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100 followers, and this is my 300th poem!
Thank you guys so much <3
I love y'all :)
A "poem" every day.
Kevin J Taylor Jul 2017
The first poem takes place during the lifetime of Lord Buddha.

The second poem follows in the years soon after Lord Buddha left his body.

The third poem is the mind of the boy (the spirit of the boy in the first poem) in restless meditation. He has yet to attain full enlightenment. There are multiple voices suggested by parentheses and which are whispered words. If you prefer linear thought or literal interpretation this poem may not communicate to you. Just as a painting may be abstract, this poem is wide open to your own connections, thoughts and emotions. If you like, you can skip to the fourth poem.

The fourth poem, in three lines, lies within this portion of eternity that is forever present time.

Boy runner (the first poem)
Approaching Gautama where He sat a
boy examined Him politely. (This-that?)
Gautama spoke and there the unnamed boy
who sitting a while with Him that day thought
and over the days ahead returned and
leaving only for food, drink and service
that Gautama would not be distracted
from His goal until upon returning
he saw Him glowing in the morning light
and so began to dance with Him beneath
the tree. A leaf was shed, was gathered then
and the boy, who while tucking it away,
Gautama asked if he would run for Him
to village, crossroads, field, grove, wherever
Gautama wished to speak. And so he ran
and soon arriving announcing thus His
coming, holding high the leaf he carried
and which had never died— living, living
green until Lord Buddha left His body.

Depths of Green (the second poem)
Depths of green—from canopy to forest floor
In streams of raucous livingness
And there, and where about, a sanctuary
Falls in heaps, in stone walls run aground.

And with, nearby, afar, by ins and outs
Through every place (perceived)
Wherever listened for—vibration.

A single voice in Pali—a single voice
Leaping, leading, dancing, sweeping.

Hello. You greet me.

And if I split myself and stand (the third poem)
And if I split myself and stand
At every corner of said universe
On any selfsame summer day
With any selfsame afternoon rain
Will this, though thought, slip
Where densities of interest fail
(Or by failures to perceive)

This leaf-boy-runner
Eight portions of beingness
The full, and fill of prime creation

(Perhaps where life has paused
Or slowed enough to perceive
At any speed
The speed of perception
The true speed of light
The wavelengths of laughter
And of any thing)

While density shifts
Where inertia has failed

(The density of my interest
The shift of my affinity)

There is no doubt
It has velocity
It gives back light
It bends the universe
It has location
From which expands
All space
Not already filled
With the logic of otherness
And even there it bends to will

As (my breadth of vision)
A torrent
An avalanche
A fissure in nothingness
A co-creation of All
This theatre
Our audience
Of stelae
Beacons of lostness
To wander by
In search of wavelengths
Of affinity
Where you might
Where I have
The curves beneath our frequencies
The pitch and roll of their design
Their width

(We have
Each other)

In all that vastness
An ordinary leaf
From this
For that
(I am)
The breathless

Cool in the shade (the fourth poem)
Cool in the shade
(still) dancing
with Lord Buddha
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry with common things.)
Andrew Rueter Feb 25
There was a glorious mix
In 2006
When King Xerxes started ******* with Gerard Butler
By sending his empire’s army
Until that one dude threw a spear like Jay Cutler
Xerxes cheek he was harming

You want land and water? You better stop talking ****
Before Gerard Butler kicks you down the big *** pit
That’s in the middle of our city with no hand rails
Because we believe that caution is where man fails

Gerard Butler will beat all the *****
Of the Persian masses
In a narrow passage

They needed help
To protect themself
The Arcadians are total *******
But they make a fine mess of things
So they caught the immortals looking
For a Spartan death sting

There’s an obese guy with swords for arms
He doesn’t mean anything to the plot
His fellow soldiers are the only ones he harms
He’s just an interesting thought

Gerard Butler wouldn’t let that ugly ****** in his squad
Because he was so flawed
So he pulled a lever and his ties were severed
So the Persians would be better
May that ******* live forever

They proved a god king could bleed
And screenwriters don’t history read
Because that **** is for Athenians
Who like to focus on dreaminess
And not being badass
Or wearing dope masks

