Collection February 24,2012
yellowing marriage blanket
she wonders what
to say to him
lost virginity
every time as she sees
zip
a burst of laughter
the old pant zip works well
for her trousers
artist's new dawn
the horizon streaked with
yellow acrylic
buddha birthplace visit
the mustard fields
swirling with grace
buddha birthplace visit
the mustard fields
firing up my curiosity
infinite X - a lost Star
God and that file to help us
find the murderers
files X, XX, XXX
all the things that you
should not know
Chinese death penalty
his name on a panel
crossed with red
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Buddha Within....
Buddha's tears...
on the faces of every
hungry child in the world.
Buddha's emptiness,
in the hearts of every
person who has no home.
Buddha's sorrow,
in the eyes of every
victim of the bombings.
Buddha's silence,
at the roar of every
religious fanatic.
Buddha's compassion,
in the dirt of every
human being fallen.
Buddha's forgiveness,
in the anger of every
person driven by prejudice.
Buddha within,
seeks to evolve!
Buddha within,
just to be!
Buddha within,
already there.
Buddha within,
always has been!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buddha Born, Buddha Dying!
the buddha in me
looks like the buddha in you,
smells like, tastes like,
feels like, talks like....
i feel your need,
for you are part of mine.
you taught me about love,
when you were hurting.
the buddha in me,
reaches out to the buddha in you.
we inhale and exhale,
and night becomes day.
the buddha in you,
the question and the answer.
each a part of the other,
one must be for both to be.
the buddha in me, the buddha in you...
light born of darkness,
darkness comforts light.
the buddha born, the buddha dying,
no difference, no loss,
the journey goes on.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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a burst of laughter
the old pant zip works well
for her trousers
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Buddha Within
the Buddha within
waits just beyond
everything we do
to avoid seeing ourselves!
the Buddha within
has no color or creed,
no political party,
is totally human.
the Buddha within
is the pathway that joins
the tongue to the heart,
the eyes to the spirit...
the hands to the infinite!
the Buddha within,
not owned, never owning;
not held by the few,
the home, and the gift...
the expression of humanity
making love to life!
sameness, unity, freedom!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Just Picked Up Your Trash!
the squirrel,
climbing the tree,
is buddha.
as is the cloud,
covering the sun.
the mountain is buddha,
as is the pebble...
and the river is buddha,
with the illusion of flowing.
you are buddha,
your enemy is buddha.
your lover is buddha,
as is the crap you just took!
do you see what you see?
do you taste what you taste?
do you smell what you smell?
do you feel what you feel?
or are you each of these?
enlightenment just picked up your trash!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Awakening The Buddha
this chanting to the bronze buddha
done with sincerity awakens the buddha in the self
the buddha that comes to one's own salvation
the one chanted to, remains as the buddha
in the world of absolute nothingness
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Margo Wants The Mustard
I watch her move up and down the beach, well
The fellows drool, but shes out of their reach, and
These are not a part of the scheme, but
Let them hope, and let them dream
So many dreams in the mind of the men, well
Come to life through a good one love
Margo walks in another place, well
Its in their minds, and its on her face
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Shes only got to smile that way when
It lifts your heart, throws your troubles away, and
When she moves, well Ive got to say
This rhythm method goes a long, long way
Its in the bones, and its in the head
This precious thing has got to be fed, well
I shouldnt say, but it must be said
Its even better when its in your bed
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
(a wop bop a loo mop, a lop bom bom)
[classic es solo]
I cant explain what she motivates, but
Its all around, but its hard to relate
It must be close to heavenly bliss though
How I wish I could follow this and
Splashing out all over the place
Pour it all over the human race, yeh
I may be starting another sin, but
Sit right back, watch the fun begin
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top...
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buddha Eyes
Buddha eyes,
seeing beyond the visible,
and beneath the crust.
Buddha ears,
hearing what is not said
wrapped in the spoken.
Buddha thoughts,
connecting with all thoughts,
creating and forming.
Buddha heart,
feeling every beat of every heart
inside each beat of my own.
Buddha freedom,
letting go of...
becoming a part of!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wait, things are shaping up
I approached a sculptor the other day
For carving a statue of
Gautama Buddha
He asked me a number of questions
Some of them were far stretched
Though I answered all of them
I was thinking within that
All these details were unnecessary
He could read my mind and said
These details were needed to help me
Come out with what exactly you were looking for
He suggested my coming to him
Two weeks later
Why so long and he said
Wait things are shaping up
Two weeks later
I saw practically no progress
He showed me a granite block
Which he said he would carve
As Gautama Buddha
He suggested me to visit him
Two weeks later
“Do you not think we are delaying? ”
I asked and he said
Wait things are shaping up
I went to him as suggested
No change at all
The block was under water
And carving had not started
He said that this curing process
Would help him understand
The quality of the block
And he opined
That we were lucky in
Selecting the right granite
And he suggested my visiting him
A week later
“Yes, I know you are wondering
As to why it is taking so much time”
How he could say even without my telling that
He continued
Wait, things are shaping up
A week later
No great change
But the block got castled here and there
No where near my expectations
“Come after three days and see”
But, he assured
Wait, things are shaping up
I made four visits later
At intervals of three, two and one days
I could not make out head or tail
Of what was happening
But, each time I returned
Hearing his words
Wait, things are shaping up
I was wondering
Are things really shaping up
Or am I being fooled
I did not visit him for
Full three months
As I was sure that
I would not be able to appreciate
The progress that the sculptor
Would be claiming to have made
One day, there was a call from him
“Come and see your Gautama Buddha”
I was not excited
I visited his place in all reluctance
And was preparing to hear
Wait, things are shaping up
But, what a surprise
Saw my Gautama Buddha
In a shape and carving
Beyond my belief
And I was not able to control my excitement
“I know you are wondering how this could be possible
But, you know, I was telling each time you visited that
Wait, things are shaping up”
We all do prayers seeking some change
And we wonder as to when the change would fructify
God, like a sculptor is shaping things
But, he never tells
Wait, things are shaping up
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Virginity
It is said that you can only be a virgin once
I am not so sure.
