Sijo
"I am impossible to please,
with poetry or anything else"
I am stunned by your beauty,
yet, flummoxed by this stubbornness.
Golden sun does caress your face,
and highlight lovely curls,
reminding me this, yet again,
nothing stays for ever.
Up the hill through a winding path,
you lead me from the front,
look out point did invite,
you didn't pay any heed.
On sundown, when we go down,
hold my hand, stand close to my side,
view those blue hills at the farthest,
you'll change and understand.
A window flung open with drapes barging into the room,
The sun's smug shine tells my toes that the rest of the world is awake,
And so my eyes make their first journey into today's forever.
The act I've practiced for so long, gonna make history
Standing up to the world, first step of the journey
We are both turning, but I am the only one leaving
He ties me up, he strips me down until there's nothing left.
Crack the whip, draw out the blood and the sweat and the tears.
For this is what we call love; I love the way he hurts me.
He walks like he has a gun Desperado slinks urban ruins
Poise attracts attention of martial thugs Cuffs him, pressed on hood
Living proof of happiness found Body check, pat down, hope against pavement
I hope when I am dead and gone that if my life were typed
up in a Microsoft word document that it will be found
too lengthy in pages and to thick to drive a staple through.
Out of kindness my mother made me a simple sandwich
Looking on I said "Careful how much peanut butter you use
the bread is wholesome goodness, and the sweet jelly divine."
An allegory of a sandwich, (samsara) peanut butter (suffering), bread (life), and jelly (enligtenment). Yum.
My first attempt at sijo--comments welcome
No waste here in the office
of poetry where we gain some
wisdom, of course, I don't know
what that is, but I sort of do.
When the pen runs out of ink, fix
the thing and then write again.
Green candle on the altar
for the Buddha, Dharma, Sangha
Flickering the fire shines
golden light rays on brown table
Candle glows bought at hardware store
and on sale! so that's life
Coffee stain on a white cup
painted with black for fine art's sake
goes walking within my hands
to the bathroom for a cleaning.
"Wash your cup!" the zen master said
and the student broke on through.
