The Big Buddha House

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Raven, with her hood down, meditating.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day eight in the Big Buddha House,

and all is well.

There’s jam on my toast,

and my drink is swell;

and even the rota,

says I’m free ‘til the bell.

 

Sat on the cushion,

meditation’s not pushin’

my buttons today,

all is calm for a change,

Mental weather is clement,

and nothing to lament,

in the Big Buddha House today.

 

Prostration – not frustratin’

and the bruise on my knee,

nearly gone thankfully,

and the muscles in my tum’

no longer undone;

I can launch with abandon,

then horizontal to standin’ –

not bad for an old bird like me!

 

Then the talks – they inspire,

and my mind is on fire,

with ideas and with thoughts,

with a passion they course,

and my heart it does swell,

and I’m leaning as well,

Yes! These things they call ethics,

are quite deep and complex,

let’s leave it at that, just for now…

 

Oh – the food is sublime,

as I sit down to dine.

Delia is surpassed!

Skilful cooks make repast,

and the smells in the steam,

am I sensing Tajine,

in the Big Buddha House today?

 

And then there’s our dorm,

floor two, number one,

where sisters in Dharma,

sleep safe, warm, and calm;

and I have to confess

though my bed is a mess,

and my corner’s a state,

we three, are good mates,

in our cosy warm dorm –

floor two, number one.

 

Day eight in the Big Buddha House,

and all is well.

There’s jam on my toast,

and my drink is swell;

and even the rota,

says I’m free ‘til the bell.

 

© The Big Buddha House 22.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Raven, with her hood down, meditating. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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The Perfect Breakfast

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English: I took this picture. Grilled cheese s...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My tea is too hot,

my tea is too cold,

my tea is too sweet,

the milk is too old.

 

The toast is too burnt,

it’s not brown enough,

I wanted white bread,

Oh no… not the crust!

 

I can’t find my jam,

the banana’s got spots,

there is no fruit knife,

the apple’s got rot!

 

The porridge is lumpy,

I can taste tahini,

I’ve added some milk,

and now it’s too creamy!

 

I’ve lost my spot,

someone else is sat there,

I wanted to sit,

in my favourite chair.

 

I’m trapped in a corner,

I’m sat in a draft,

I’m too near the door,

Oh! All this is daft!

 

I should just be grateful,

that I’m here today,

living and breathing,

the middle way.

 

it’s ten twenty four,

we meditate in a bit,

I stand at the door,

now where shall I sit?

 

This cushion’s too high,

this cushion’s too low,

this cushion’s too lumpy,

and on it goes…

 

© The Perfect Breakfast 24.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

English: I took this picture. Grilled cheese sandwich with white bread, American cheese, and tomato soup. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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Change

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Gerber Daisy With Raindrops

 

 

 

 

 

 

Will I be changed when I go home?

 

Physiologically within my anatomy,

the square root of all, as follicles fall,

and even my skin, the body I’m in,

will all have aged, showing signs of decay,

the reminders that say, time is passing away.

 

And what of my mind, what will I find,

when I peer inside, mental chatter subsided?

Still waters run deep, has the ethical seeped,

within my being, all knowing all seeing?

Will the sky like mind be more refined?

 

And what of my words, will they be kindly heard?

Will they help and caress, not causing me stress?

No longer frivolous, talking of trivial stuff,

but gentle with harmony, causin’ no harm today,

encouraging and pure, where less is more.

 

Will I be changed when I go? I sincerely hope so.

All these ethics abound, turned my brain upside down,

which connects to my heart, from which I can start,

more subtle and deeper, universal teacher.

I can put into practice, no delusion or malice,

all the things I have learned for which my heart yearns,

and Yes! – I am changing.

 

© Change 30.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

Gerber Daisy With Raindrops (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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Retreating

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Tiratanaloka shrine

Tiratanaloka shrine (Photo credit: Triratna Photos)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hi

Just to let you know I am vanishing off on retreat for two weeks. I will be back on the 29th November, hopefully all refreshed and buzzing with poetry 🙂

 

You can find me on Facebook – please feel free to visit and follow 🙂

Worldly Winds Poetry

 

 

Dorothy

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They called you ‘big Dot’,

and I was ‘little Dot’,

you hated that.

Remember when,

on Christmas Eve,

chickenpox struck

with great malaise?

Granddad came to visit me,

and how he laughed,

and how he teased,

‘spotty Dotty’, he would say.

 

Remember the day, he came to play,

in his best green polka dot shirt?

‘Who’s spotty now?’

I shouted out loud.

You hit me,

it hurt.

 

© Dorothy 14.11.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

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Natural Order

Remembering

Worldly Winds's avatarWorldly Winds

Dedicated to those gone, too soon and too young –

Always in our hearts…

Findlay's spirit

 

 

 

 

 

 

How can it be?

When it is not natural.

Not this way,

from the blind side.

How can it be?

Order?

When it is out of order,

out of the ordinary,

extra ordinary.

You oxymoron,

natural order.

How can it be?

 

© Natural Order 07.11.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Findlay’s spirit (Photo credit: beccaplusmolly)

 

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Sybarites

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Veiled in anonymity,

hidden from the world to see,

living out my life I’m never known.

 

Feeling that I don’t belong;

you all sing a different song,

quietly I slip on by unseen.

 

As the moon its teardrops cry,

each a star lights up the sky,

as it hears my heartbreak every night.

 

One day though I will belong,

you will hear my siren’s song,

ring throughout the universe unbound.

 

Until then I’m here to stay,

writing with my words I play,

poets sybarite will haunt my heart.

 

© Sybarites 28.10.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Picture credit – unknown – if you are the owner and wish for the picture to be removed please contact me, likewise if you are the owner and wish to be credited, please provide details and I will happily add the credit.

 

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WoMan Flu

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Image of a container of Vicks VapoRub

 

Just to let everyone know – my woman flu has finally cleared up! I just thought I’d share this silly poem for fun – thank you for all the well wishes 🙂

 

 

 

A poet with a head cold

is not so good to see

fuelled by Olbas and by Vicks

tissues to fell a tree

 

Cannot think of words to write

has lost their sense of meter

rhymes won’t work and sPeLing’s gone

it could be writ much neater

 

My brain’s contracted that’s 4 sure

and poems just turn out grotty

So I’ll just snuggle in my bed

and knock back ten hot toddies

 

© WoMan Flu 21.10.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Image of a container of Vicks VapoRub (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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