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I've been thinking about that old Zen conundrum what's the sound of one hand clapping My personal opinion--nothing. You don't have two hands, you don't have any clapping. It's as simple as that. Stars, galaxies, clapping hands, what's the point The point is that we all need somebody, whether you're a supercluster or a little proton, a yin or a yang. Everybody is hooked into everybody else.
quote by Geoffrey Neighor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enlightenment
Chop that wood
Carry water
Whats the sound of one hand clapping
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Every second, every minute
It keeps changing to something different
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
It says its non attachment
Non attachment. non attachment
Im in the here and now, and Im meditating
And still Im suffering but thats my problem
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Wake up
Enlightenment says the world is nothing
Nothing but a dream, everythings an illusion
And nothing is real
Good or bad baby
You can change it anyway you want
You can rearrange it
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Chop that wood
And carry water
Whats the sound of one hand clapping
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
All around baby. you can see
Youre making your own reality. everyday because
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
One more time
Enlightenment. dont know what it is
Its up to you
Enlightenment. dont know what it is
Its up to you everyday
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Its always up to you
Enlightenment, dont know what it is
Its up to you, the way you think
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ballerina Style
Lift me down again
that always feels new;
Twirl me down again
to cure my dizziness.
Turn my pedestal upside down
finding me with Humilities Smile
on my upside face.
Can a man walk on one leg?
Can you hear the sound of one hand clapping?
Can you hear a butterfly sing?
You can.
Can anything compare to
the lift me down,
the dizzy cure
the upside down pedestal
and the one legged man walking
one hand clapping
the butterfly smile?
Yes, that would be you;
You're my dance partner
lifting me down
twirling me
upside down
on the pedestal
on one leg
ballerina style.
And now
you know
how dancing feels
when loved
and being loved:
twirled upside down.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Zen
and then he
asked about all these things:
must you
have heard about the
ten deaf
dwarfs of
the islands of Acidophiles?
the sound of one hand
clapping on the
hills of
Pedophilisimones?
in his innocence he
prostrates himself upon the ground
and listens
to the ears of the earth
the hands of some roots
buried underneath
it is Zen
and the doZen
and the
froZen moments of
ZenO
He shakes his head
rising up and that is what happens
when he finally gets
his much deserved
Zero, the illegitimate brother
of Zorro.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clapping with the right hand only will not produce a noise.
Clapping with the right hand only will not make a noise.
Decapitation Of What is Familiar
as simple as
a triangle
two sides with
a middle
two arguments
with a solution
familiar as
the sea of grass
fluid and
ever green
take them all out
from a box of
the usual
elevate them
higher from what
we expect
a new look
to old places
extended meanings
to what have been disregarded
no, it is not a play
of words
it is the fusion of
what we refuse to know
and what they are
no, it must not be what
we are
but what they can be
yes, it is the sweetest
sound of the single hand clapping
Prince Serendipity
and her Princess Stupidity
wedding
we were those kids
laughing
because the Emperor
is wearing clothes
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Musical Note
Liddle lie, liddle lie, liddle lie lay lee.
Liddle lie, liddle lie, liddle lie lay low.
These are the words that were sent to me
in a letter from my brother-in-law-Joe.
He said as the cock-crowed last Tuesday morning
he heard singing coming from down his garden.
Surprised and not believing what he was hearing
he went to see where the sound was coming from.
As he casually walked to the bottom of the garden
the singing became louder with his every stride.
He slowly parted the branches of the hedgerow
and saw a toad and mouse sitting side by side.
The toad sat cross-legged on a spotted toadstool
playing a mandolin and singing out loud.
The mouse was clapping in time to the music,
as were other animals that made up the crowd.
All the creatures joined in with the chorus
as they clapped and stamped their feet,
but then a mandolin string snapped and twanged,
which caused the toad to fall off his seat.
The audience stopped singing and fell about laughing,
as the toad got up from the ground,
he explained that the performance was now over
unless a new string could quickly be found.
With pain the mouse pulled out one of its whiskers
and asked the toad if it would be alright.
The musical toad smiled and said it would be perfect,
and adjusted the whisker to sound just right.
Once more the toad began playing and singing
to the happy hand clapping crowd.
Until a huge tabby tomcat called Thomas,
frightened everyone with its ‘meow’!
poem by Orlando Belo
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A given excuse that was not asked for implies guilt. Clapping with only the right hand will not make a noise.
Mugudai
snake man on
road
sounded pipe
music sound
on the spot snake was dance
again...
people are clapping
snake man sad with hungry
snake will bee a dance...
pipe (mugudai) sound
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Loving You
loving you
i shall rejoice
clapping with
one hand
you ask me
if i can fly
using my left wing
you make a
conclusion:
this matter is impossible.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Transcend
transcend fame
there is more beyond the sound
of the clapping hands
transcend even your way
of looking at yourself
for when you begin to close your eyes
and even be blind
with what you can see
it is at this moment
when you begin to see what everyone
has not ever seen
it is everything now
not something not someone
not where not when
not what and not even why
wonder and wonder and keep
wondering
that is the start and the beginning
and there
there is no time even
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Clique
clique
like a camera's snappy sound
you get a face on paper
you remember
pain.
clique
you hear the sound of clapping hands
exhorting the fame within your circle.
each to his name, his bias, and prejudice.
the bold line is drawn.
