A place for poems

Members: 35
Latest Activity: Oct 12


This is a group in which to post poetry that you have written yourself. It may be long or short, polished or rough, a celebration or an experiment. It is not a competition, more a place where we can share and appreciate and learn from each other and discuss each other's poems.

The poems are grouped into "discussions". Each discussion may be a theme or a poetry form. Each discussion can grow into a little collection. Add individual poems as "Comments" within the appropriate section. You can also add remarks as comments too. If there is no appropriate section, start a new one. If you feel clumsy doing this, don't worry - the site moderator will tidy it up later. Poems added should be broadly connected with the theme title of the discussion, but do not have to relate directly to other poems already posted.

Writing poetry can be everything from a light amusement through to a deep spiritual practice. Enjoy.

Discussion Forum

Amitabha Rising

Started by Cahya Maitri Avalokita Oct 12. 0 Replies

Darkness every which way,But not because the streetlampsAre out in town;Heedless feet they stray --Despite the path clearly laid,The blinds are down;Shutters closed to the lightCast the world into shadowAnd none can see;Amitabha rising,Buddha of Pure Land Bliss,What fools are we?Compassion every which way,Though not of our deserving,Shines on us;Takes those feet that stray,And sets them on that pathCalled Joy and Trust;Shutters are swung open,Light so dazzling bright floods in,The shadows…Continue


Started by David Brazier. Last reply by David Brazier Oct 11. 9 Replies

This is a place for posting renku.Renku is a Japanese poetic form with five lines with syllables 5-7-5-7-7. You will note that the first three constitute a haiku, so you can say a renku is a haiku with two extra lines.Here is an example that I wrote this morningIn the unknown nightmy soul is busy weavinga new day’s garmentto protect me from the galethat ever seeks to enterContinue

Life could be a poem

Started by David Brazier Sep 21. 0 Replies

Life could be a poem if it rhymedor the metre was predictable insteadof random interference going onamidst the buzzing of the insects in my head.Life could be a song all full of joyif its cadences were rising all on cue;if the lyrics, though repeating, harmonisedand we wisely followed all the truth we knew.Life could be a hymn to peace and gloryfull of images of heaven here on earthas ecstatic prophets reveled in their storyand war and dread were only tropes of mirth.Yes, life could be a prayer…Continue


Started by Andrew. Last reply by Dayamay Dunsby Jun 3. 1 Reply

Oh beautiful flower so delicate and pure that blossoms for all to behold.With a breath you are gone and yet you were here or was it an illusion that we held you, What lesson we learn is yet still unclearShould we hold on to the memory or wish you near Should we remember the pain and all that we feared.As the years pass by the pain remains neither weakened or subdued. Oh how I miss all that you never had. I’ll remember you as his rose.Kind RegardsAndrew.Continue


Started by David Brazier Apr 3. 0 Replies

Aprile ha un atteggiamento, non puoi predire il suo umore. Stamattina una tiepida brezza ha spazzato sopra la terra. Ero felice di essere accarezzato da esso, quest'aria dal profondo sud, forse persino dal Sahara. Sono andato giù alla zona dei bambù e ho tagliato delle buone canne per fare un pergolato per il caprifoglio Mi ci è voluto quasi tutto il giorno. eppure anche così, mi chiedo se l'ho fatto robusto abbastanzaA lavoro fatto, il gatto ed io siamo rientrati dentro, lei vivace, come se…Continue


Started by David Brazier Apr 3. 0 Replies

Rifletto su cosa dovrei fare della mia giornata. Non c'è molto che è necessario in questa vita, ma molto che può essere apprezzato. La gente della città tutti vivono come schiavi, mentre i padroni scambiano insulti nelle sale della ricchezza e del potere. Mi siedo sulla soglia del mio fienile contemplando l'aiuola troppo cresciuta, le piante di fragola che si stanno svegliando dopo l'inverno, mentre la pioggia cade dolcemente. Non penso di vedere il sole di nuovo oggi: sta scaldando altre…Continue


