The Buddha in the Womb
Bobbing in the waters of the womb,
little godhead, ten toes, ten fingers
& infinite hope,
sails upside down through the world.
My bones, I know, are only a cage
for death.
Meditating, I can see my skull,
a death's head,
lit from within
by candles
which are possibly the suns
of other galaxies.
I know that death
is a movement toward light,
a happy dream
from which you are loath to awaken,
a lover left
in a country
to which you have no visa,
& I know that the horses of the spirit
are galloping, galloping, galloping
out of time
& into the moment called NOW.
Why then do I care
for this upside-down Buddha
bobbling through the world,
his toes, his fingers
alive with blood
that will only sing & die.
There is a light in my skull
& a light in his.
We meditate on our bones only
to let them blow away
with fewer regrets.
Flesh is merely a lesson.
We learn it
& pass on.
poem by Erica Jong
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Related quotes
Galloping Horses
Oh, this is the week when no rhymster may rhyme
On the joy of the bush or the ills of the time,
Nor pour out his soul in delectable rhythm
Of women and wine and the lure they have with 'em,
Nor pen philosophic if foolish discourses,
Because of the fury of galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping thro' the refrain -
The lure and the lilt of it beat on the brain.
Strive as you may for Arcadian Themes,
The silks and the saddles will weave thro' your dreams.
Surging, and urging the visions aside
For a lyrical lay of equestrian pride,
For the roar of the race and the call of the courses,
And galloping, galloping, galloping horses.
This is the week for the apotheosis
Of Horse in his glory, from tail to proboscis.
That curious quadrupled, proud and aloof,
That holds all the land under thrall of his hoof.
All creeds and conditions, all factions and forces,
All, all must give way to the galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping - sinner and saint
March to the metre, releasing restraint.
If it isn't the Cup it's the Oaks or the Steeple
That wraps in its magic the minds of the people.
Whether they seek it for profit or pleasure,
They all, willy-nilly, must dance to the measure.
The mood of the moment in all men endorses
The glamorous game and the galloping horses
Galloping horses - jockeys and courses
They gallop, we gallop with galloping horses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Self-Portrait in Shoulder Stand
Old bag of bones
upside down,
what are you searching for
in poetry,
in meditation?
The mother you never had?
The child in you
that you did not conceive?
Death?
Ease from fear of death?
Revelation?
Dwelling in the house of clouds
where you imagine
you once lived?
'Born alone,
we depart alone.'
Someone said that
during meditation
& I nearly wept.
Oh melancholy lady
behind your clown face,
behind your wisecracks-
how heady it is
to let the ideas rush to your brain!
But even upside down,
you are sad.
Even upside down,
you think of your death.
Even upside down,
you curse the emptiness.
Meditating
on the immobile lotus,
your mind takes flight
like a butterfly
& dabbles in bloodred poppies
& purple heather.
Defying gravity,
defying death,
what makes you think
the body's riddle
is better solved
upside down?
Blood rushes to your head
like images that come too fast
to write.
After a life held in the double grips
of gravity & time,
after a headfirst birth
out of your mother's bowels
& into the earth,
you practice for the next.
You make your body light
so that in time,
feet first,
you will be born
into the sky.
poem by Erica Jong
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Galloping Days
Galloping, galloping, galloping horses
Weave thro' our dreaming in burgeoning Spring;
There's sun in our hearts and there's sun on the courses,
And paeans of hope Winter's threnody forces
Over the hill-tops; for joy is a-wing.
Joy is a-wing, and the galloping rhythm
Mingles, alack, with a ruefuller rune,
For winners may rug but the losers run with 'em,
On the galloping, galloping tune.
Galloping, galloping, galloping gladly
Round the white railing and on to the turn,
While keeping in time to it, urgently madly,
Pulses are racing, ecstatic'ly, sadly;
Eyes to the thundering eagerly yearn,
Voice, upraising, are praising, are pleading,
Mid rackets gay jackets flash by and are gone.
Then the field in the sunlight, retreating, receding,
Goes galloping, galloping, galloping on.
Galloping, galloping, galloping; streaming
Now in green distances, seeming to crawl,
Like miniatures moving, like manikins seeming,
While o'er hedge and hollow a bland sun is beaming
Casting a benison over it all.
They run to the 'Distance.' The horses! The horses!
They gallop! They gallop! They turn for the 'Straight!'
They gallop, the hoses! Who nurses remorse is
A runagate cringer to galloping Fate.
