The refuse of gold

I call it refuse,
and you call it gold.
You're happy to hear it,
I prefer it untold.

You tell me it's precious
a wisdom, a pearl!
To me, just as common
as acorn, a squirrel.

Scurrying rodents,
they're hopping around.
Common and ordinary
and hardly profound.

I guess they're quite cute
when the curl up their nose.
But hardly compare to
a wisdom, a rose.

I mine for the diamonds
so rare, of expense.
You marvel the acorns
by pound, a few pence.

My backyard a mountain
discarded of shell.
I'll burn it tomorrow
and send it to hell.

You tell me, "Don't do that!
It's precious and rare!"
My jaw hits the floor.
I gawk and I stare.

Am I quite snooty?
Do I look down my nose?
I can't understand
why you don't see the rose.

To me, it's such refuse
and piling too high.
You tell me its worth
is like earth and the sky.

Forget all this refuse.
I set it ablaze.
These shells of these acorns
they hardly amaze.

Diamonds and gold
so rare, of expense.
Marvel at acorns,
by pound, a few pence.

Am I quite snooty?
Afraid I'm a snob.
Pay money for acorns?
I think you've been robbed!

I'd certainly give you
all mine there for free.
But I'd rather be rid of
my old oaken tree.

It's branches so thick;
It's foliage so green.
The shade is so heavy;
the sun can't be seen!

I pulled out my chainsaw,
it quickly got trapped!
And the handle just splintered
when swung with my axe!

The squirrels they did gibber;
they laughed in the dark.
You told me, "Don't do that,
there's gold in that bark!"

I don't really think so.
It's old worthless wood.
I'd chop it all down.
And I wish that I could!

You see it's obscuring
that heavenly sky.
If the sun it could pierce it
you would not ask why.

There's something more precious
than acorns and squirrels.
Something more solid
than this trash you dub pearls.

Perhaps I'm quite snooty
or crazy or high.
I could be insane,
but there's gold in the sky!
I glimpsed it in winter
the light caught my eye.
Oh that we see it,
you would not ask why.

The final lament

If the heavens split open;
If the sky does fall.
That won't vex me.
Not at all.

If the earth cracks open;
If lava rush through.
Peacefully,
I say adieu.

But endlessly,
to leave, return.
That's the fire,
I can't watch burn.

To have the chance
to escape this mess.
And fail miserably
the final test.

To reach the border,
but not the shore.
A taste of honey,
so adored.

If the sky splits open;
If the earth does rend.
Can we welcome them
as long last friend?

But the gate was opened;
but can't walk through.
Lament mistaking
the false for True.

Ad nauseam

Shall I wax poetic?
Increase in words?
If I babbled at length,
would that be absurd?

Shall I expound on all
that I can see?
Blather into
infinity?

Points of view,
I've sure got mine.
I could drone ad nauseam
if you have the time.

I could bore you with such
points of interest.
Although, to you,
may make no difference.

If I waxed poetic,
would you think me vain?
Waste your time
with minutiae inane.

Your patience, saintly;
you're quite polite.
But next time don't let me
expound this tripe!

Time is precious,
and I'm wasting yours.
I drone ad nauseam,
and it's so absurd.
I wax poetic;
increase in words.
Such senseless babble
should go unheard!

Why give your audience?
Why lend your ear?
Why endure so calmly
and not run from here?

Shall we wax poetic
on all we find?
I could drone ad nauseam,
if you have the time.

Gravity bound

Been trying to leave here
since born of this earth.
I can't stand the hunger;
I can't stand the thirst.
Gravity bound me
since day of my birth.
This body so heavy
I don't mean the girth.

Steadily, inexorably,
it's pulling me down.
I'd rather be elsewhere
I'm gravity bound.
This appetite binds me
the sights and the sound.
I'm mentally babbling
pretending profound.

Been trying to leave here
since day of my birth.
This body so heavy
I don't mean the girth.
I'd rather be elsewhere
but fell for this earth.
The damned of the fallen;
now cuddling dirt.

Praying

We pray to God.
This much is true.
Prayers sent to Heaven,
and God prays too.

We pray an end
to suff'ring and strife.
God prays too,
and prayed your life.

We pray for mercy
and right reprieve.
So earnestly
on bended knee.

We look to the sky.
We plead and wait.
And God looks out,
and does the same.

We bow our heads
yet see no sign.
Feeling abandoned
we sob and cry.
Pray and pray
and wonder why.
We are our answer
our own reply.

We pray to God.
And God prays too.
God sent a prayer,
and it was you.

Paradise

The mountains high,
the skies so blue,
And all the sights
so fresh and new
No shortage of things
to see and do.
But paradise,
it passes too.

The mountain air,
the tropical sun.
Passerby:
a morning run.
A misty shower
that angels send.
But paradise,
it also ends.

The sun retires
to starry skies.
A different city
comes alive.
It seems an ideal
place to lie.
But paradise
won't always thrive.

The people bright,
the faces new,
some foreigners
in white and blue.
Sharing about
what's false what's True.
And paradise
it needs this too.

White clouds yield
to Bodhi sun.
Passerby:
a morning run.
The sounds of street
they pulse and thrive
as quiet drummers
come alive.

Seeking sideways.
Spinning 'round.
Climbing up
and falling down.
Looking,
it cannot be found.
And paradise
is more profound.

The mountains high,
the city streets.
A little drummer
and silent beats.
A change of heart
in tranquil time.
And paradise
cannot be mine.

A plane departs
to foreign land.
Where is conductor
of this band?
Can the drummers
beat in time?
Paradise,
won't you be mine?

The mountains high,
the skies so blue.
And none of it
compares to you.
Who discerns
what's false what's True.
And paradise,
it needs this too.

Intercession

Below Lotus
Kneeling
Bended knee.
Buddha, won't you
intercede?

We've weaved a mess here
in the muck.
Buddha, won't you
lift us up?

Silence
came the poignant reply.
Buddha! Rescue!
Lest we die!

A silence that crosses
time and space.
Buddha! We beg you!
Bestow your grace!

Buddha,
give us right reprieve!
Our enemies chase,
abuse, deceive!

Buddha!
Come!
Deliver us!
To the pristine lotus
beyond this muck.

You ask for what
you do not know.
And beg for grace
I did bestow.

Bestow I did,
but not your taste.
So kneeling, you beg
some other grace.

But there is no other
grace than this.
If you want the lotus
endure the shit.

Did you think
there was some other way?
If so, I'd have given it
yesterday!

Fake fertilizer
smells so sweet.
Yet die from cancer
before we meet.

You ask for gardens,
but not manure.
You want results
but can't endure.

You beg my mercy.
My mercy's this:
You beg for flowers;
I bless you shit.

My intercession
has already come.
The dawning of the
Bodhi Sun.

Get ready.
I tax you
further still.
Chase, besiege,
ground through the mill.

Below Lotus
Kneeling
Bended knee.
Buddha, won't you
intercede?