So thank you Zack Snyder
After blunt met black lighter
My eyes got smacked wider
In a land where abs are tighter
Thanks for reading my 300th poem. Very proud of all my work even this one. Thanks to anybody who has read anything I’ve written, I understand how many entertainment options are out there so even one view of my poetry is a huge honor. Thanks for the support.
Wyatt Apr 2018
I write when I don't understand
anything that's around me.
That means I write a lot.
I write when my call for help
is only a fleeting thought.
I write when I have
nothing better to do,
I probably write too much.
I write when I'm confused
and nobody feels the same way,
it makes it so easy to give up.
I write when I feel lost
inside another dimension.
I write to be heard, but
I've always put my life down
in ink on paper because it's easy
to hide behind my words written.
I write when I feel
it's the last words I'll ever write.
I know that's wrong of me,
but I never said I was right.
At least when I go
I can ease the pain to know
a few hundred read my words
and it gave them more worth.
I write because I'm insecure
and maybe I can write a better me.
I write to sort them all out,
every single "me" inside of me.
I write to escape a world
I'd rather not exist in.
I write when I watch sad movies,
but the tears stopped falling down
many moons ago.
Most importantly I write
because it's all I can do.

Through years of writing
I hope just a few of those words
I fought and struggled to share
were able to reach you.
Thank you all for 300 followers on Hello Poetry. Over years of my life, I've written out my life in my time here. My heart's always been on my sleeve, but my soul is a whole different beast to decipher. Through the terrible and the admirable words, the painful and the hard words, the most sincere words I've shared...I hope I got through to you. I hope you hear me in this moment. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Tatiana Nov 2017
I'm like a snuffed out candle
with its smoke still curling
into the dark sky.
A wispy grayish white,
still visible at night.

The scent still lingers
it's not quite ready to leave
the area it called home.
Still making its presence known,
but fading as the winds groan.

The immediate darkness that settles
around the snuffed out candle
is heavy and forboding.
Yet its still intoxicating,
though the silence is suffocating.

I'm like a snuffed out candle
because I burn bright when needed
and extinguished when I'm not.
Like my light is for others to use
and for the world to abuse.
© Tatiana
Oh hey! It's my 300th published poem! That's kind of cool.
Rustle McBride Jun 2016
The battle was imminent.
The forces were joined.
No longer was time standing idle.
Outnumber and ******
by 100 to 1,
the Spartans stood fervid and vital.

The Greeks were united,
though the Spartans alone
were the ones charged with their protection.
At Thermopylae pass,
300 men stood
together in imperfect perfection.

"Surrender your arms"
King Xerxes demanded,
"Surrender, and let the Persians betake them."
Leonidas replied "Molon Labe!" my foe,
**"If you want them, then you come and take them."
The beginning of a poem i'm working on about King Leonidas response to the Persians who demand that they lay down their arms and surrender to the superior force of 300,000 men.
Lark Train May 2016
Another Thermopylae to defend.
Our love's a battle we can't win.
And so I'll die a Spartan's death,
You'll leave me with out any breath.
SassyJ Apr 2016
The rattle is shaken and life becomes unfixed
Torrential rains cascades downwards on ancient bricks
These stunning moments have been rediscovered
In wonder all is flustered in awe as the state of silence honks
Love creeps out of tune in time, the unsureness of cold feet
The voice fades, the toned whispers continually erased
Stormed and soaked, stilled and stalked by a heart that stole my dream
Drenched in uncertainty, non-favouring multitudes won't let me be
These flutters flattens and deflated, I stroll and I will not run
The floating fun fares vanishes, the morning bird furnishes
The time capsule evaporated, unstripped and frozen

Ohh, how I wished to plant and harvest inspiration
Wake up with a renewed breath of air, the flowing river
Of the days when the gloom masked, I hated what life had become
How could humanity be so self centred and selfish?
I looked for silence and the banging never ceased
The masses rushed, never to let me be, they snatched my freedom
I inhaled the hope of the freeness and longed for the racing momentums

How so?
That over time the weather collapsed to coldness, the darkness marbled
A nag of the songbirds, as I escaped in the ****** ozone layer
A disconnect of the mind, body and soul; when I saw my spirit sail
A snail sailing on its own course and journey slowly but steady
Reflections and visions of the timeline of growth and fertility
A heart of one, the soul of all, the mind of many, a tongue in sums
The chandelier hanged on a ceiling, high, holding the flickering bulbs
A condense of energy, the modelled nature of a prognostic intervention
A laughter and synergy rests in the symphony of the unsung melodies
Jack Jenkins Apr 2016
Spartan shield wall, impenetrable & fortified
Persian soldiers, dying by the thousand
Spears pointed outward, catching flesh & blood
Persian soldiers, dying by the thousand

Sun blotted out by Persian arrows
Persian archers, killing them all
Spartan soldiers, fight to the last
Persian archers, killing them all

Spartans all fallen, not one left alive
Persian soldiers turn back home
Spartans left immortalized, final stand
Persian soldiers turn back home

Spartans, three hundred strong
Spartans, still standing tall
//On history//
This was my 300th poem, posted at the end of February 2016.
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