Galloping, galloping, galloping ever,
Tho' cheering is over, they gallop amain;
Tho' fact and fond fancy reluctantly sever,
The round of that ultimate, straining endeavor
Still buffets and bludgeons and beats on the brain.
They gallop - Wake up, man! What profits regaining?
Luck lurks in the offing. On, on with the dance.
Aw, tear up your ticket! The sun is still shining.
The next race is starting. Who foots it with Chance?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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At Galway Races
THERE where the course is,
Delight makes all of the one mind,
The riders upon the galloping horses,
The crowd that closes in behind:
We, too, had good attendance once,
Hearers and hearteners of the work;
Aye, horsemen for companions,
Before the merchant and the clerk
Breathed on the world with timid breath.
Sing on: somewhere at some new moon,
We'll learn that sleeping is not death,
Hearing the whole earth change its tune,
Its flesh being wild, and it again
Crying aloud as the racecourse is,
And we find hearteners among men
That ride upon horses.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Dream Horse II (Revised)
Galloping, galloping in the night sky,
a pale dream horse and his dream herd float by.
There's no sound from their hooves,
There's no pound of their hearts,
as silently, soundlessly they waft
through the dark.
The moon was a chalis brimming with light,
when I first looked up and witnessed
their flight.
In a swirl of mother-of-pearl stardust they rode
and freedom of spirit was their only load.
Dream Horse, you are made of dream dust.
You rear on your hind legs,
and paw at the sky.
On earth you were a sight to stun the eye.
Ah, but now you are old or without a home.
There is money to be made, and Hearts run cold.
There are those that lie to sell your bones,
No matter how many weep or how many moan!
They say on this planet there is no grace,
for you and your wild herds,
there's not enough space.
but in endless eternity you've found a place.
So ride, Dream Horse, ride. Whirl by
with your dream herd,
through the vast incandescence of night!
There's no friction of resistance
in their noisless race
as swiftly they slip through rimless space.
Author's Comments:
'I was deeply shocked to learn of our horses being sold to foreign countries for food. According to articles owners were told they were going to retirement pastures or mercifully euthanized. Proposition 6, Save the Horses and http.//Save the Horses.com make fascinating reading.
poem by Mary Naylor
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Dream Hoese II (Revised)
Galloping, galloping in the night sky,
a pale dream horse and his dream herd float by.
There's no sound from their hooves,
There's no pound of their hearts,
as silently, soundlessly they waft
through the dark.
The moon was a chalis brimming with light,
when I first looked up and witnessed
their flight.
In a swirl of mother-of-pearl stardust they rode
and freedom of spirit was their only load.
Dream Horse, you are made of dream dust.
You rear on your hind legs,
and paw at the sky.
On earth you were a sight to stun the eye.
Ah, but now you are old or without a home.
There is money to be made, and Hearts run cold.
There are those that lie to sell your bones,
No matter how many weep or how many moan!
They say on this planet there is no grace,
for you and your wild herds,
there's not enough space.
but in endless eternity you've found a place.
So ride, Dream Horse, ride. Whirl by
with your dream herd,
through the vast incandescence of night!
There's no friction of resistance
in their noisless race
as swiftly they slip through rimless space.
Author's Comments:
'I was deeply shocked to learn of our horses being sold to foreign countries for food. According to articles owners were told they were going to retirement pastures or mercifully euthanized. Proposition 6, Save the Horses and http.//Save the Horses.com make fascinating reading.
poem by Mary Naylor
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
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Death death death
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Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
Death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Popular Scrips
If today
one is a galloping horse
to give you a fortune
tomorrow
the same may stand panting dead as an ass
as one sees a galloping scrip
we tend to feel
'ah i should have owned some of it'
strangely though
if you already own the scrip that is galloping
it is time for you to disown it
similarly strange it is
when tomorrow the same stands dead as an ass
you go all out to buy and own it
this aspect of the horse and the ass
in a popular scrip
the galloping and panting
of the popular scrips
keeps the market vibrant
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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The Trifler
Death's the lover that I'd be taking;
Wild and fickle and fierce is he.
Small's his care if my heart be breaking-
Gay young Death would have none of me.
Hear them clack of my haste to greet him!
No one other my mouth had kissed.
I had dressed me in silk to meet him-
False young Death would not hold the tryst.
Slow's the blood that was quick and stormy,
Smooth and cold is the bridal bed;
I must wait till he whistles for me-
Proud young Death would not turn his head.
I must wait till my breast is wilted.