For virginity may be more than physical
and may have to be measured
in emotional purity.
You can make a mistake
and squander that first time
with the wrong person
but does that mean that
virginity once squandered is lost forever?
I don't think so.
How many of us even
remember IT,
so tense that first-time experience?
Rather, I think
It like most things in life
relies on practice
to get it right.
Rather, I think that virginity can't be lost
on mere amateurs
who had no idea
of its' importance.
Rather, it depends on my frame of mind.
My virginity was not lost;
IT can only be given
and after several times
and after several mistakes
it is bestowed upon the one
I really loved.
and you know
I now know
the difference
because virginity
isn't given away
unless it releases
in the act
purity and true love.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Things I Have Lost
During my life I've lost many things...
I've lost my teddy bear
I've lost my blanket
I've lost my bottle and binkie
---------
I've lost my homework
I've lost my backpack
I've lost my books and glasses
---------
I've lost my keys
I've lost my cellphone
I've lost my wallet and my credit card
---------
But with all the things I've lost,
I've NEVER lost a person like you
and don't plan on it any time soon.
poem by Lydia Shivley
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Westerner
Winter wakes at west, sunny days lost to least.
we heard days are best, so we toured to east.
We flew over the ocean, there were many settlers,
Nepal is the nation, beauty, Kathmandu the city of temples.
We were over arrival, then we saw lots of bars.
We were way to far, so we hired car.
Cheap restaurants, best services, we had many bucks,
We have never been here, wow Nepal really rolls and rocks.
We drank, dance then we made a glide, then we make a ride
Birthplace of Buddha, they delight and the life is really bright.
We had lots of fun and gettogether, we mistakenly slept in theatre.
Nepal is really awesome, we say it, do travel here...
poem by Diplove gautam
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Shangri-La Hotel
A visit to Shangri-La Hotel,
To my lover's room;
A visit to Shangri-La Hotel,
Like the eyes of an elephant;
I want to be in everybody's shoes but,
My mind is bigger than my shoes.
Like a message to the blue bears,
Like amessage to the white bears,
Like a message to the black bears,
LIke a message to the brown bears,
Keep it clean and soft;
a simple life to the muse of love.
A visit to my lover's room,
I am always moving and i don't look back;
Forward ever!
A visit to my lover's room,
I am always moving without looking back;
Backwards never!
A visit to my lover's room,
I know my back could be crooked;
But, i always move on.
I will surely reach to the end one day,
Like a visit to Shangri-La Hotel;
Forward ever, backwards never.
There comes a time when all seems so lost but,
Don't give up on your dreams in this life;
Like a marriage in the rain,
I do have a lover to visit.
The visit of my lover's room is like,
A love song in the rain;
The visit to my lover's room is like,
To marry in the rain;
The visit to my lover's room is like,
To make love in the rain;
The visit to my lover's room is like,
To walk naked in the rain;
The visit to my lover's room is like,
To sing in the rain;
Life is like that at times and,
I have my mind on you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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When You Touch Me
when you touch me
something in me grows
like a mustard
and then as Jesus once said
the mustard
becomes a tree and i am here
on top of everything
flowering fruiting
blooming ripening
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ballade 2
In Antwerp, Bruges, Ostend and Ghent
I used to order food with flair,
But in every inn to which I went
They always brought me, with my fare,
With every roast and mutton dish,
With boar, with rabbit, pigeon, bustard,
With fresh and with salt-water fish,
Always, never asking, mustard.
I ordered herring, said I'd like
Carp for supper at the bar,
And called for simple boiled pike,
And two large sole, when I ate at Spa.
I ordered green sauce when in Brussels;
The waiter stared and looked disgusted;
The bus boy brought in with my mussels
As always, never asking, mustard.
I couldn't eat or drink without it.
They add it to the water they
Boil the fish in and-don't doubt it-
The drippings from the roast each day
Are tossed into a mustard vat
In which they're mixed, and then entrusted
To those who bring-they're trained at that-
Always, never asking, mustard.
Prince, it's clear a spice like clove
can drop its guard. It won't be busted.
There's just one thing these people serve:
Always, never asking, mustard.
poem by Eustache Deschamps
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saw the country
and returned—now deep at night
I lie in bed and
fields of mustard flowers
bloom before my eyes
tanka by Masaoki Shiki
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Lone Yellow Flower Waves In The Open Fields
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green;
lone yellow flower has no one to blame
and it seeks none to praise
for it knows all life comes in
when the conditions are right;
lone yellow flower knows
death comes in like the wind;
lone yellow flower
is never alone
for it is a part of the expression
of the earth and time and the universe;
lone yellow flower sees what is before and around
lone yellow flower observes what is within and about
and so lone yellow flower lives with no delusions
no beliefs of heaven and hell
fears none and does not live or die
to please or amuse or appease;
and lone yellow flower
blossoms and shines
and shrivels and ceases
in harmony
with what actually is;
lone yellow flower
waves in the open fields
bowing according to the tune
among the sea of green
poem by Raj Arumugam
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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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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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infinite X - an illusive star
God and that file to locate
the murderers
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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