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Jeremy Betts Jun 28
Docile and tame,
A king slain by his own sword
Self inflicted pain
My shelf life would be considered inhumane
A body originally set to be a temple
Is now unlivable domain

©2024
Zywa Jun 9
The grey langurs screech

in the main city temple --


and bang the clappers.
Novel "Victory City" [Vijayanagar] (2023, Salman Rushdie), part 1: Birth, chapter 2

Collection "Low gear"
He pulls a sword from a rock
And he was worthy
And he will bring war

To those who are unworthy
.
And he will graze their fields
.
And he will burn their temples
.
He will reveal his true form, eating all the children of those who are not worthy
.
What our One was meant to do
Jeremy Betts May 2
Knuckles go white as I grip my rescue flair
Read the warning through a blinkless stare
Pressed the thing tightly to my temple,
Count to three,
To keep it simple
Hold very still,
Steady as a thimble
'Till the very last second
Pull away on the second e in "one, two, three"
And release it to the night air
At least tonight the fight's fare
I can't make it to there
If I don't end this right here

©2024
David R Nov 2022
there was an old temple of Thai
whose monks just wanted to get high
so they got hooked on meths
but were exposed through their breaths
so they all bid their temple good-bye

now off they all went to rehab
to cure them of the sniff and the jab
but their bright robes and habit
of the monks and their abbot
made the inmates think they'd gone mad

"we're seeing orange" they said to the quack,
who put down his bottle of Jack,
said he, rather tight,
"i think you are right,
but the bottle is better than crack".
BLT's Merriam-Webster Word of The Day Challenge
#farce
https://news.google.com/stories/CAAqNggKIjBDQklTSGpvSmMzUnZjbmt0TXpZd1NoRUtEd2lVNElpZkJoRWFGa1haaGJscWRDZ0FQAQ?hl=en-GB&gl=GB&ceid=GB%3Aen
Steve Page Oct 2022
Not how I planned it
Not as I'd hoped
But better

Not the path we'd plotted
Not the course we charted
But higher

Not the story I'd written
Not the song I'd practiced
But oh,
it's been well told and well sung
and I've spent time with my Messiah.

He's given me another path.
A different gift.
Luke 2
Hadrian Veska Jan 2022
It was a long journey home
From the great Eastern front
My sword in its sheath
And shield on my back
Senseless death In a land not our own
Now I return as a shell of myself
The faces of dead men
Hide behind my eyelids
I trudge through unfamiliar streets
Changed by the long decade past
I find it stranger than the far land
I was now returning from
All the great temples
Have been torn down
The God I worshiped
No where to be seen
Brothels and markets
Now stand in places of worship
They tell me the temple
At Anol Mihn yet stands
So I set out for it
Up into the great hills
I take my time on the trek
Unsure of many things
That I used to hold dear,
That I trusted as absolute
The stone path is worn
Overgrown and treacherous
Yet after three days' journey
I arrived at my destination

The temple stood in disrepair
The doors stripped from it
Light shining through holes
And cracks in the high ceiling
I came and bowed to my knees
Before the imposing statue
Of my now forgotten God
Maybe for minutes
Or perhaps long hours
I sat before it
Thinking, praying
If one could call it such
Seeking the one
Who my people had forgotten
Questioning all I had done
And if it was enough
Where I could call home
Now that my home has abandoned
All I once held dear
Yet the statue before me
Sat deafeningly silent

The light shifted slowly
Imperceptibly the pure light
Became gilded rays
As the evening sun sank
Illuminating the thick dust
Hanging weighlessly in the air
I stood up as the light faded
And stepped out side
The twilight had come
And with it I journeyed
Further into the hills
Until I found a grassy place
To rest my weary body
As well as my weary soul
The stars became visible
As I sat down I turned my gaze
To the endless heavens above
I laid my pack beside me
Then laid myself down
In soft untouched grass
Gripped between my fingers
Then closed my eyes

Praying my God may come
In but a whisper
To tell me what to do
To show me the way I just go
And what to do now
That everything I know
Has fallen apart
I cried, and waiting
Spoke and prayed
Yet no answer came
Not in all the long hours of night
I laid there in the hills

Before the morning came I arose
I heard the birds in the bushes and trees
I saw the grass blow in the breeze
I felt the sun bring warmth to my cheeks
And I stood up to survey the earth
To witness if I had any worth
For a moment I stood and then I heard
A voice my own yet not my word
From deep within an answer came
Not from one I knew and not the same
As the God whom I claimed to believe
But He spoke and said He is in me
Not just in stone, temple or heart
But in all those his righteous art
Who seek the truth, peace and love
To them he comes light as a dove
And rests on them and dwells within
Freeing them from bonds of sin
That they may live and live a new
The Creator God who dwells in you
neth jones Jan 2022
unspared during my travels
prepared by an exchanging world
                              of appearances
i came to this place
at the base of
            a hill of course fell
    a whipped traveller i am
by the vital Spring weather
            i am met
welcomed a night of shelter
led the way by a lace of monks
discreetly
     i am put up
     residence
     bowed into an alcove
     and left be

sun settles gloaming
bleeding out into the night
the night moves on
        steeping
it plays on my solitude

a temple of awakening
freed from need of sleep
plush in the gloom
     of this unfamiliar lodge
pulses lune from the lamp
calling me to something family

          suckle

peculiar flares of incense
my heart at pace
gusted by the lungs
gushed with a nourishing charge
      of remedy

i stand lightly
i take a stroll

    timid

subtle bells
quake little tings
under a propelled circulation
engine utters
quivering the air

Sudden :
it buckles
yawn out from under a gallows
the spaces between the temple walls
drop away
fathomless theatre opens maw
barriers have dissipated

       crumple

i am a mite short of distress
held
in keeping shallow
maintaining a sensible program
i give out breath hesitant...
     and gratefully retrieve

i stand weakly
with care
this is temple
me, a guest
my travellers bed roll remains stowed :
i am a fool to be swallowed

a courtyard
compounds this pressed element of nature
i reached its edge
this building acts the amplifier
a spiritual device of development

bade by hemorrhaging darkness
i wade beyond any lamplight
each step taken when the tide pulls it
mottled perfumes now exhaust in punches
                          (powering from the baying boundaries)
look up
a royalty floods across the night sky
                          cropped by the yard rooves

chants and bells eddy about my ears
pants and tones mediate
worship hounds the clock

i finally do what is best
follow myself back the way

i make up my bed

(retire or
as a shade
i'll find my way between the walls
and flourish)

        chuckle

i regain valued humor
i concentrate
close eyes and slow my heart once again
make peace in this temple of strobe

tomorrow i'll face agricultural land
and the sunlight
i'll continue my selfish travels
bedroll bound to my pack
my pack tight to my back

i shall weep and honour the departed
as i continue
this little i have learned
xavier thomas Apr 2021
Roses are red
Violet are blue
Let me dive in
And swim through your river stream of sweet juice
Ms. Jasmine
xavier thomas Apr 2021
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Blow my mind
Let me get that flow with you
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