I must wait till my back is bowed,
I must rock in the corner, jilted-
Death went galloping down the road.
Gone's my heart with a trifling rover.
Fine he was in the game he played-
Kissed, and promised, and threw me over,
And rode away with a prettier maid.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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The Fury Of Beautiful Bones
Sing me a thrush, bone.
Sing me a nest of cup and pestle.
Sing me a sweetbread fr an old grandfather.
Sing me a foot and a doorknob, for you are my love.
Oh sing, bone bag man, sing.
Your head is what I remember that August
you were in love with another woman but
that didn't matter. I was the guy of your
bones, your fingers long and nubby, your
forehead a beacon, bare as marble and I worried
you like an odor because you had not quite forgotten,
bone bag man, garlic in the North End,
the book you dedicated, naked as a fish,
naked as someone drowning into his own mouth.
I wonder, Mr. Bone man, what you're thinking
of your fury now, gone sour as a sinking whale,
crawling up the alphabet on her own bones.
Am I in your ear still singing songs in the rain,
me of the death rattle, me of the magnolias,
me of the sawdust tavern at the city's edge.
Women have lovely bones, arms, neck, thigh
and I admire them also, but your bones
supersede loveliness. They are the tough
ones that get broken and reset. I just can't
answer for you, only for your bones,
round rulers, round nudgers, round poles,
numb nubkins, the sword of sugar.
I feel the skull, Mr. Skeleton, living its
own life in its own skin.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Dreaming The Breasts
Mother,
strange goddess face
above my milk home,
that delicate asylum,
I ate you up.
All my need took
you down like a meal.
What you gave
I remember in a dream:
the freckled arms binding me,
the laugh somewhere over my woolly hat,
the blood fingers tying my shoe,
the breasts hanging like two bats
and then darting at me,
bending me down.
The breasts I knew at midnight
beat like the sea in me now.
Mother, I put bees in my mouth
to keep from eating
yet it did no good.
In the end they cut off your breasts
and milk poured from them
into the surgeon's hand
and he embraced them.
I took them from him
and planted them.
I have put a padlock
on you, Mother, dear dead human,
so that your great bells,
those dear white ponies,
can go galloping, galloping,
wherever you are.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Pick Up The Bones
Collecting pieces of my family
In an old pillow case
This one has a skull
But it don't have a face
These look like the arms of father so strong
And the ring on this finger
Means my Grandma is gone
Here's some legs in a cloud
Where my sister once played
Here's some mud made of blood
And these teeth are decayed
The ear of my brother
The hand of a friend
And I just can't
Put them back together again
Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the smoke going higher and higher
Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
There are stains on the floor
Where kitchen once stood
There are ribs on the fire place
Mixed with the wood
There are forces in the air
Ghosts in the wind
Some bullets in the back
And some scars on the skin
There were demons with guns
Who marched through this place
Killing everything that breathed
They're an inhuman race
There are holes in the walls
Bloody hair on the bricks
And the smell of this hell
Is making me sick
Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the smoke going higher and higher
Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
Pick up the bones
And set them on fire
Follow the scope going higher and higher
Pick up the bones
And wish them goodnight
Pray them a prayer and turn out the light
Now maybe someday
The suns gonna shine
Flowers will bloom
And all will be fine
But nothing will grow
On this burnt cursive ground
Cuz the breathe of the death
Is the only sound
song performed by by Alice Cooper from Brutal Planet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dream Horse
Galloping, galloping in the night sky,
a pale dream horse and his dream herd float by.
There's no sound from their hooves,
There's no pound of their hearts,
as silently, soundlessly, they waft through the dark.
The moon was a chalice brimming with light,
when I first looked up and witnessed their flight.
In a swirl of mother-of-pearl stardust they rode,
and freedom of spirit was their only load.
Dream Horse, you are made of dream dust.
You rear on your hind legs and paw at the sky.
On earth you were a sight to stun the eye.
They say on this planet there is no grace
for you and your wild herds-there's not enough space,
but in endless eternity you've found a place.
So ride, Dream Horse, ride. Whirl by with your
dream herd, through the vast, incandescence of night!
There's no friction or resistance in their noiseless race,
as swiftly they slip through rimless space.
poem by Mary Naylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death, Is A Pirate...
