~Zen Mountain~

[My Erotic Trail]

Days of darkness float upon rainbow clouds
Life hovers within the obisidian of my mind
Red hearts beat upon the drums of future
Ancient cries pulsing through the faded women
Silent too long
Voices forgotten
Lost amongst the words of God
Sunrise calls to the bleeding hearts
women who ride the dust devils destiny
Waiting quietly
soon sunrise comes for those who suffer silently.

awesome <grin


the dawn
of the Du's
movement

you go girl! I think the poem is as awesome as the topic (~_*) and the poet

 

[bluerains]

Our Costume

The Costume of the Actor
from The Parables of Kierkegaard
by Soren Kierkegaard, edited by Thomas Oden.
What does it mean to love one's neighbor?


Consider for a moment the world which lies before you in all its variegated multiplicity; it is like looking at a play, only the plot is vastly more complicated. Every individual in this innumerable throng is by his differences a particular something; he exhibits a definiteness but essentially he is something other than this - but this we do not get to see here in life. Here we see only what role the individual plays and how he does it. It is like a play. But when the curtain falls, the one who played the king, and the one who played the beggar, and all the others - they are all quite alike, all one and the same: actors. And when in death the curtain falls on the stage of actuality (for it is a confused use of language if one speaks about the curtain being rolled up on the stage of the eternal at the time of death, because the eternal is no stage - it is truth), then they also are all one; they are human beings. All are that which they essentially were, something we did not see because of the difference we see; they are human beings. The stage of art is like an enchanted world. But just suppose that some evening a common absent-mindedness confused all the actors so they thought they really were what they were representing. Would this not be, in contrast to the enchantment of art, what one might call the enchantment of an evil spirit, a bewitchment? And likewise suppose that in the enchantment of actuality (for we are, indeed, all enchanted, each one betwitched by his own distinctions) our fundamental ideas became confused so that we thought ourselves essentially to be the roles we play. Alas, but is this not the case? It seems to be forgotten that the distinctions of earthly existence are only like an actor's costume or like a travelling cloak and that every individual should watchfully and carefully keep the fastening cords of this outer garment loosely tied, never in obstinate knots, so that in the moment of transformation the garment can easily be cast off, and yet we all have enough knowledge of art to be offended if an actor, when he is supposed to cast off his disguise in the moment of transformation, runs out on the stage before getting the cords loose. But, alas, in actual life one laces the outer garment of distinction so tightly that it completely conceals the external character of this garment of distinction, and the inner glory of equality never, or very rarely, shines through, something it should do and ought to do constantly.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

The Costume of the Actor
from The Parables of Kierkegaard
by Soren Kierkegaard, edited by Thomas Oden.
What does it mean to love one's neighbor?


Consider for a moment the world which lies before you in all its variegated multiplicity; it is like looking at a play, only the plot is vastly more complicated. Every individual in this innumerable throng is by his differences a particular something; he exhibits a definiteness but essentially he is something other than this - but this we do not get to see here in life. Here we see only what role the individual plays and how he does it. It is like a play. But when the curtain falls, the one who played the king, and the one who played the beggar, and all the others - they are all quite alike, all one and the same: actors. And when in death the curtain falls on the stage of actuality (for it is a confused use of language if one speaks about the curtain being rolled up on the stage of the eternal at the time of death, because the eternal is no stage - it is truth), then they also are all one; they are human beings. All are that which they essentially were, something we did not see because of the difference we see; they are human beings. The stage of art is like an enchanted world. But just suppose that some evening a common absent-mindedness confused all the actors so they thought they really were what they were representing. Would this not be, in contrast to the enchantment of art, what one might call the enchantment of an evil spirit, a bewitchment? And likewise suppose that in the enchantment of actuality (for we are, indeed, all enchanted, each one betwitched by his own distinctions) our fundamental ideas became confused so that we thought ourselves essentially to be the roles we play. Alas, but is this not the case? It seems to be forgotten that the distinctions of earthly existence are only like an actor's costume or like a travelling cloak and that every individual should watchfully and carefully keep the fastening cords of this outer garment loosely tied, never in obstinate knots, so that in the moment of transformation the garment can easily be cast off, and yet we all have enough knowledge of art to be offended if an actor, when he is supposed to cast off his disguise in the moment of transformation, runs out on the stage before getting the cords loose. But, alas, in actual life one laces the outer garment of distinction so tightly that it completely conceals the external character of this garment of distinction, and the inner glory of equality never, or very rarely, shines through, something it should do and ought to do constantly.

