Big Snake
The Venerable Luang Pu Soh
is a famous teacher of meditation.
He is eighty-seven years old.
In the second year after his ordination,
while he was sitting in his kuti,
a large golden snake, six metres long
and as thick as a house post,
entered the hut, slithered straight towards him
and lifted him up so that he was seated on its coils.
It pushed its head into his body, but he felt no pain,
and seemed to push it out again
between his shoulder blades.
When he reached up carefully with his left hand,
he could feel its head above his own,
just as it is shown
in images of the Buddha.
After a while it crawled out and away
and he could feel his bottom touch the floor again.
In his sixth year, while walking in the Temple grounds,
he heard a loud voice inside him,
“In your eighth year
your symbol will appear
through the air,
on the ninth waxing day
of the ninth lunar month.
He who has it now will come.”
When this day came,
he sat meditating as usual
in the early morning.
There was the loud rushing and roaring sound
of a great wind
which caused the branches of the trees around
to sway and beat against the ground
and a helicopter landed in front of the hut.
The pilot got out.
His clothes were green,
as was the cloth across his shoulders.
He had green armlets.
He had green skin
and carried a three-stringed violin.
The monk recognised him as Indra
and the violin as the instrument he had played
before the Buddha.
(Though he was not as beautifully arrayed
as in Temple paintings.)
Indra walked towards the kuti
and went straight underneath.
Twenty minutes later,
the monk climbed down
to look under the hut
but Indra was gone
and, when he looked, the helicopter had gone too.
After breakfast,
he was reflecting on this,
when a voice said, “It’s coming! ”
At eight o’clock, a white van arrived
and a couple got out, carrying something
wrapped in a white cloth
which they presented to the monk.
It was an image fifteen inches high
of Buddha seated on the coils of seven nagas,
their seven heads arching protectively over his.
He named it Venerable Father of Seven Kings.
The image is famous and venerated throughout the country.
Copies of it and tear-dropp amulets are widely sold.
From this image the monk has received
Dhamma instruction and practical advice
by means of an inner voice.
According to the voice, the image is eight hundred years old
and the voice entered it at its casting.
When asked, “Who are you? ”
The voice will not particularise.
www.bamboo-leaves.com
poem by Brian Taylor
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Related quotes
Being Boiled
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Saying stop your sericulture
Little people like your offspring
Boiled alive for some God's stocking
Buddha's watching, Buddha's waiting
Just because the kid's an orphan is no excuse for thoughtless slaying
Children, don't forget this torture just because you call her mother
Doesn't mean that she's your better
Once more with the voice of Buddha
He'll say carry on your slaughter
Who cares for the little children?
You may slice with no conviction
Blind revenge on a blameless victim
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Saying stop your sericulture
Who cares for the little children?
You may slice with no conviction
Blind revenge on a blameless victim
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Listen to the voice of Buddha
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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1861
ARM’D year! year of the struggle!
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas
piano;
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing,
carrying a rifle on your shoulder,
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands–with a knife in
the belt at your side,
As I heard you shouting loud–your sonorous voice ringing across the
continent;
Your masculine voice, O year, as rising amid the great cities,
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the workmen, the
dwellers in Manhattan;
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and
Indiana,
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait, and descending the
Alleghanies;
Or down from the great lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along
the Ohio river;
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at
Chattanooga on the mountain top,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed in blue, bearing
weapons, robust year;
Heard your determin’d voice, launch’d forth again and again;
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp’d cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
poem by Walt Whitman
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No Other Voice
There is no other voice I miss as much
When I'm far from my home, your laughter, your touch
There's no music on earth I'd rather hear
No other voice but yours
Your birdsong in the morning
You're the wind in the trees
The lapping of night waves on tropical seas
You're the sound of my heart beat, my breathing, my life
The lullabye rocking our babies to sleep at night
And through the dead of the voices I scream in my head
There is only one voice that sings love songs instead
There is no other sound that speaks straight to my heart
There is no other voice
not even a choice
There is no other voice but yours
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Being Boiled
Ok, ready. let's do it
Listen to the voice of buddha
Saying stop your sericulture
Little people like your offspring
Boiled alive for some god's stocking
Buddha's watching, buddha's waiting
Just because the kid's an orphan
Is no excuse for thoughtless slaying
Children don't forget this torture
Just because you call her mother
Doesn't mean that she's your better
Once more with the voice of buddha
He'll say carry on your slaughter
Who cares for the little children
You may slice with no conviction
Blind revenge on a blameless victim
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voice From The Mountain
Voice from the mountain
And a voice from the sea
Voice in my neighbourhood
And a voice calling me.
