"buddhas" poems
To smile at the carnation,
So gallantly growing,
At peace with this world.
In silence...
I tune in a short conversation
Between minds and bodies -
Incredibly cold.
My heart has surrendered
To nightingale's song.
I dream of Rhode Island...
I'm leaving! So long!
The winds of Sonora,
My nannies and friends.
My love for Evora -
My tears know no end.
The shadows of Mordor,
With sunrise they fade.
Grace, Kindness and Splendour:
Three Buddhas in jade.
I feed roastede pidgeone
To poor ryebread crumbs.
Avoiding curmudgeons,
I'm playing professional dumb.
Caressing the grass-blades,
I live in a drop.
Arcadian arcade:
There, God has no job.
In hurting the Nature
We drain our souls.
Let’s all at once cease
Being ignorant ghouls.
...To stroke the carnation,
To gently kiss buds.
To eat simple meals
Like lentils and spuds.
To carry some water,
To chop down some trees.
To stop feeling rotten.
My soul is at peace.
The time is forever,
The purpose is now.
No “when” and no “where”,
No “why” and no “how”.
The light effervescent,
The sound circumaural,
The hearts ever-pleasant,
The dreams polynomial.
...Collapsing eternity,
Upheaving humanity,
Rock-bottom fraternity,
Defying the gravity.
Creative destruction
Is staunchly forbidding.
The wisdom of ancients
Is widely-misleading.
Depleting our anger
Is key to survival.
Harnessing the hunger,
Improptu revival.
Combustion of senses,
Precarious laughter.
Incurable sepsis,
Delirious canter.
Regrets are forgotten,
Bright days are all-cherished.
Let’s live unbegotten
Until we all perish.
13.06.2012
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 8:13 AM UTC
You're a flower-child,
spread on the bed with
flowers stuck to your little
head,
with Ginsberg & Whitman on
the shelf & feminine mystique
dripping from the
ceiling.
Moon-lady,
Venus,
tides rising & crushing
the shore,
while I snuggle
my flannel for warmth,
trying
not to be a bore.
Framed pictures as you
reminisce on when we
were younger &
untamed.
"We can still be untamed,
we've been framed
for uninsanity!"
But you call me a fool
& put your
porcelain head in my neck
& I feel foolish.
In the damp light of a cloudy day,
muscles aching, waves
crashing,
uncontrollable urges.
Stranded in the pregnant
belly of a ***** secret city
drawing
the red rose of secret union
& we are sheltered
in the ****** warmth of the
blankets,
cocooned like little monsters.
The calming ocean
& the calming whispers
& the tiny kisses
surround me, blot out my thoughts.
You sing me to
sleep & run little
fingers
through my knotted hair.
Your tiny dollar store
Buddhas belch incense
over
the backdrop of your perfume.
The wind chimes
twinkle & whimper on the
porch where the swingset
rocks in the rain.
"I wish you weren't
engaged but I don't mind
breaking a few taboos."
You laugh like a soft mad fairy
& look down
at your phone & I turn over
on my naked side.
You laugh a funeral
giggle & I know I should have
worshipped you sooner
at the pillow-altar.
Show me Heaven without
death &
the Garden of Earthly Delights
devoid of sin,
show me your sharpened fox
grin &
the way sunset ripples
at your breath,
I will show you sacrifice
& the hidden light
of our lives
in the damp of the night.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:48 PM UTC
NY Hip Hop
Gold Express
Bling Shop
Afro Brothers
proprietorship
buyin and sellin
filthy lucre
of down hard
Gat packin
Gangstas
on the down low
throwin down
fallin hook
line and stinker
just a bunch
of lil fishies
wigglin at the end
of golden chains
its all about
the bling baby
all about the bling
"I pity the fool"
saith Mr. T
the potentate of
soul and gold
who ain't
down with
the cool jewels
of righteous
B Teamers
arrested by
the silk rope
of glitzy discos
bribing bouncers
with an
earnest Jackson
to *** rush
the vanity faire
of bumping
A Listers
Or was it
Def Jam
Buddhas
minting
coin on
MTV?
exploiting
misogyny
and ghost
face killas
NWAs
slugging cases
of Kristol
blowing
fat spliff
smoke
up the *** of
Phat Farm
kids in
the hood
shooting
silver
bullets at
the man
takin baths
in tubs
of fifties
lighting up
with crisp
C Notes
rollin
through
life
in black
Escalades
its silver
spinners
twisting fast
round
corners
where
being cool
went blind
and
Coolie High
homies
still tip
a sip
for the
brothers
who ain't
there
Today
its all about
the raised fist
of power to
the P Diddy
fighting
the power
of the people
as leggy
Beyonce
warbles
songs
for the
posse
of a
Libyan
Dictator
whose
blood
money
pays
a cool
mil
cover
for a
New Years
Eve
tune
Its all about
the bling
baby
All about
the bling
baby, all
about the
bling.