inspirational;
Almost every evening I do what I call meditation, <laughing cause it is nothing more than going out on the back porch with an evening cigar and sit and watch the river, the sun set and the wildlife that almost always appear just before dark. I look forward to touching nature's true beauty absorbed in the earth's reality and watching as the world turns into darkness and watch as stars grow. When I am unable to have my evening meditation, I truely miss it. (~_*) thanks blue..

 

[My Erotic Trail]

a grasshopper's armor
colorful
bold
camouflage
durable enough for...
crash landings

 

[My Erotic Trail]

horses race and salmon swim, just as poets write
not to be a winner but to move the soul
from a desire within

coveting something one does not have, desire
the ambitious author reaches for another write
while the ambitious reader reads

even in Earth's stillness there is movement
not of ambition but of survival and existance
the art of living is aquired

by those who humble to desire and ambition
knowing that the wind can be soft or strong
learning to blow small winds

 

[My Erotic Trail]

We take a natural interest in novelties, but it is against nature to take an interest in familiar things.

Mark Twain

 

[My Erotic Trail]

learning to blow small winds

ambition

horses race and salmon swim,
just as poets write
not to be a winner
but to express the soul
driven by a desire within
coveting something
one does not have, desire
the ambitious author pens another write
while the ambitious reader reads

even in Earth's stillness
there is movement
not of ambition
but of survival and existance
the art of living is aquired
by those who humble
to desire and ambition
knowing that the wind
can be soft or strong
learn to blow tiny wind

 

[My Erotic Trail]

grasping starlight with hopeful eyes
through the milky way which has been my life
wondering if heaven is beneath my feet
wishing for a shooting star to scar the night
perched on the edge of a full moon river
a pin head of knowledge of the vastness of space
like a flower in an enormous meadow
gone like the night, erased.

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Literary Adventures

I long to fall for that first line
that rolls, scrolls, twists and whinds
that will cast me into an adventure
where people gather like arrows in a quiver

each charactor has a certain point
each will fly at different times
all wrapped up in enchanting story lines
literary adventures, in pages of time

pupils follow like a bouncing ball
where the mind absorbs each words call
images of places far far away
tales where brilliant thoughts are sprayed

and if my pen decides it might
wish to take a literary flight
my thoughts trail while my pen curves
spewing out fantasys in literary adventures

 

[My Erotic Tail]

look what I found... form long ago,,, needs a lot of work

Praying Mantis in a Spider's Web

there is beauty in olympic minded strung lines,
exact deminsions, fiber thin, delicately placed
the Art dream catcher woven spider's web
sticky thoughts, lure then grasp a spider's feast,
disecting, sucking life from frightened victims

other spiders made the elite oval's, gauntlet trek
to achieve greatness simply reach it's center
with correctness in structure or suffer
the master spider's critical scorn

those valiant winners that achieved perfection,
became a major of the eight legged literary sage
and in course grew more guardians of the oval
now even harder for others to prevail as a survivor

a butterfly became caught in the web
thrashing, flapping and whaling to be free
the spiders converged to a brilliant colors death
a praying mantis made its way to the unguarded center
releasing the butterfly with inadvertant steps
he did not understand the spider's way
the spiders naturally guarded their domain
like wolves nipping at a stallion's heals
creatures rarely respect another species traits
Praying Mantis in a Spider's Web

 