Tell me my friend my friend
Tell me with love
Where can it end it end
Voice from above.
The sound on the ocean wave
And the sound in the tree
Sound in a country lane
Say you can be free.
Tell me you crowd you crowd
Tell me again
Tell me out loud out loud
This sound is rain.
Tune from the hillside
And tune full of light
A flute in the morning
And a chime in the night.
I know the game again
I know the score
I know my name my name
But this tune is more.
Voice from the mountain
And voice from the sea
Voice from in my neighbourhood
And a voice calling me.
Tell me my friend my friend
Tell me with love
Where can it end it end
Voice from above.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Austerity / Girl One (Medley)
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Saying stop your sericulture
Little people like your offspring
Boiled alive for some gods stocking
Buddha's watching, Buddha's waiting
Just because the kid's an orphan
Is no excuse for thoughtless slaying
People don't forget this torture
Just because you call her mother
Doesn't mean that she's your better
Once more with the voice of Buddha
He'll say carry on your slaughter
Who cares for the little children
You may slice with no conviction
Blind revenge on a blameless victim
Listen to the voice of Buddha
Saying stop your sericulture
He'll say carry on your slaughter
Who cares for the little children
You may slice with no conviction
Blind revenge on a blameless victim
Listen to the voice of Buddha (repeat three times)
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yes, you.
If you have a voice
And you choose not to use it
Because it is convenient…
Because your image reflects
A check mark…
A stamp from the small souls
On the surface of your head...
Then please reexamine it
From the inside.
Do not try to further build an image
By visiting a country in the great continent…
The problem is right here, darlings…
As soon as you step on their ground
And play nice…
They can see right through you.
Because you are representing
The small souls that destroyed their mother land.
So stop building a nice image for yourself
Your shiny ego…
And start questioning the root of the pain.
poem by Erica Borges
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He Is Risen #2 (Bible Poems for Children)
Now in the sixth hour darkness
filled the earth, in the ninth
hour, JESUS cried in a loud
voice, 'MY GOD, MY GOD why
hath thou forsaken me
Crying again, he yielded to
death and the grave. As the
end of the sabbath began to
dawn, toward the first day
of the week.
The two Marys brought spices
to the place where JESUS lay.
There was great earth-quake.
This world trembled on it's axis,
Darkness covered the land.
A loud voice from heaven rumbled
throughout this earth.
'COME FORTH, COME FORTH'
the grave belched, gave way, the
SON OF GOD, stood up and
walked away.
The grave could not contain him.
He had defeated death and hell.
He had risen to live forever in
our hearts.
An angel of the Lord appeared
from heaven. His countenance
alike to lightening, his raiment
white as snow.Speaking in a
loud voice, He has risen, he is
not here. He lives forever more.
Sitting now on the right hand throne
of GOD..
Because he lives I can face tomorrow.
poem by Heather Burns
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What Voice? ...
On this World Voice Day
It's a duty of us all
A pause for reflecting
Thanking the Creator
And all those who gave
And those who keep giving
Their voice for Love
For their wishes for Peace
And for the deepest Lament!
It's the voice of the Humanist
It's the voice of the Actor
It's the voice of the Poet
It's the voice of every Artist
It's the voice of the Scientist
The voice of the voiceless
And the voice of those able to voice it
Yet... they're deprived of doing so
And it doesn't reach us
As it would be fair, though!