outside, they move around their circles too.
they're not sad.
those excluded, too, know how to find
themselves
they have their own feet and hands
their sticks
and carrots too,
to munch
in accordance with their own kind
the way how their teeth
are designed
their mouths spouting invectives
against those
not towing the line
'we have our guidelines' the ugliest of them all say that.
i, too, draw a circle of my existence.
in keeping myself in
i keep them out too.
there i take my own bed and pillow
and blanket.
to have a nice sleep alone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Other Hand...
the black man's hand,
the poor man's hand.
the Muslim hand, the Jewish hand...
the gay man's hand,
the working man's hand,
the ex-convict's hand,
the farmer's hand, the garbage man's hand...
the Christian's hand, the atheist's hand,
the father's hand, the soldier's hand,
the peacemaker's hand,
the healer's hand, the teacher's hand,
the prodigal's hand, even the murderer's hand...
the victim's hand, the broken hand,
the praying hand, the touching hand...
all, when extended,
feel like my other hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sounds that should not be missed
Sound of blossom of a flower,
I desire to hear,
the sound of nature.
Sound of rain's glassy water drop,
over a roof's top,
the sound of joy.
Sound of beat of our heart,
through our ears caught,
the sound of wonder.
Sound of delicious supper in boil,
after a great day's toil,
the sound of hunger.
Sound of a mother's loving ballad,
hearing the cry of her toddler,
the sound of love! ! !
poem by Shyam Balaji
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Rocking With My Guitar
I'M JUST SITING HERE STRUMMING
WITH MY GUITAR IN HAND
FEELING SO RELAX
WITH EVERY CHORD I TOUCH MAN
AND ROCKING AWAY
FROM WHAT THE GREAT ONES WROTE
BY FOLLOWING EACH MUSIC NOTE
AND PICTURING ME IN THERE BAND
ASK TO DO A SOLO ON MY GUITAR
AND FEELING LIKE A BRIEF SUPER STAR
IF FRONT OF THE CROWD
CHEERING AND JEERING FOR ME
WHEN I JUMP IN THE AIR
WITH MY GUITAR IN HAND
READY TO DO ANOTHER CLASSIC SONG
AND STILL THERE SCREAMING
CLAPPING ALONG
UNTIL I COME BACK TO EARTH
PUTTING MY GUITAR GENTLY IN IT'S STAND
NEXT TO MY READING LIGHT
AND QUIETLY CALL IT A RIGHT
poem by Bruce Martone
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The Old Poet And The Young Poet
a young poet complains
the life of a poet gets too boring
when there are no readers
or hands clapping
perhaps he is searching for
fame or honor
the old poet believes otherwise
the years of silence
bury him into oblivion
he had those hands clapping
in the passions of his youth
the summit of fame is the mountain
he worked for
he once lived on top of the hill
the naives think he is the cloud king
it is when you still love to write
even if no one is listening
that the life of the poet becomes
a perfect volcanic cone
on the day of the eruption
red magma not lava flows on the river
no one screams
there are no more hands
asking for help
no one no one
tells any story
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Unemployed Boyfriend
This is going to sound a little obsessive
This is going to sound a little bit strange
I have one thing to say
Before I turn and I walk away
This is going to sound a little impulsive
This is going to sound a little insane
I know you don't know me yet
but you and I
we will be together
Someday
Someday
I know ... I know ... I sound like I'm on drugs
But listen to me now when I say..
That ever since I first saw you
Sitting on your car outside you asked for a cigarette
I couldn't stop staring at your eyes
Ever since when I first saw you
Looking bored in that plastic chair
With the lights of the office around you
Those blonde streaks
they look so pretty in your black hair
You look cool and alternative with that disaffected stare
You want people to think that you just don't care
Hey you can be with me 'cause I just might be the one
Who will treat you like you're perfect
Who will always make you come
You can be with me
I will always let you win
I will never be like those other guys
I will never be your unemployed boyfriend
This is going to sound a little bit out there
Yeah this is going to sound a little insane
But I keep having the same dream
That you will be the mother of my children someday
Someday..
I've heard you sleep with that obnoxoius guy
I know he is in that famous band
You look so sad when you are with him
I never see him reach to hold your hand
You can be with me
song performed by by Everclear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Need All These
we need some flowers to ease the dimness
when darkness shrouds our thoughts
we need the moon's sheen to assuage the sickness
that invades our spirits
after a hard day's work
we need to unwind and relax and sit and watch
from our chairs the trees below
the winding paths
the fading of the light
we need the conversations
after the meetings
the closed doors that we finally open
the sound of steps leaving
we need the walk with someone
hand in hand
between the needed silence
we need the sound of spoons and forks
the sound of hot water from the teapot
we need all these to bring us again
to our youthful memories
about whatever good we once did
about whatever faults we have mended.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chicken And Vegetables
it was time to sit down to pleasure eat
the vegetables looked so juicy so good
cut beautifully presented all appealed
to the eye this part of meal all must eat
but oil juice soiled had a taste could not eat
two pieces of chicken drumsticks next appealed
fresh looked crisp brown cooked to perfection
upon first every bite oh how supreme tasty sweet
what was the hand that soiled the vegetable oil?
what was the hand that blessed the tender meat?
when clapping these hands never never meet
taste offering as heart’s condition bitter or sweet
poem by Terence George Craddock
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