[My Erotic Trail]

midnight sky
before dawns light yawns
paddling through a jungle
jumping stumps
a dn slapping fish with an oar
to reach that place
where thunder sounds
when a trigger is pulled
causing thunder to echo
across the lake

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

a thousand eyes
want you to apologise
for all your lies
c'mon its pretty easy
just quit bein so fuckin greasy

 

[My Erotic Trail]

the sound of thunder
shot gun blasts from heaven
angels and water fowl

 

[My Erotic Trail]

zmp~ feeling trees

Does a tree
that stands much taller
see alot farther
than a sapling
in its shade

Does a tree
that reaches much higher
feel the sun
burn alot hotter

so they shade
the younger trees
feeling they need
a sun-screen
and protects them
from a strong breeze

or do you feel a tree
is just a tree?

 

[RhymeFairy]

zmp~ feeling trees

Does a tree
that stands much taller
see alot farther
than a sapling
in its shade

Does a tree
that reaches much higher
feel the sun
burn alot hotter

so they shade
the younger trees
feeling they need
a sun-screen
and protects them
from a strong breeze

or do you feel a tree
is just a tree?

I see your point my friend, but ...


My tree talks to me. Teaching me
history lessons long into the night.
He whispers of olden days
when all things in nature were respected
even worshipped. With circling hands
in the air, he speaks of mountains
being moved and how love spreads
throughout this world. A healing
helping hand reaches out, I feel connected
almost as if I am immersed inside his gruffy
dark skin. I see this cold bitter world
from his eyes. Wishing nothing but hope
and happiness to all, and above all
peace ...



just a thought ~

 

[My Erotic Trail]

I see your point my friend, but ...


My tree talks to me. Teaching me
history lessons long into the night.
He whispers of olden days
when all things in nature were respected
even worshipped. With circling hands
in the air, he speaks of mountains
being moved and how love spreads
throughout this world. A healing
helping hand reaches out, I feel connected
almost as if I am immersed inside his gruffy
dark skin. I see this cold bitter world
from his eyes. Wishing nothing but hope
and happiness to all, and above all
peace ...



just a thought ~

hummm, got me thinkin' now <grin

Polishing the dead

It sat in a peaceful forest
and I wonder if it feels the sun,
it never moved, other than waving
in the wind, its friend. It must like
a breeze to blow by now and again.
Without eyes it never feared
being stepped on by a passing bull
knee high to a calf, escaping their feasts
while brotheren are churned into cud

and when that silent, long time quiet ends
from chain saws and bull dozers
it had to feel, the grounds message
that death was coming.

They peel its skin and scrape its hide
disecting it into sections while
shovling up that on the floor, death, dust
once cured, it does not come alive
yet they divide it and ship it various locations
while they reshape thier share, and nail it to their liking
and even take pride in their craft,
polishing the dead

okay, RF, ya spawned it!!!

 

[RhymeFairy]

hummm, got me thinkin' now <grin

Polishing the dead

It sat in a peaceful forest
and I wonder if it feels the sun,
it never moved, other than waving
in the wind, its friend. It must like
a breeze to blow by now and again.
Without eyes it never feared
being stepped on by a passing bull
knee high to a calf, escaping their feasts
while brotheren are churned into cud

and when that silent, long time quiet ends
from chain saws and bull dozers
it had to feel, the grounds message
that death was coming.

They peel its skin and scrape its hide
disecting it into sections while
shovling up that on the floor, death, dust
once cured, it does not come alive
yet they divide it and ship it various locations
while they reshape thier share, and nail it to their liking
and even take pride in their craft,
polishing the dead

okay, RF, ya spawned it!!!

add a lil more spit 'n polish my friend
and you shall have another ... gem~

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

the sound of thunder
shot gun blasts from heaven
angels and water fowl

empty sky, big rocks
purple enormous molehills
fuck it, it is zen

<grin, he said zen<snarf

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Widow's Mite

The 'mite' of a widow
may have bought bread
for a man's last supper
but surely not fallen
into the hands of Ceasar,
for he left such dealings
with those that were taxing
curiously I then wonder
from what Widow did he
aquire such a term
for her legend still lives
in the palm of my hand

 

[My Erotic Trail]

Two monks were washing their bowls in the river when they noticed a scorpion that was drowning. One monk immediately scooped it up and set it upon the bank. In the process he was stung. He went back to washing his bowl and again the scorpion fell in. The monk saved the scorpion and was again stung. The other monk asked him, "Friend, why do you continue to save the scorpion when you know it's nature is to sting?"
"Because," the monk replied, "to save it is my nature."

