658.
I tried for a while
To hide magnetised feelings
In meditation.
658.
I tried for a while
To hide magnetised feelings
In meditation.
655.
Dieting can be tough,
When since my adolescence
I reached to lost love.
651.
Supple, carefree grace,
Always appreciated.
Focus errs again.
Meditating, yes, on your beauty again,
Master climbed in to my thoughts
And said ‘over a mountain pass
Zigzags a pebbled path to Zen’,
But I’m not keen on blizzards there,
So you unhooked the why and when.
Butter on its own
Isn’t much to write home about,
But melted in the middle
Of a croissant, on a
Crescent-shaped plate,
At a hotel morning room
In the early fabled light
Only found in Istanbul,
Is transcendental.
And now I’m writing home,
Meditation on its own
Won’t fill letters from heaven,
But meditation on a lotus
In the eye of the dharma elevates
The breath and the floating moment
Into something translucent
As I meditate, alone,
On a parcel of butter.
Everything I see
Is created within me,
To a greater or lesser degree.
My master asked me
If she existed;
I could not answer.
Freedom will be the time,
She said without objection,
When I can shake my head
In response to her question
Unshackled from regret,
As willows may dissolve
Irresistibly with time
Into a certain mist.
Essence of survival’s seed
Is only ever as vital to me
As happiness aligned between
The nature and the need.
Wealthy neighbours trappings
My role could never afford,
Grow your golden shiny wrappings,
I’m happier being poor.
There’s nothing fine to me in fame,
All people I’ll not meet;
Filling thoughts, a foreign name,
For rhymes which float and fleet.
I turned my ego inside out,
Ego flogged my soul impure;
It thrashed in nets, and lunged about,
May meditation some day cure.
597.
Learning to embrace
Emptiness, yet my progress
Is in your embrace.
576.
What I use, and do,
Litters of deep consequence
In distant whirlpools.
575.
A concerned monk told
Samurai, too serious
A man is no joke.