April 16,2012
poem by Maria C. Costa
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The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gargantua
Though the sign says "Monterey: forty light years from right here,
" We'll go anyway got a head start on the clouds as the view,
dream-like, rolls away, while every song you hate is playing
in your head softly a loving sound
Now the quiet never stays porcelain elvis heads and gamma rays
keeping me awake with this fine knit elastic cloud,
stretching out living new age golden days
but when I think out loud my stupid little voice gets lost
Fascination, overkill and sensation whole and violent when you're high
you might touch down in gardens of gargantua
when all the world is spinning say hello to him from all of us
when all is all undone and sung without a sound
over the always nobody elevates hoping for enlightning voices
out of nowhere fastened tight crashing light into walls
if you look around at all you might feel small where the soul lives
where the whole thing is going down
Every now and then I fall out into open air just to feel the wind,
rain and everything and though the hum and sway gets me down
I'll find the way to peace and openness but when
I think out loud my stupid little voice gets lost in fact
I'm waiting for everyone to shut up...
song performed by by I Mother Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Monk and the Tree
At dawn each day, as
the monk awoke upon the polished floor, and
rolled his bedding mat, the Way –
the way things are, the way they follow –
walked its way beside him.
Later, he would take his brush,
the ink-block, paper, and the water-pot
he filled each day with water from the river,
and find a place, among the woods,
or by the river bank; where the Way
would teach him old things, seen as if now new.
Most often, he would sit near an ancient tree
which had so much to teach him;
its trunk and branches gnarled and twisted
with the wisdom of the Way.
The tree was, as great trees are, the most
adventurous of artists: every Spring,
it would put forth new twigs,
as awkward as a newborn deer on
stick-like legs, trying to stand and walk;
the tree would let the Way make it
as awkward, unsymmetrical,
as inartistic as could be…
then slowly through the year, the tree, the Way
would make of this, a new and daring beauty;
and the monk would learn of it,
take up the brush, moisten the ink-block,
and – brush gently swishing black on white –
draw his daily lesson through the year…
and because he was so loved and famed,
connoisseurs of that most ancient art
would beg his paintings; find their breath
held, at his daring; their eyes would learn the Way.
When the monk, now old, joined the Immortals,
his many students gathered near that ancient tree.
They said, the tree did not seem sad at all;
threw out new leaves, seemed to rejoice;
as teachers do, whenever pupils shine.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Psalm 29
The voice of the Lord
Makes the deer give birth
His voice fells mighty trees
The voice of the Lord is powerful
His voice reaches over the seas
The voice of the Lord
Shakes the wilderness
His voice divides flames of fire
His voice is heard as the thunder roars
His voice lifts me higher and higher
So we worship the Lord in Holiness
And in His temple all cry Glory
And the mountains bow down and men cry out
And the angles cry, holy, holy, holy
poem by Frank McEleny
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Inspired by Issa - New Year's Morning Temple
smoke denser
than house on fire
new year morning's temple
joss-sticks bigger
and taller than the gods
new year eve's temple
inspired by
on New Year's morning
the prayers to Buddha
come and go
-Issa,1825
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Awake From A Dream
In the silent of night
the only sound that I hear
is your voice in my head
as if you were here.
In the darkness of night
the only image I see
is the image of you,
you in my dreams.
And in the chill of the night
I only wish I could feel
the warmth of your flesh
from lips down to heel.
In the first morning rays
the only sight coming in
is the radiant glow
of your porcelain skin.
But awake from a dream?
The only reason you're here
is a dream within dreams -
is a dream that I fear.
Like a dream come untrue
you're fading away.
If it were only real
I could ask you to stay.
poem by Jason Cline
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Luca
Jacob Tremblay (voice), Jack Dylan Grazer (voice), Emma Berman (voice), Maya Rudolph (voice), Marco Barricelli (voice), Jim Gaffigan (voice), Peter Sohn (voice), Marina Massironi (voice), Sandy Martin (voice), Giacomo Gianniotti (voice), Sacha Baron Cohen (voice), Jonathan Nichols (voice)
from Luca (2021)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Malini's Dream.
