ZR Poetry Jams
While traveling the world, this is where some of my roses are red, violets are blue thoughts go.
Ohh DHAMMA Love ~ DHAMMA Love
I may never see that face again,
or it may be the last one I ever see,
but I dont need to know –
because Dhamma Love is what flowed,
A lava of love that melted walls of time and mind,
Drowning in waves of appreciative joy and eurphoric awe,
at the causal beauty of it all,
not for your smile and grace,
but for the grace that spun your web of being,
For everything little thing –
for every little moment,
that had to be just so – to make you just so,
Ohh You're not perfect – but perfectly made,
in this stupifying cosmic chain,
Ohh Dhamma Love Dhamma Love,
Just as amber engulfs a moment of time,
Your magnum waterfall sarinaded my being - for her being... for being itself,
and in my heart – you shall sing for eternity.
Where it goes —
we don’t know,
but we follow it anyway.
clicks and grits of broken road at our heels,
And now the marching band has come to play us a song,
the circadac hum beats and crickets away,
Rising — falling,
Creeping — then screaming,
The vocalist chirping in,
whooing and swaying — flapping and playing,
in all the Jazz,
around — and in — every note,
rests the forest silence,
A nothingness where all arises from,
and all falls back to,
on and on she jams away,
an eternal song of forrest day.
OPEN THE GIFT — to play in the present
Lost in a dream I was. So busy doing and going. Working and achieving. Getting and feeding. How so often we lose the simple treasures — for in every moment is the gift — to play in the present.
Not just having fun. Nor learning away. But a creative daughter of them both is to play. No right, no wrong. No goal, no worry. Just playful joy and no hurry.
Ohh the liberation of creation. To paint and draw. To sing and dance. To make up games in the rain — and then skip away. Ohh the wisdom of the child they say. But so fragile she is to the pressures of time. Cracking from all those herding minds.
Yes we admire youthful ways — yet regimented we sit in our bunkers most days. With kids we laugh and play along — but often we forget to sing our own song. Can we fully let go — and find that ghost we killed long ago?
If I can humbly say, there is a mindful middle-way. For every moment of time — is really a moment of mind. A cosmic flash to feel the consciousness clash. A naked space for awareness to see — all the forces in a tug of war over the “ME”.
So let the contractions die. And let expansiveness fly. Let unshackled energy flow, where it goes no one knows. But spontaneous trust — is the playful must. Longing to be free — burst the bubble of the ‘ME’. And open the timeless gift — to simply play in the present…
Stories of LOTUS glory
How I longed for her lotus glory,
that majestic transformation story,
but prick after prick I can't deny,
such fantasies are a lie,
For she never leaves the mud behind,
but grows in union to escape being blind,
so instead of fighting thorns of time,
I peer inside to see what's truly mine.
Looping in endless cycles to satisfy,
what is this mind and who is this 'I'?
to rid bitter inquire into sweet desire,
extinguish that fire and grow ever higher,
A grand dance of mirages & magic shows,
the more I grow the more to let go,
I can not conquer primal pain and fear,
but I can truly see her whispers in my ear.
With flashing wisdom blossoms surprise,
blissful aromas arise,
another lotus dream dies,
but with the wind — this cactus now flies.
FALLING HOUSE OF SNOW
Ohh humbling 'house of snow’,
climbing and climbing through the sky,
your beauty is not how high you rise,
but sits in all that you let go.
Shedding stone and ice,
you unearth glistening grace,
around and around the wheel of time you spin,
in fluid harmony your essence sits.
You hug a womb of snow,
but let mother water flow,
with the sun you dance,
in a ballet of shadow and light,
with the wind you fight,
yet together music plays.
Ohh cosmic big sister,
how I am you and you are me,
from the void we both came,
made of dust and time,
we rise and grow,
we shed and flow,
back to empty mother we shall happily go.
Expectations of the Road
With childish curiosity and timidness she asked:
“What do you expect out of your trip?”
I expect nothing,
but welcome everything.
for I am on no trip,
but on a journey,
not around the globe,
but within I must go.
Not because I want to,
but because I have to.
for questions not asked,
can find no answers.
Ohh many will say I’m lost,
but my heart is at home.
finding oneself is easy,
losing ‘the self’ is the battle.
Sure no things, no status, no plans or handlebars to grasp,
but in the unknown emptiness,
the eternal mother awaits,
for fear, pleasure, and ego bare no fruit,
but curiosity and truth are my seeds.
But one path is not right for all,
each of us has our own kiln of fire,
for the truth lies not outside,
but glows inside heart and mind.
For our spirits are like the candle,
thus be weary of which light you gaze,
we can burn hot and true like the flame,
or as a dull illusion we reflect in the pool.
So look not to desire,
but your inner intention to inspire.
for that genuine fire,
shapes all you see and do.
Don’t look for it, be with it.
don’t grasp it, surrender to it.
does the candle know what it illumnates?
Ohh no, it burns and burns with time and faith.