NY Hip Hop
Gold Express
Best Prices in
Trenton Since
1997
You Tube Video:
Gil Scott Heron
Ain't No Such Thing As Superman
Trenton
2/25/11
jbm
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 9:19 AM UTC
merry happy buddha of all
happy buddha is here again
cheering go get ‘em fella to be ready to shrive again
making people laugh again
happy buddha us here again
you see buddha checks on the women and men
and buddha checks tom **** and harry
and my good mate ben
everyone is saying, yeah
the happy buddha is here again
go happy go happy buddha
go happy go happy buddha
the mighty buddha has reigned supreme
no matter what your voices really mean
ready to pump some iron again
ready to party for everyone
yeah happy buddha is here again
you see we never tell our secrets, no
because if we do, noone will show
here in this place where we meet and pray
happy buddha is here again
happy buddha is here again
go happy go happy go happy buddha
go happy go happy go happy buddha
for now the mighty buddha has reigned
happy buddha is here again
he is making the sky appear blue again
and the devil will get ya if ya don’t get to buddhas side
and that’s the truth
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
They walk beside me
always late for something.
Quickening loafers
compete against themselves
emphasising their importance.
Go!
Choking on their breath
in an over-zealous attempt to identify
What's freedom?
This fastened reality
Punctures inner peace
my energy disperses
Like a balloon buzzing as it loses momentum.
When did Life become a marathon?
When will I decide where I want to be?
Conversations shout themselves out..
an energetic argument before their words reach the air..
Will you ever confront your disguised pains?
My mind's elsewhere..
I'm trying to figure out
the last time I saw your body unclench itself.
And i'm a little confused,
because I don't know whether to accept your denial
or
continue to disconnect from reality.
And I question,
If we all mirror eachother, what part of myself cannot find peace in you?
I observe this anxiety in motion
stuck forever in a hurry
leading itself down roads that end where they began.
And I wonder,
*If their legs were to rest
would they have to pick their head up from the floor?*
Like buddhas in a city,
their lives are a fast forwarded tomorrow
as the present hurries along.
And I ponder,
Does the truth stop blinding when silence doesn't teach?
A quickening motion
Changing with every step.
Acceleration..
human race...
Go!
Chasing of thy death..
Apr 17, 2012
Apr 17, 2012 at 7:15 PM UTC
a commune back home not hippie
buy 300, no 500 acres great land
in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon
built great big house wraparound porch
beset by rocking chair by the sea yet
in the woods at end of road all brown dirt
growing gardens, herb and vegetable
pulling weeds but keeping good green ****
brewing beer by own hand
group work but not always group think
friends lovers writers growers givers
all come to stay
making great pots of stew and strange brews
awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland
telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run
at night over bottles on beaches by fires
we worry these are funeral pyres
for our great little social experiment
fear of leaving loving womb
of isolated salt fish by sea commune
real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair
where here instead guitars, ukes
silly screaming little buddhas recite poems
by gleaming eye fireside
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 9:16 AM UTC
There’s always a bustle here
In my ritual place of ribs and beer
The sharp scent of ginger and coriander
The acrid burr in my nose of seared flesh
Fusion food served around me
But I go for Hirata.. again.
Can’t argue with taste, and it tastes
Korean bbq and Buddha beer
A brief nod to the moments of clarity
As said by drunks
The beer bottle cool in my hand as I reflect
Beads of condensation forming on Buddhas belly
And I’m here hoping for Constant
It’s now my third attempt
In as many months to catch a glimpse
And tonight apparently the stars align
Jupiter and Mercury on the rise
As I walk in
There is a way about him
So much bluff and bravado...
reminds me of someone I once loved
There is a mischief in his smile
Something warm in his eyes
Even beyond his jokes of his ego
Too big for the Room, apparently
I don’t discourage..