Started by David Brazier. Last reply by ANGELA ROMANI Apr 1. 1 Reply

Un profeta nel desertomi sto sediendo e mangiando il mio pane quotidianomentre le locuste consumano il mondo.Il sole splende alla mia finestracome brillerà quando siamo andati,quando finestre essiste non di più.È una vita semplice qui in campagna,una vita che sta passando.Ho ottenuto questa casa e la terra molto a buon mercato -nessuno lo vuole in questi giorni -ma tuttavia è un piccolo regno,una terra divina, una scheggia di paradiso,caduto dal cielo.Più tardi andrò a vederele innumerevoli…Continue


Started by David Brazier Mar 30. 0 Replies

Seduto sotto il noceGuardo la luna piena che saleIl sole è tramontato, gli uccelli si sistemano,la notte è in arrivo.Una grande pace avvolge.Sotto l'albero i narcisi brillanoin mezzo a un tappeto di fiori primaverili selvaggi.Sorseggio il mio tè e rifletto.Ieri ero al supermercatoquando mi è venuto in mente che lo eroprobabilmente l'uomo più felice nel negozio:la gente porta in giro un simile pacchetto di cure.L'umanità è rimasta intrappolatain una gabbia dorata di sua creazione;i semplici…Continue


Started by David Brazier Mar 26. 0 Replies

So what, now, is the colour of your soulDoes it change? Will it flaunt a gaudy frock?Is it young, yet with a lining old as gold?Does it rhyme like the ticking of a clock?Do you ever wear a rainbow as a shirtwhen you really should have kept things more discrete?Are you master of a hundred ways to flirtwhile looking for authentic ways to meet?It takes a thief to know a thiefa spy to know a spy;where is the one who brings reliefto we who all must die?Oh wanderer, I know you, yet still I know you…Continue


Started by David Brazier Jan 16. 0 Replies

Here is a poem I had published a while ago...CompostelloA longing calls me westward along the pilgrim trail; a pilgrim hood I’ll have and a staff and donkey friend, a metal cup to scoop spring water for sweet ale and strong boots for walking to the end.Toward the setting sun, with hope upon my heart, I’ll stroll into vermillion against a sky of limpid blue; as the pale moon cares for the region I depart wayside forget-me-nots will keep me true.It is an angel takes me there, she of the evening…Continue

Comment Wall

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Comment by Cahya Maitri Avalokita on October 12, 2018 at 13:41
Darkness every which way,
But not because the streetlamps
Are out in town;
Heedless feet they stray --
Despite the path clearly laid,
The blinds are down;
Shutters closed to the light
Cast the world into shadow
And none can see;
Amitabha rising,
Buddha of Pure Land Bliss,
What fools are we?

Compassion every which way,
Though not of our deserving,
Shines on us;
Takes those feet that stray,
And sets them on that path
Called Joy and Trust;
Shutters are swung open,
Light so dazzling bright floods in,
The shadows flee;
Amitabha rising,
Buddha of Pure Land Bliss,
How blessed are we?

Namo Amitabha!
Comment by Dayamay Dunsby on April 7, 2018 at 13:58
Assume nothing!
Think deeply about everything.
Even the key turning in the door that stands between you and...

Brace yourself for something else...
Exert laziness and just give up.
Find the lowest point and submit.
Assume nothing!!

Namo Amida Bu( ;
Comment by Carol English on January 16, 2018 at 13:25

Masketeer and Aphrodite
Undercover membership
Each takes a turn and turns a corner
Sends the other silly quips

Send each other lies and secrets
Secret truths that masks belie
Undercover sensual boundaries
Will love live or will it die?

Will love live and serve its purpose?
Skin to skin the promise lurks
Nose to nose and lips to eyelids
Teasing secrets, fireworks?

Teasing secrets, fireworks
Can Masketeer catch Aphrodite?
Or will she hide while he pursues her
A fantasy that burns out brightly?

Can Masketeer catch Aphrodite
Will she wear her golden crown?
Will she run when he pursues her
Like the tarot, upside down?

Like the hanged man, upside down
Oh, will he fall, then, when her sees her
In robes of yellow, green and crimson
Is he fool or can he please her?

Is he fool or can he please her?—
For she’ll be more than conjured sylph
No thing of wings and gauze and satin
But instead her real self

Each thing of flesh and blood is mixed with
dreams and depths and coloured birds
Potters of each life are forming
The e’s of all ‘lectronic words.

