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.
Beautiful sky.Dark clouds with a rugged tear,Stretching across the horizon,and giving a sense of worlds beyond.A rip in the curtain of delusion,forming a peephole through to the Pure Land.The sweet sound of the birds is an echo of my breathing,and not apart from it.Many Buddhas and much rejoicing as the universe celebrates the power of practice,sending waves of bliss and passion into my heart.The world rests in a deep trance,awaiting the call to service.Namo Amida Bu!Continue
FAITHFaith is fearless, faith sings gaily, she touches me tenderly when I’m sad. Faith sits quietly in the sun remembering all the fun we’ve had. Faith inspires as a rising fire then lies in wait as yesterday’s ashes; she comes in the wind, in the hailing storm to batter upon me, rain that splashes. Faith is existence, love and being, quiet in the shadow beside my chair, whether she’s needed or quite forgotten my heart is at peace because she’s there.Continue
Seventy circuits round the sun,although it seems she circuits me,each day with nothing still to lack, her face arises... I bow low.From this illusion springs our woe,so natural the illusion isto think one does not budge one jotas all revolves around.Copernicus shot down conceit.Galileo should have said “Any yet WE move”.Our best of science but one viewone fraction of the whole.As I grow old I know much moreabout my ignorance and darkand as I grow so dark below,stars dimly seen emerge and grow.Continue
WINTER MORNINGthe blinding silver eastern sun,dawn metal in the frost,pull back the curtain, day has begun,the tattered dreams of night are lostthe empty day begins to fill,the frost to fade in hours ahead,the cat upon the window sill,the old man turns his fristy head.embers spindle into flamethe wood pile dwindles into smokethe slain bygones cast no blamecut down by the hour’s stroke.cobwebs shine their jewelled nettheir makers fled from sightcold can kill, do not forget,they sped into the…Continue
FRIEND AT THE WINDOWSo many leaves turning from green to brown,or still part and part - walnut tree in autumncaressing my bedroom windowhow you have grown this yearthrough spring deluge and summer droughtnow to emergethrough autumnal mist,king of the garden,kin of the wild.HUSHOut in the woodsa gathering of many trunkssupports a ceiling of verdant light;one holds one's breathin this holy place.DEEP HEAPI sleep in a humble heap -runkled bed covers,trunkled brainrumbling into stupour,tumble into…Continue
SHUTTLEDOREWell, I’ll be dying soon but you don’t need to cry, I will soon be passing and we all know why, We all know we all know we all have to die, But that’s not a reason and that’s why we cry. The body is a-failing and the ailing’s long, The notes are trailing in the evening song. I was in the hallway when I heard the gong. I sat down slowly and the minutes got long. Could be we’ve all known the meaning of the years climbing up the mountain of hopes and fears, Standing on the shoulder,…Continue
Peace is Here The wasteland of my soulIs littered with bodies dead and dyingThe wounded hoist a tattered poleOn which the flag of freedom flyingDares to claim a victory wonAmong the spoils of battles lostThe rising of a better sunThough shadows linger in the frost The dawn is nigh and long awaitedThe injured soldiers hold their groundTheir wailing stopped with breath that’s baitedAmid the gloom, the hopeful soundOf marching feet from distant partsAnd cheering voices growing nearA salve for…Continue
Waka is the classical poetic form of Japan. Each poem is in the syllabic form 5-7-5-7-7. This is the form that was used by the famous Japanese poet Saigyo. He usually wrote a short prose introduction to explain the setting of the poem.Here is a poem following from the work we have been doing clearing the remote field dedicated to Aphrodite. This poem is actually in 7-5-7-7-7 form which is not standard. deep in the wood, a clearing bedecked with hawthorne sacred to Aphrodite made with love by…Continue
The world is perfectly roundthough dented here and there.Each August it picks up shooting starsappearing from who knows whereMy mind was never so perfectly roundtriangular nor squarenor have I recently ever beena whale, giraffe or koala bear.Evolving forms like flowers on the moonexplode as they enter the airbut the petals fall down like a golden crownwhen all the people stare.Oh when I was a pirate chiefand fought with a grizzly bearat seven or was it half past sixI went to bed without a…Continue
I’d like to write a poem but the muse has deserted without asking my permission. It seems rather careless to wander off like that leaving blank pages gaps between words muddled concepts and broken images scattered around - not even enough to make an abstract mosaic. On a hot summer day the English kind of tea ceremony is just what one needs. There is nothing poetic about it but the well established rules that foreigners do not understand suffice to re-establish propriety and identity. All…Continue
Add a Comment