in the coolness
gods and Buddhas
dwell as neighbors
haiku by Masaoki Shiki
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Related quotes
Even Buddhas Die
even buddhas die...
but without mourning,
without a sense of loss,
without asking for tears.
but they do feel mourning,
yours...
they do feel a sense of loss,
yours....
and they shed tears,
that are yours....
and so reborn by choice,
to help carry your bucket,
and walk beside you...
for buddhas help buddhas
till all are free!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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These Are Our Neighbors
Offered are no alternatives.
But complaints are voiced and heard.
Suggestions they have none.
But they come with venom,
On their tongues.
Exposing the teeth of wolves...
Seeking tender meat,
To consume and run!
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Knockingdownwhatcanbefoundtogetnothin gdone.
Takingoutofcontextwithawishfailurecomes!
And these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
And these are our neighbors...
Every one.
Pickinguptheirtelephonestogossipwithm orelies.
Hopingwhatissaidwillkeepthetruthindis guise.
To keep deceit and defeat on the rise!
And...
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes...
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Offered are no alternatives.
But complaints are voiced and heard.
Suggestions they have none.
But they come with venom,
On their tongues.
Exposing the teeth of wolves...
Seeking tender meat,
To consume and run!
Pickinguptheirtelephonestogossipwithmorel ies.
Hopingwhatissaidwillkeepthetruthindisguis e.
To keep deceit and defeat on the rise!
And these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
Yes these are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
And these are our neighbors...
Every one.
These are my neighbors.
These are your neighbors.
These are our neighbors...
Every one.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Gods
Last night, as one who hears a tragic jest,
I woke from dreams, half-laughing, half in tears;
Methought that I had journeyed in the spheres
And stood upon the Planet of the Blest
And found thereon a folk who prayed with zest
Exceeding, and through all their painful years
Like strong souls struggled on 'mid hopes and fears;
"Where dwell the gods," they said, "we shall find rest."
The gods? What gods, I thought, are those who so
Inspire their worshippers with faith that flowers
Immortal? and who make them keep aglow
The flames forever on their altar-towers?
"Where dwell these gods of yours?" I asked--and lo!
They pointed upwards to this earth of ours!
poem by Victor James Daley
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Do Buddhas Weep?
do buddhas weep?
do trees bend in the moonlight
as if to touch the grass?
do mountains groan in their stillness?
do the bird's wings taste the sky?
do the mouths of the dying
form prayers that the living
cannot hear, or understand?
does the wind know
from whence it came?
does it care?
does it know where it's going?
does it matter?
when we lay the clothes
of suffering down...
and walk naked into the night,
will we be alone?
and if i made love to you
across this distance...
would you dream of wolves,
and candles?
do buddhas weep?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Grant Us Peace, Father of Abraham, Isaac and Ishmael
Grant us peace,
that we may not oppress our neighbors
Grant us justice,
that we may not enslave our neighbors
Grant us sanity,
that we may not torture our neighbors
Grant us mercy,
that we may not murder our neighbors
Grant us conscience
that we may not expel our neighbors
Grant us love,
that we may hunger for truth
Grant us discernment
that we may know what is ours, and what is not
Grant us decency
that we may return what we stole
Grant us courage
that we may admit what we’ve done
Give us strength to atone.
Ask only
that we end our silence.
Gods
Gods of the white man,
Gods of the black man,
Gods of the almond shade
all of these Gods
have done one thing,
made the people afraid.
Gods of the red man,
Gods of the brown man
Gods of the yellow hue,
all of these Gods
have done the same
divided them into
Separate people
who've been led to believe
their God is the holy one
to save their souls
and pardon them
and deliver them
from earthly sin.
How can there be
so many Gods?
Isn't there only one?
One for every single soul
born unto this earth.
He's every color that there is
since the world's begun.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Spam
patiently you weave the mat
put there the design of life
hope
love
and you color it with a special dye
blood
sweat
tears
and when the mat is finished
you look at it with a certain contentment
all your longings are interwoven
a beautiful mat
where my love can sleep
the mat contains the wind
and the coolness of ferns
the warmth
of two lovers not seeing each other for years
what your neighbors say
do not really matter now
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mortals liberate Buddhas and Buddhas liberate mortals.
quote by Bodhidharma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Lap Of The Gods
Ah ah ah ah ah
Leave it in the lap of the gods
Ah ah ah
I live my life for you
Think all my thoughts with you and only you
Anything you ask I do for you
I touch your lips with mine
But in the end I leave it to the lords
Leave it in the lap of the gods
What more can I do?
Leave it in the lap of the gods
I leave it to you
Leave it in the lap of the gods
Leave it in the lap of the gods
I want you to
Leave it in the lap of the gods
Leave it in the lap of the gods
Leave it in the lap of the gods
Lap of the gods
song performed by by Queen from Sheer Heart Attack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Enter This Deserted House
But please walk softly as you do.
Frogs dwell here and crickets too.
Ain't no ceiling, only blue.
Jays dwell here and sunbeams too.
Floors are flowers - take a few
Ferns grow here and daisies too.
Swoosh, whoosh - too-whit, too-woo
Bats dwell here and hoot owls too.
Ha-ha-ha, hee-hee, hoo-hoooo,
Gnomes dwell here and goblins too.
And my child, I thought you knew
I dwell here... and so do you
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Adventurer of God
They are solid steel, the rocks are built by gods,
Mountains and volcanoes are one, by gods.
Yet we see the lava flow and the abolishment,
To address them is to arrive at and abandon, by gods.