He’s honest in a way that piques
So here I am
Third time lucky finding Constant
To my delight he recognises me instantly
“Lucky Buddha for the lady?”
His eyes dance..
I interpret, maybe to much
But believe he’s pleased to see me
So we joke..
We laugh
I watch him get an earful
For not concentrating on the flow
The manager in tow..
and he side-eyes me and winks
Inwardly I hi-five myself for
Timing this so perfectly
So here I am
Trying not to watch Constant flow
Trying not to blush as he looks my way
“I’m too old for this **** I think
Then feel like a kid
When he throws a grin my way
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 4:25 PM UTC
When studying Zen
in Minneapolis,
the Roshi
referred to mind
as a monkey,
but later
in Ann Arbor,
Sunim
referred to mind
as Buddha,
so,
since I like monkeys
and think they are Buddhas, too,
I love the mind,
even if it can be
a pain in the *** sometimes.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 9:04 AM UTC
the garden verdent green
held a trio of stone Buddhas
vacationary souveniers kept on
the basis of memories of the
time when our love bore sweet fruit
before anger and rage took the stand
from when we were we
and we chose to eat
angry words before the
days of the plastic facile smile
the fruitless discussion and
inevitble dummy spit
then it all came out
and thus, the begining of the end of the
jealously green tightly gritted teeth.
...and in the garden, the three stone bhuddas
watched with smiles, benign
and bellies round and sun warmed like watermelons.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 12:34 PM UTC
the storm is in sydney, where my fathers next life were in a safe place
watching the storm, what we don’t know is the storm in sydney was
caused by evil spirits from the universe asthey drop the
lightning down over sydney forcing people to be scared and everyone is sydney
are looking up with amazement saying what a big storm caused by the spirits
of buddhas enermies are causing problems with the air of sydney
ummmmmmm the thinderr is erupting in sydney
ummmmmmm evil spirits are in the air
ummmmmmm storms in sydney and bombs in jakarta
please buddha stop these evil ghosts from destroying our mother earth
ummmmmm whoever or whatever the ghosts are called, please make them surrender
before too many people are killed
ummmmmmmm please save jakarta from these terror attacks
no matter what, keep everyone safe, please keep everyone safe
ummmmmmmm please protect the innocent children who can’t get home
ummmmmmm make everyone not stray away from families and friends
ummmmmmm please make sure the sydney storms don’t spread all over
as the damage is too severe
we need rain in sydney but not the lightning strikes that they are getting
ummmmmmm stop the jakarta terrorist attacks
ummmmmmm come on buddha free the lightning strikes in sydney
ummmmmmm it’s terrible ummmmmm to see the buildings getting blown up
ummmmmmmm if people have relatives in jakarta, i hope they are ok
we want peace bring us peace, peace is what we need
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 1:13 AM UTC
there is a door
obscura
in my mind
a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist
between love
and the dissolute
i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall
my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears
give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
spread legs wide
thigh spillway buttered
loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show
body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat
martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls
i depend on her
tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit
this savage pageant
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
The dog who watched us take off our shoes
on the steps before the laying Buddha,
this is for you. You were at ease,
not guarding, panting from the heat, warming
your belly on Bangkok’s stones.
Our shoes in a bag, passports strapped to us,
photographing the twenty foot high
resemblance of the man who asked not to
be praised - cast in mother-of-pearl the
man who shook off possessions - I
suppose to a dog looking up,
gods and humans are the same, barefoot idols
shuffling through a hotbox corridor
looking up at another barefoot
human with an immobile face,
downy eyes and nearly a tear.
Later you found shade beneath an
archway at the end of a long
line of Buddhas, almost identical,
decreasing in age towards you.
Some ideas are so respected
they need repeating in the same
manner every year, the same sculpture
carved beside the last, an echo,
a silent chant, and you lay there
at the end, the chant becomes your
visible panting. For a moment
you look into my eyes because
you recognised my feet, because
you know you take the place of the
next structure, you know that busy
hands will build upon where you sit,
that where you go, humans follow,
as they do with gods, with shadows.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
*can you see the whole
of Michelangelo's David
see the creation of it
see its beauty?*
1
how awkward
David's genitals,
the authorities decided,
and so covered it with
a garland of
copper leaves
twenty-eight counted
2
and still today people
cannot stand David's genitals
for they look at it open-mouthed
and look away swiftly
shy and embarrassed
with guilt in their hearts
and dust in their eyes
3
but the holy of course
those holy ones
and prim and proper and so moral
all the holy
so blessed and destined to go to Heaven
and enter they will
without genitals surely
and the holy, holy
they speak of profanity
and of the unholy ****
and curse and swear and vow damnation
and if possible
they'd happily put explosives
particularly in David's genitals
like they dynamited the Buddhas of Bamyan
for it's all the same holy intolerance
*can you see the whole
of Michelangelo's David
see the creation of it
see its beauty?*
Oct 17, 2010
Oct 17, 2010 at 2:26 AM UTC
we are people; there are no deities that love us more than we love ourselves.
