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Wildflower WavesShow poetry

 
The Way of the Boddhisatva

Thus by the virtue collected
Through all that I have done,
May the pain of every living creature
Be completely cleared away!

May I be the doctor and the medicine
And may I be the nurse
For the sick beings in the world
Until everyone is healed!

May a rain of flood and drink descend
To clear away the pain of thirst and hunger,
And during the eon of famine
May I myself change into food and drink!

May I become an inexhaustible treasure
For those who are poor and destitute;
May I turn into all things they need
And may these be placed close beside them!

Whether those who encounter me
Conceive a faithful or angry thought,
May that always become the source
For fulfilling all their wishes!

May all who say bad things to me
Or cause me any other harm,
And those who mock and insult me
Have the fortune to awaken fully!

May I be a Savior of those without one,
A guide for all travelers on the way;

May I be a bridge, a boat, and a ship
For all who wish too cross the water!

May I be an island for those who seek one,
And a lamp for those desiring light!
May I be a bed for all who wish to rest.

May I be a wishing jewel, a magic vase,
Powerful mantras, and great medicine,
May I be a wish-fulfilling tree,
And a cow of plenty for the world!

Just like space
And the great elements such as earth,
May I always support the life
Of all the countless creatures!

And until they pass away from pain,
May I also be the source of life
For all the realms of varied beings
That reach unto the ends of space!

Just as the previous Sugatas
Conceived the Spirit of Enlightenment,
And just as they successively lived
In the Bodhisattva practices

Likewise for the sake of all that lives
Do I conceive the Spirit of
Enlightenment,
And likewise shall I too
Successively follow the practices.

 
I started writing poems when I was a teenager. They were a good outlet for my bottled up emotions, and they were short enough for my acne-ridden attention span. I come back to it from time to time. I like to challenge assumptions; particularly about what's considered right and wrong.
My profile name is a Scottish Gaelic word, and if you care to look it up you'll see that it's my little joke. I'm not from Scotland, but my ancestors did at one time paint themselves blue and forced the Romans to build a big wall because we were so scary.


"I see God in every human being. When I wash the leper's wounds I feel I am nursing the Lord himself." - Mother Teresa
"When you're going through hell, keep on going" - Winston Churchill
"You can't have everything. Where would you put it?" - Steven Wright
"I have the world's largest collection of sea shells. I keep it scattered on beaches all over the world. Maybe you've seen some of it" - Steven Wright
 
"The World Is Too Much With Us; Late and Soon"
      
      The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune,
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
William Wordsworth 

"Glory of Women"

      You love us when we're heroes, home on leave,
Or wounded in a mentionable place.
You worship decorations; you believe
That chivalry redeems the war's disgrace.
You make us shells. You listen with delight,
By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled.
You crown our distant ardours while we fight,
And mourn our laurelled memories when we're killed.
You can't believe that British troops 'retire'
When hell's last horror breaks them, and they run,
Trampling the terrible corpses--blind with blood.
O German mother dreaming by the fire,
While you are knitting socks to send your son
His face is trodden deeper in the mud.
Siegfried Sassoon
 
The Willow
Of all the trees in our village,
The willow
Beyond the potato field
Had no luck—
They made a rubbish dump there.

Well, in the first place, it's not known whose she was,
Or who planted her there, and why—
We don't know.
If around other willows . . .
It is quite well swept and clean, as in a hut—
By that ill-conceived one
There's a pile of god-knows-what.
People bring scrap iron,
Galoshes, boots.
Quite useless now, of course,
(If they were good for anything at all they wouldn't bring them)
And when the cat dies, they dump it by the tree.
So encircled is the poor willow
With torn rags and rotting cats
That it is better now to give her a wide berth.

But still, when May comes,
Up to her knees in muck
She suddenly begins to gild herself peacefully.
She doesn't care a rap about the ripped galoshes,
The jars and tins and rags of clothes.
She flowers, as all her earthly sisters
Flower—
With a modest flowering,
With the purest, most innocent of flowers
Opening primordially to the sun.

And it shines. And everything smells of honey.
It happens that bees fly to her
In spite of the refuse at her base,
Bear away the flowers' translucent honey,
To people who abuse trees.
Vladmir Soloukhin
(Translated by Daniel Weissbort)
 
Goodbye
 

So we must say Goodbye, my darling,
And go, as lovers go, for ever;
Tonight remains, to pack and fix on labels
And make an end of lying down together.

I put a final shilling in the gas,
And watch you slip your dress below your knees
And lie so stlil I hear your rustling comb
Modulate the autumn in the trees.

And all the countless things I shall remember
Lay mummy-cloths of silence round my head;
I fill the carafe with a drink of water;
You say 'We paid a guinea for this bed,'

And then, 'We'll leave some gas, a little warmth
For the next resident, and these dry flowers,'
And turn your face away, afraid to speak
The big word, that Eternity is ours.

Your kisses close my eyes and yet you stare
As though god struck a child with nameless fears;
Perhaps the water glitters and discloses
Time's chalice and its limpid useless tears.

Everything we renounce except our selves;
Selfishness is the last of all to go;
Our sighs are exhalations of the earth,
Our footprints leave a track across the snow.

We made the universe to be our home,
Our nostrils took the wind to be our breath,
Our hearts are massive towers of delight,
We stride across the seven seas of death.

Yet when all's done you'll keep the emerald
I placed upon your finger in the street;
And I will keep the patches that you sewed
On my old battledress tonight, my sweet.

 Alun Lewis

  • Last seen on May 28 8:20 AM. Member since January 6, 2007.
  • I'm a supertopaz delight poet for 67 comments.
  • My mood is , and quote is ""Meditate, don't medicate"".
  • I am a man (Great Britain)
  • I have 67 comments, 2 contests, 28 poems

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