Any geographical feature on the map carries fascination,
One is adventured, one is fine with distortion, by gods.
The map is a remedy for the plain and ill, the happier,
Yellow streams and wooden forests are a distinction, by gods.
Let us laugh and be merry on this whole globe,
Let godliness reign supreme with this incantation, by gods.
The gods are lovable towards their kingdom,
The wishes of the valley are mine in slow-motion, by the gods.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Even Pretty Buddhas' - Han Shan of Old Speaks In a Dream
How strange is life in old age.
Overwrought by too much thinking
all is not yet lost but merely tossed,
scrambled in this ramble where etymology
is everything. And good boots.
I'm to poetry then and books a-sundry,
the old scrolls and tints an attempt to
keep a horizon, above it, not under but
the dip is soon enough. The worms can
correct my spelling and punctuation
when I go beneath the willow tips slowly
teasing the grasses into laughter.
White hair nearer now to Yellow Spring,
my humor with others is still intact.
Even alone I manage to laugh out loud,
a victory over enemies and frivolous,
ill-tempered gods, all my youth wasted
given over to their sly manipulations.
Useless now to demand these years
back but suffice it now to presently
live more boldly, blood hot, with fear
of no god yet with respect for all men
for both good and bad suffer alike.
And I am one to fight with gods, not men
like me longing to roam without explanation,
excuse, without rebuke. After so much divine
frivolity I am an emptied out fool, but a wise
one, I think. I cry out in the night dream
remaindered to Silence. I laugh through tears
avenging daylight from hostile heaven's
envious thieves.
Still, a habit now, I shall sit at the
Buddhas' feet. Their faces are convincing
enough. I shall ignore much evidence to
the contrary. Undergarments, even of
Buddhas, reveal truth which does not flinch
but perhaps may pinch its nose in disgust
even of holy stench.
Even so, in spite of meditations long, I am
flung further into life's fray though I sway
with chants up to the 8 Celestial Flights,
my steps light. Long in exile dizzy with
the Path, human beauty, brokenness there
beside, in all fields shy flowers want
our windows and stoops to proudly present
themselves. This, only now, but happy, do
I discover, and I am old, scents upon the
wind down the human lanes where even dogs
take pleasure from the air, where children
play and narrow water flows petal-by-petal
away; night, day, the joyous moon swoons
in the liquor of splash upon stones happy
to be worn.
There, almost within reach, the blossoming
tree brightens between darker bricks to truly
dwell. It is for me, a shy son of mists, to see,
in spite of big chunks missing, lost, wasted,
torn out. To remake the world as it always
is, celestial, not as it appears to most, but
hard, spirits without shoes still long to be
bread to dwell in our finitude. To them, then,
I am still a daffodil gay, and a rusty gate where
heaven and hell open at the end of the skin road
where vague statues sway out of focus lamenting
their stone, no river to move them, or against,
unable to move at all,
for movement is not nothing.
Nothing to lose, this rag of selves, with
what glory remains of hungry pockets I skip
forward singing, 'La La La, ' a willful don,
a lord of nothing-much, poems a'pocket,
knowing it's all a shell game but I'm clever
having learned something from all the rolled
dice - there is more to here than there.
Wise now, I always bring a change of draws
and a broken piece of mirror to gaze within
practicing my smiles.
If questioned at the Heavenly Gate I'll blame you,
old ghost meandering still, muttering the old hymns,
granting me permission the entrance to boldly storm.
Between what these final breaths remain
and the horizon, my fingers still work
on behalf of all sentient beings; to plead
our case I'll write until the quill is taken
from my death hand which even then shall be
dirty with righteous indigence, only the gods
to blame (they love a good argument anyway) .
Then, only then, will I become human through
and through, be damned and done the mirror and
pockets. A man can curse at the end having
earned the right to do so, then a wink and
a grin rehearsed. Even pretty Buddhas pretending
eternity cannot move by themselves alone,
in need of human feet and arms. In this way
then we become the same as I too will be born
by men to the grave no longer able to move
on my own.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Many Gods
Gods are too many in one religion-
That is an asking of much distaste.
Gods are like religions of adjustment,
Lots of them would affect us in different ways.
Gods may produce laughter,
But Thor is no good with thunder.
Gods are not selling me objects,
Due to the weather and frame of mind.
I live with gods and goddesses
For I am a job to do with the highest ones.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Buddhas don't practice nonsense.
quote by Bodhidharma
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The correlative to loving our neighbors as ourselves is hating ourselves as we hate our neighbors.
quote by Francis Bacon
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You, yourself, must make the effort. The buddhas are only teachers.
Even Snake Gourds
hey!-even snake gourds
become Buddhas-
don't get caught behind!
poem by Masaoka Shiki
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It is through this mysterious power that we too have our being, and we therefore yield to our neighbors, even to our animal neighbors, the same right as ourselves to inhabit this vast land.
quote by Sitting Bull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even in these times, there are still neighbors that will turn their backs on neighbors.
quote by Wynton Marsalis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dithyramb
Believe me, together
The bright gods come ever,
Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
And Phoebus, the stately, behold!
They come near and nearer,
The heavenly ones all--
The gods with their presence
Fill earth as their hall!
Say, how shall I welcome,
Human and earthborn,
Sons of the sky?
Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?
The joys can dwell only
In Jupiter's palace--
Brimmed bright with your nectar,
Oh, reach me the chalice!
"Hebe, the chalice
Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,
That the life of the gods is for him!"
It murmurs, it sparkles,
The fount of delight;
The bosom grows tranquil--
The eye becomes bright.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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