Malini had a funny dream,
It was really funny,
Don’t know how you’ll feel,
She was on a flight to Singapore alone,
The pilot was her physics teacher,
In a suite white and blue,
“How were your exams? ” he asked to her,
“It was easy, really easy” she said nodding her head,
“How is it that you’re a pilot” she asked with a start,
“Sorry, no time to answer your questions; have to go back to my job”
She looked outside the window; she was in outer space,
“I thought I was going to Singapore” she said to herself without
tearing her gaze,
The food soon arrived; she no longer had to starve,
She ate it patiently and put herself and put herself to bed,
“Miss, please wake up, please wake up” said a voice,
A Hindi film actor was the air hostess in that flight,
“The plane’s going to land” he said with a fright,
“Please put on your seat belt, so you can land perfectly, alright? ”
The plane soon landed,
And she was on a green colored planet,
“The majesty has arrived” said a green slimy thing,
Many gathered up to her, many wore faces without a grin,
“Please protect us from evil King Pin” they said crying out loud,
“He took our, money”, ” He took many lives”,
“And he’s going to take us down,
“I shall protect you” replied Malini “I shall give you your freedom back,
“This is my promise to all of you; I’ll do anything to fight back”
Malini fought will all her energy, she defeated evil King Pin,
The planet gained their freedom once again and everybody had a big grin,
Malini did then went off to sleep, in her large and wide luxurious bed,
But she was awakened by her mother as all great dreams end,
“It’s a dream I’ll never forget! ” she said sitting on her bed!
All Rights Reserved to Meriam Joseph.
poem by Meriam Joseph
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The door to Yesterday
I walked this campus in my youth,
forty years ago today.
The air is sweet from recent rain
here on the quad lawn where we played.
It's changed, of course,
that building is new.
Jefferson Hall is next, they say.
I graduated here in May.
I need not give the year away
I 'll only say it was a time,
like now, of great uncertainty.
I remember you like yesterday,
Your eyes a deep cerulean blue.
Your long and flowing auburn hair.
Those bee stung lips so sweet and true.
On impulse, just then
I tried the door.
Surprised I was when it gave way
I entered in the Bursars room
and heard your voice just down the hall.
For sure, twas you.
I'd know that voice
if all the world should pass away
I made my way towards your voice
anticipating ecstasy.
A joyful union there awaits
to hold you once more in my arms
life beyond death to be united
with you so many years since gone.
I entered then into the room
in hopes that she I loved was there.
This was the place where we first met
a place where, sadly, none appeared.
A wistful smile, a final glance
from your poor poet of Romance.
too much a dreamer, most would say,
as I closed the door to yesterday
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Moving Up Scared
Anxiety running through my vines
Like in the colors of a chock rainbow
Being washed off the side walk
A little scared but not enough to show it
I take that big step on my own
You know the step from
I know I'm a little kid to
I'm a big kid now that I'm in Middle School
I slowly walk down the blue carpeted terrifying hall
They made it scary for a reason
Then I met you Breanna
On the first day within the first 10 minutes
Some how you saw right through
My brave little 11 year old mask
The overwhelming lack of security
That was now so present
Making me not think in the right sate of mind
The stories of horror that all those years
My sister has told me and all I can think of
Is complete terror that is invading my body
Walking in those double doors for the first time
Was one of the scariest things I had ever done in my 15 years
I thought I was going to cry
And then did when I heard your voice tell me that
You knew I was scared to go to high school
Just like the first day of sixth grade
And the last day of eighth grade year
You know you always knew
Now it came the year that we were all working for
The year where we see that our teachers
Really do know what they are talking about
Their not crazy old people after all
And we get what their talking about
Some of the pieces of the skeleton of our lives
Start to fall into place
The year where we discover who we
For sure don’t want to be
The year where we think we have it all together
The year where the 4.0 doesn’t matter as much any more
Cause this is the year that you have to figure out where your
Going to live in 6 months after it hits you
Oh no I have to do this year there is no more next year
There is barely a tomorrow
then when you realize that tomarrow is coming too quick
and you dont know how to slow the clock down
you really know that the year has came and you hate to say it
but you have to grow up and be the adult now that
mommy and daddy arnt going to be there picking up the slack
all to soon
The year where you look to your best friend from sixth grade
And you know she is just as scared as you
This time Breanna I knew your scared too
A year to learn to really learn
This year is senior year and here and there it's almost
Scaring me to death
P.S
As a senior teachers always ask me to give advice to underclassmen and my advice is this to have fun join a club and a sport if you can make high school an amazing experience don’t do anything you will regret latter. However most of all try in your classes I’m not saying 4.0 just try, try hard because when your friends, and family are not there for you your education is all you will have.
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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