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

Two monks were washing their bowls in the river when they noticed a scorpion that was drowning. One monk immediately scooped it up and set it upon the bank. In the process he was stung. He went back to washing his bowl and again the scorpion fell in. The monk saved the scorpion and was again stung. The other monk asked him, "Friend, why do you continue to save the scorpion when you know it's nature is to sting?"
"Because," the monk replied, "to save it is my nature."

cute, old story. where did you steal that one. what is your true nature?

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

Tale spin, true nature:
"Sounds like him <grin ...don't feel like the lone ranger ... I think all new poets recieve those. I still do <bigrin'"
who?
ZMP~ "We are Flowers"- a 3-get the picture,

I could go on, 1 person 1 Vote, an army of one

Now behave yourself, or I will be back

 

[My Erotic Trail]

how poetic

The Prime Minister of the Tang Dynasty was a national hero for his success as both a statesman and military leader. But despite his fame, power, and wealth, he considered himself a humble and devout Buddhist. Often he visited his favorite Zen master to study under him, and they seemed to get along very well. The fact that he was prime minister apparently had no effect on their relationship, which seemed to be simply one of a revered master and respectful student.

One day, during his usual visit, the Prime Minister asked the master, "Your Reverence, what is egotism according to Buddhism?" The master's face turned red, and in a very condescending and insulting tone of voice, he shot back, "What kind of stupid question is that!?"

This unexpected response so shocked the Prime Minister that he became sullen and angry. The Zen master then smiled and said, "THIS, Your Excellency, is egotism."

 

[MyNecroticSnail]

The Prime Minister of the Tang Dynasty was a national hero for his success as both a statesman and military leader. But despite his fame, power, and wealth, he considered himself a humble and devout Buddhist. Often he visited his favorite Zen master to study under him, and they seemed to get along very well. The fact that he was prime minister apparently had no effect on their relationship, which seemed to be simply one of a revered master and respectful student.

One day, during his usual visit, the Prime Minister asked the master, "Your Reverence, what is egotism according to Buddhism?" The master's face turned red, and in a very condescending and insulting tone of voice, he shot back, "What kind of stupid question is that!?"

This unexpected response so shocked the Prime Minister that he became sullen and angry. The Zen master then smiled and said, "THIS, Your Excellency, is egotism."

it would be nice if you absorbed this, not parrotted it

 

[My Erotic Trail]

There once lived a great warrior. Though quite old, he still was able to defeat any challenger. His reputation extended far and wide throughout the land and many students gathered to study under him.
One day an infamous young warrior arrived at the village. He was determined to be the first man to defeat the great master. Along with his strength, he had an uncanny ability to spot and exploit any weakness in an opponent. He would wait for his opponent to make the first move, thus revealing a weakness, and then would strike with merciless force and lightning speed. No one had ever lasted with him in a match beyond the first move.

Much against the advice of his concerned students, the old master gladly accepted the young warrior's challenge. As the two squared off for battle, the young warrior began to hurl insults at the old master. He threw dirt and spit in his face. For hours he verbally assaulted him with every curse and insult known to mankind. But the old warrior merely stood there motionless and calm. Finally, the young warrior exhausted himself. Knowing he was defeated, he left feeling shamed.

Somewhat disappointed that he did not fight the insolent youth, the students gathered around the old master and questioned him. "How could you endure such an indignity? How did you drive him away?"

"If someone comes to give you a gift and you do not receive it," the master replied, "to whom does the gift belong?"