was trusted, unlike Father
Father who drank his lunch
She was to become, the most
Beautiful rose of any family
Last to be born, mother
Nearly lost her in childbirth
She lives with damaged eyes
He weeps for all the little girls
Upon the priest's knee, what see
You know, the chicken dung
Coop the stench of toast
And jam, this was the priest

Who found her home, while
Daddy slept, and was he not
Fifteen years old, this broken
Heart, this wagon wheel
Rode round, and round
The little girl upon his knee,
Cousin heart, man start
Another rat, was this beheld
Tinker, trader cat, found
Their great, mother torn
To reformatory wall where
The teacher found that he
He could spend his life
Atonement in grief, helping
Little girls, dream smart
Atonement grief realized
Flower, pretty strain
Of toast and jam of round
Little face, tumor great
Without a priest, knuckle
To poor past, withering
Heights, realized, father
Drank, brother last, like
Father, hurt child, this man

Would strike this boy who
Was his son, only in his
Dream of rose, toast, jam
Jam and toast, pretty
Thing, brother priest not,
His manhood in drunken
Father's past, alcohol
Husband found his way,
To leave each day
Remembering past
When he could post, give
Her seven thousand of
Dollars green, in the day he
To Donald T. a wandering
Where priests would hold
Three-year-old child,
He gave her a child, brilliance
She could but raise, all was
Toast and jam, bribery
For a deed of a priest while father
Slept, given a deep bottle of liquor
Strong across this street, wound
This fatter, dad exits the bar given
Grief, singing not, her voice
As a three-year-old child, wincing
The man she found, did love
Her strength she never would
Allow him priesthood, for her
Knees, between and still
He finally understood, brother

Sweet, priesthood neat, death
Each man found in his grief,
What was shower, given
The woman who thought another
Grief, father's liquor
Bottle in his chicken house,
The priest was all gone, and childhood
All gone at eighteen her eyes,
Years given over to the academy
Her years to escape,
To wonder more, his kiss
More than she could take
Abortion not, childhood
End, at twenty-four, found
Father's deed, she did grieve
Her grief for him is because

They found forty-three years
He went back to bed
Her steadfast led him
Away from priesthood
Where she was broken
With toast and jam at eighteen
Years of grief, father's liquor
He walked away from his father
To become the father of her child
He never broke her heart of heart
He walked away from time
On the priest's lap with toast
And jam, her bribery for rats
Up his wall, his bedroom wall
Off to college dorm room
He gave his small wise years
Away from all of father's
Grief, this priesthood held

As some dire escape away
From grief, she is always free.
Finally her old age with him.

Gassho
lah/sat today

[Kaitan]

Left side headache
smoke travelling through an infinite channel
long inhale, long exhale
refreshing and painful
more CO2 please

Gassho

stlah, Kaitan

[Tai Shi]

This Death of Why

Tai Shi sits quietly in the mornings at 6:05 with Shokai,
Wonders what he is doing, with his life, strife broken
With Rakusu, he is given into his tumor or cut bones
On the right side of the skull. Wondering if this is the week,

My friend of nine years? Are we sitting wondering why? We come
Close to death. Let me wonder, too, if your stroke? I shall sit and cry,
Finding death sooner. Let me sigh through many days
Colored window, these scattered rainbows, stained in you

Speeds through your town, Earling for yours into the Nurse
Practitioner, Iowa, 350 so population. or Me? I'm not so
Lucky, we know what high singing is for me, Internal Medicine
Low singing Doctor? My voice is gone, reputation of song,

For Friendships, for many days I lie next to her now, oxygen
Singing not for any friend of what, I'm finally with my wife
Not in notes alone, wife high or low, in-between, we are
Just so; we sing of poetry, poetry of heart for you

Buddhism with a single wedge between my Siddhartha
Your wonderment is yours, is friendship, then is what?
Divides us, nothing but wisdom for you, Thich Nhat
Hanh. Verses, Little, I have taught you verses of little poetry,

Big, so how do I make free verses, known friendships, nothing but
Stroke. From Hartford, 3000 plus, your vanishing death, Please
People, no one: my heart aches except yours is stark,
Except you talk to folks. talk of the Unitarian Universalist any verses

You are your Encrusted, we wonder why your stroke is simply
Not of Christian strains, the violin of Christ in this vanishing
Death divided Interbeing. Not in our visible Buddha--
Christ is one person, not three. Wonderment of one eternal

Group of men? Brought to friendship, yours and mine talk on the phone,
See ours on Zoom is Eucharist, division of wafer, Baptism of fire, Dakota
People, Lakota water wine, deep Brine of dignity gone in hanging
Noise, any water, some water, woes of death, drowned are Nakota

Me into righteousness? Nothingness, into my baptism of sitting
You and I speak often of death? Often down under our Strong Waters,
Death divides this friendship. church, this gracious God gone
Of water Communion, my grace ever gone again: we sit in sin next

To speak not of the burden of bliss, down to death, yours is wind this
Burden is yours, he is just a man, Jesus Christ, he is not God
You and I are men who live like Jesus in this dust of planetary
Rest. We will die like his cross, like his being gone away. Die often!

We will be born again in flames, burned, like his lake of fire
Eternal burn. I wish to grow to age 85, why would you go away?
No more than at 75; don't want to go sooner, why should you
Go? What sort of division do you know? Why am I unto death?

We still give our friendship population 350 people, 3000 people, people
Sit in Hartford, why my sort of town; is this where we live in lust?
In Earling, you have friends, I have moved away. Now Gone
Live in an area of 250,000 people, Sioux land! Natives hanged,

Here is Indigenous. Each tumor is my brain gone mine, my mistake
The more common your stroke, you and I stand still, no more death,
One in my town, or you in your town, we have gone away. We sit now
At this time next week, 5:30, we will be shown calling each other

On phones, then Zoom, each is yours, visible, quietly all afternoons,
I type poetry of self, you type quietly on your computer!
Mine is loud wonderment because I want to live to 85. Why
More than you? Seeing others go to the moon or Mars reminds

Us both, we want this moon or Mars, never more alone,
Then Elon Musk? Division in government, destroy members,
This conflict of interest, the internet, we care for the rocket reactor,
Galileo, division of this atomic power, as kids in dreams,

Of NASA making real for us, not Elon Musk, dividing towns,
Never more than a government gone or alive, not splintered,
Broken down, taken apart to give to him his Star link money?
Billions of dollars, instead go to the moon or Mars?

We cannot wait for a tumor or a stroke, with arthritis or hearing
Loss. our bodies are old, no priestly garment or division
Of dust, life must keep us apart, we live 160 miles, gone into dust
Down the road, the moon or Mars is not ours; all is gone!

Gassho
sat/lah

[Kokuu]

These are two poems from my friend Robert Leith-Rivers, also now known as Fo Cang, who was previously a member of Treeleaf. He just published a book of poems called Songs to Raise the Sun which is available from Amazon.

Become the Flags

To wave the flags
on every house
deep yellow and dark orange
wave the flags with trumpets
wave them on the horses’ backs
on the hilltops wave the flags
have them wave like their waving makes the sun rise every day
and forget
that the moon, planets, and stars
do not make the earth their center


Street Song

Street song of the violin
the bucket draws
the notes
like it draws the change which chimes

Bluejay never knew
It had such a rich blue coat


Gassho
Kokuu
-sattoday/lah-