it’s deep, but we’ve got that love buried in us, somewhere.
behind blackened lungs, broken hearts, ruptured spleens and shattered vertebrae, maybe we’ll find that love.
what i have learned in my years of searching, is this:
you’ll never find what you want, but if you are honest with yourself, it may find you.
i’ll spit in a wishing well, walk on a dimly lit highway and dive head first into shallow water all because i want to. i will forever walk that line that divides decency and insanity. that is my place and i love it.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
in a land of shadows and chimeras,
Buddhas, who seek the Buddha,
yearners, strugglers, dying persons.
Still with the last breath
hovered around from mists,
through the woods the morning star shines,
the red blood flows out of the heart,
that there beats and will beating eternally.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
sparks of light from nowhere,
like lightnings flashing through the universe,
again go out in the nowhere,
which lays its blackness comforting and motherly
yet at the last sigh around us.
Life, which, forgetting itself,
sees itself in the empty mirror
and doesn’t know, that the mirror
is in every fiber of its being
- not here or there
and beyond the great gate of the here,
through which it becomes itself
on the middle of the threshold a gateless gate.
Dreamers, sleepwalkers,
- A thunderclap!
A fall from heaven to earth!
A cry from earth to heaven!
An inconceivable moment of glory!
And only peace – unpronounceable holy…
© Barbara-Paraprem, 2014
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
It's very freeing
to do a morning dance
for the Buddhas
and Bodhisattvas
while wearing
a little black dress.
Nov 19, 2010
Nov 19, 2010 at 11:56 PM UTC
My lonely voice wobbles out
Into the Universe to find you
In the seeping darkness.
As our world crumbles and the tears fall
With our skies
Their edges eroded by these
Cages they pretend we can fly out of
But then I look to you and you listen to me
And together
The system can't break us
Kirara - oh- we're wild childs at heart
And they ain't gonna bring us down no more
We'll fly to that mountain peak over there
And then taunt gravity after we launch without the plummet
And take out over those billowing clouds and roiling sea
But we don't care anymore,
Cuz we're free!
Until then though
We pray
That the Universe hand us aces instead of the jokers we've been getting
And philosophy and reflect and become buddhas
While staying Edward Scissorhands by all appearances and feelings...
Oh my darling
Desperation makes a poet
Of even the court jester.
If only such a power were ours
We would rule the world
And not only in our minds.
Apr 29, 2013
Apr 29, 2013 at 12:28 AM UTC
He raised his first digit
To blot out the opposable world
Oh, how a spinning ball of blue
Can make you feel so small
So why return?
They’re not ready there
They’re not ready for you yet
Packed like sardines and spinning free
Packed like sardines and spinning free
Heroic archetypes reign in the above
An empty moon, a dancing dove
Explorer of the unadorned
Seduced by revelations
Away from duty
Away from wife
Away from country
Away from strife
Hanging in the skies are
Famous stars with their own spotlights
Celestial buddhas in unending caves
Connect the dots within their circles
But the petty ball of blue beckons you
With broken and fragile chaos
A siren of the busy blind
Asking you to wear a watch
And follow leaders who
Should be following you
Rather stay in the tin can and be
Packed like sardines, spinning free
Packed like sardine, spinning free
Sep 1, 2012
Sep 1, 2012 at 5:09 PM UTC
When we were making out
In the moonlight
All was great
Until you muttered
Something strange in tibetan
I was creeped out and
Ask what you said
You said that you
Were a Buddha
I freaked out some more
Until you said that
My moonlit beauty
Made you achieve enlightenment
I took it as a compliment
We continued to couple
But in the morning
While we made love
You said that you were going to announce your
Achievement to everyone
It only got worse
Soon I missed my period
I wasn’t stupid
And I got afraid
So I had to leave
For the sake of the child
So I run away back to the us
Before you came back to me.