The potters of each life are forming
Dreams from fields of soil unplowed
Those odd primordial exophagic
stanzas, coloured, burst from cloud

Comment by Andrew on April 6, 2017 at 23:09
Strangers passing in the dark fleeting glances.
Not knowing or caring about the others path
Where will it take them who pass without a word
Not a kind thought or care for the other as they glance
Not this for me I who must acknowledge who must care
Comment by Kim Terrell on March 25, 2017 at 8:38

Flying South

Time flying by me
thoughts nosily flocking south
headed to new worlds.

Comment by Andrew Ralph Cheffings on March 3, 2017 at 15:43


A garden is not a plan on paper,

It is not moving rocks, water and earth around;

It is gardening,

And everything gardens.

Comment by Dayamay Dunsby on December 13, 2016 at 9:46
A little poem that came to me in the shrine room this morning:


If you had a voice,
Would it be a whisper that trails into nothing,
or a shrill cry, desperate to be heard. Would your words be blunt and abrupt,
or would you gently charm the ears of folk.
Talk, chatter, pass the time of day. Sing, scream, break the silence in two.
No more than a noise resonating in an empty space.

Namo Amida Bu(. ;
Comment by Diane Cadman on June 23, 2016 at 16:44

This is a poem I write about my stay at La Ville au Roi, It doesn't fit with anything in current discussion so hope it is OK, for me it feels like a a good place to start making contributions.



First night in the sheep house

candle blown out,

I lie awake listening

to the walls

making no sound.


Animal antecedents are

embedded in this stone.

I feel them breathe, bellow,

stamp and scrape

the rock floor.


Birth, death and living

surround me here,

 holding me wakeful;

alert in the power 

of total blackness.


Beyond its walls

woodlands spread away

generating ever deeper

darkness of canopy,

field and thicket.


Creeping out, only my steps 

break the silence.

Above is brightness;

a black bowl of stars are

threaded on imaginary chains.


Loops of light years apart;

planets far more ancient

than sheep house walls,

are patterns to my eye,

symbols in my mind,

lanterns for my soul.

Comment by Carol English on November 8, 2015 at 8:56
I expect I'll get them all into the wrong places anyhow. Let me know when I do and I'll move them. The haiku are easier as they are defined by form rather than content :-)
Comment by David Brazier on November 7, 2015 at 7:59

OK, I've done some reorganisation. I hope this makes it easier to group poems together, either by form or by content. Each discussion can potentially build into a little collection, sometimes with some prose comments also.



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Blog Posts

More Will Be Revealed!!

Posted by Dayamay Dunsby on November 5, 2018 at 12:46 1 Comment

Adjusting to the extreme contrast between India and England has been a truly enlightening experience for me and I will probably be processing it psychologically for quite a while to come! 

It is impossible not to be affected by the seething mass of raw energy that flows endlessly there, seemingly toward no apparent goal except pure survival. It often seemed like hell…



Posted by David Brazier on October 21, 2018 at 17:25 1 Comment

Born: September 13, 1919, London, United Kingdom

Died: October 10, 2018

Mary was a dear friend and inspiration. I first met her when she came to a meditation class I was leading. Her husband had recently died and she was grieving. She did not need meditation, she just needed to grieve and that be OK, which it definitely was, but she continued to come to meetings and made a…


Running a Course in Korea and Elsewhere

Posted by David Brazier on August 3, 2018 at 1:40 2 Comments

I am currently leading courses on Buddhist psychology here in Seoul, Korea, but as I am putting the course onto this site as we go along, members of La Ville au Roi (Eleusis) are also responding so it is a bit as though the course is going on in several countries at the same time which is nice.

Varlam Shalamov

Posted by Geeta Chari on July 16, 2018 at 0:00 1 Comment

From The Paris Review:

For fifteen years the writer Varlam Shalamov was imprisoned in the Gulag for participating in “counter-revolutionary Trotskyist activities.” He endured six of those years enslaved in the gold mines of Kolyma, one of the coldest and most hostile places on earth. While he was awaiting sentencing, one of his short stories was…


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