Death, Is A Pirate
Who, Plunders Our Treasure
In Stolen Lives
And Grief, Without Measure
Death, Raids The Waters
Of All Humankind
Death, Is The Thief
Who Treads Our Time
His Cannonballs Blast
Dreams To Oblivion
His Skull and Crossbones
Raze Horizons
Death, Sails The Seas
Of All Mortal Beings
The Dreaded Sea King’s
Patch-Eye … Is Seeking
And Boot-Leg To Loot
Our Lagoons Of Love
Death Is Looking To Fill
His Deadman’s Chest Of:
... Gems Of Light
Jewels Of Laughter
The Family’s Gold and Silver …
Death, Is After
Death’s Salty Water
Crusts Our Ships’ Hold
Anchors Our Hopes
Plunge Cutlass To Souls
… Divides ill-gotten-gains
With Greedy Hands
As His Shipwreck Spoil
Reach No- Man’s-Land
Death, Is A Pirate
Who Takes Great Pleasure
To Turn Our Riches
Into Buried Treasure
But An Admiral Of Mercy
With The Flag Of The Son! ….
Will Blow Death’s Fleet
To Kingdom Come!
And Barricade Stronghold
With A Mighty Command
To Unearth The Wealth
Of The Lost Treasure Island
* * *
Death, As A Pirate
Was Put To Rest
By The Almighty Admiral
His Name, We Bless
Written & ©: 5/24/10
By: The MoonBee
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Father Death Blues
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going
Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through
Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Death Is Death, Dissolution Of All
All over this mammoth Earth,
There is nothing like death;
All over this mammoth Earth,
Nothing escapes death
Except that strange death itself.
What is this death,
Perchance, death itself knows not;
Whence it springs,
Where are its wings,
Fancied none in these million years.
It’s the live black hole
In dance along the time’s scale;
Nothing escapes its rapacious field
And nothing ever breaks out of its shield,
Death is death, dissolution of all.
Is death a beginning, none ever ever knows,
No mysteries as mysterious as death ever is;
No light or shade nor talent prised it,
No voyages ever came back out of its womb,
Nor light-years ever scaled the depth of death.
Death brings down all to the Nature’s womb,
To the Natures pristine pure form;
No rise or fall nor glory or shame,
‘Neath the mysterious death, all are same;
Indeed, the supreme equalizer is death.
Death is true peace, death is ultimate pain,
Death is finding peace in the folds of pain;
Death robs light and spreads dark night
And numbs soul to the inevitable truth, that
Born out of night, but we are part of that night.
poem by Praveen Kumar
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The light's in my head - Villanelle
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead,
Though daylight is dimming, through the still open curtain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
He lies in a stupor, but calls out from his bed;
And he never complains, but you fear that he's hurting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.
She doesn't sleep nights, but sleeps daytimes instead;
Her breathing's still even, but death's near for certain-
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
First they said stroke, and then heart attack- dread!
With the new diagnosis, with death he is flirting-
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead.
There's cancer and heart disease, so lightly we tread;
It's bad news for sure- her aneurysm bursting! -
But the light's in my head; the light's in my head!
It's all here inside me now, all that I've said,
Now what's left in memory's darkness, I'm cursing;
There's a light in the sickroom that never goes dead-
And the light's in my head- the light's in my head!
poem by Patti Masterman
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Give Up Smoking Tobacco
A traveller walks with crutches,
passing by me with one leg stretches,
Other leg amputated above the knee,
Enquired I, Why? How?
Said he, one toe became black,
Reduced blood circulation to the little toe
and circulation to adjacent toes
also getting cut;
The history is that he was a smoker
of Beedi - rolled tobacco leaves -
Smoking of Beedi leads to narrowing of blood vessels
supplying the toes, results in clotting of blood;
The toes get gangrenous,
tissue death extends towards the hip
necessitating in amputation
of toes to midthigh;
Give up smoking tobacco
to escape from death of tissues
and removal of toes and lower limbs,
GIVE UP SMOKING TOBACCO!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Death is when....
Death is when my loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain in my heart
Death is this feeling of permanent sadness and pain
Death is when my loved ones have gone away
Death is the call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is the lesson i need to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is this unhappy feeling i have
Death is pleasant on my behalf
Death is the day i end my life
Death is when i give up the fight
Death is happiness to the world around me
Death started when i gained my life
Death can be helped along with this knife
Death is where i shall go
Death is close, i kno
Death willl come fast
Death is vast
Death is what i see
Death lives inside of me
Death is joy to me
Death has come for me
Death is gonna take me
Death will stop my misery
Death loves my company
Death ends the pain
Death takes me on that train
Death is near
Death is finally here