I had a woman sneak me to the nearest airport
And I left but ended up in Japan
In the city of Osaka.
Because I need medical attention
To see how many kids I had
multiples were confirmed
As I was leaving
I heard a familiar rough voice
Call out my name
I turned around
It was yuan Matsumoto
He asked me to come with him
After he was looked over
When we were both discharged
yuan took me to his high end
Appartment
There my old sensei and I talked
I said that I was in Tibet
But he did not get angry
“Let me see, that twirp dragged you?”
I said yes and he gave me a hug
And we made out
Soon we made love
As if you never knew.
I just had one question
That he wasn’t going to cut my heart out
Yuan Matsumoto gently kissed me
Reassuring me that he was only jealous
At the time
I wanted him.
He gave me his mother’s ring
And said that
He was in love with me and wanted me for life.
My yakuza and I kissed deeply.
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
People flock to us cause the word drops through us.
Now we're all either Buddhas or barracudas.
Lookin' through our maneuvers,
try and out do us,
just a tumor nothing to us.
And I've been breathing so long,
lettin in light.
Try and discern when they began confusing wrong with what is right.
Wondering still how long I remain out of sight.
Perish or ****
I just wanted to be with life.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
Not even the stone looks the same,
sealed up in here.
I remember the stone Buddhas of Sukohthai.
Smooth with age,
resting on broken sandstone.
Funny but I cant write it,
staring at this piece,
“Buddha seated under the Bodhi Tree.”
Can’t write the way the sun set over the ruins
in perfect orange and purple streaks,
the way it felt to walk between the stones
in the gathering dusk,
your hand in mine,
the tropical darkness raining down all around us.
Stopping by one shrine
of a Buddha that looked just like this one,
a burst of red flowers growing from the rock.
Funny but I can’t write the feeling I had then,
not at all.
Dec 16, 2013
Dec 16, 2013 at 10:52 PM UTC
there is light
and the angels beckon you
to watch them dance underneath it,
with it,
between the rays,
in it,
with a wish that after a glimpse
of salubrious sunlight and soulful sways
to the subtle beat of the Earth’s vibrations
and the wholehearted laughter of the Buddhas bellies
you will breathe in
and out,
the millisecond of a pause between
the in
and
the out,
you will stop
you will surrender
you will die for bliss
you will leave your body and fly to the
castle in the sky
toward the light
to dance with them underneath it,
with it,
between the rays
in it
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC
Together we stood
In the snow and the wind
Together we waited
For hope to begin
Together with youth
Our hearts did beat
We took a step forward
As thousands did meet
With pride and emotion
We re-lived the day
When back 60 years
Josei Toda did say...
'To the youth I declare
The future is yours!
I trust you to act
Like never before'
With song and with dance
Spoken word and great beats
6000 young Buddhas
Brought all to their feet
We will never forget
This historic day
Our future re-born
In a beautiful way
In five years from now
With joy and with pride
Our children will say
We were there, side by side!
Our friendships and joy
Will grow and increase
Generation Hope
Creator of Peace
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 4:17 PM UTC
So wake up and what do we find,
the men in black, oh, aren't they back!
Didnt they blow up them planes
or helped those who did
or those who helped those who did?
or so we heard, why the gringos went
to smoke them out of their vents?
The men in black, oh now so cool -
we share hugs and name our friends!
Women, they won't be flogged in fields,
nor will they chop off erring arms,
nor them planes land in k-har
in exchange for killers barred,
no buddhas left to smash,
or so they say, but for what their books say+:
so the women, just tented,
working from wherever caged,
men must never trim their manes
even the cricketers have turned out to play,
though be just the men eh!
Beware if you are a poet though,
or sing, or a singh - coz nobody sure
if you will be lynched yet;
Half the country is staying shut,
half a million may run (or so says the UN)
But they surely come in peace
armed as they go on our humvees;
Mothers throw their babies over,
what a liberation! perfect sense
to the kahn across the Durand fence;
And no we here across the Jhelum
so busy with the mayhem
that anderson's caused to our playmen;
Oh the reformed men in spotless black
they're back across the pens,
and we can now go back to sleep
with not a ***** in our conscience
+or as they say they say -
they all say how they say
is what the books say anyway
Aug 29, 2021
Aug 29, 2021 at 2:09 PM UTC