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Warrior Song of King Gesar
Our earth is wounded Her oceans and lakes are sick Her rivers are like running sores The air is filled with subtle poisons And the oily smoke of countless hellish fires blackens the sun Day has become night. Fish are born deformed; birds fall lifeless from the sky Forests and plains wither Animals running ... continuePosted April 17, 2009 by Jennifer Holder
A Wary Invitation to my Future Child by Ethan Nichtern
“And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.” – Walt Whitman, Crossing Brooklyn Ferry 1. The Disclaimer Let me just say I’m not expecting you for a while Except by tragedy of bubble-burst ... continuePosted April 10, 2009 by Jessica Sarapoff
Two Poems from White Clouds: 108 Poems by John Castlebury
CHYRON FOR A WALK The yellow field or the green-tinted field The blue font scrawling in a neat hand Pink rose looks strange out of its element Paperweight rocks from the beach sit idly Stepping stones are nearly overgrown As blue font scrawls across yellow field Rain steams off the road like ... continuePosted April 4, 2009 by Jessica Sarapoff
Chogyam Trungpa reads Trungpa the Poet – HIGHLIGHT
In this recording, taken from the Audio Archives of Naropa University, the Vidyadhara reads few of his poems, accompanied by David Rome. Each poem is introduced by him. The reading includes poetry written in English, as well as his poetry written in Tibetan and translated into ... continuePosted April 3, 2009 by Jessica Sarapoff
Father Death Blues by Allen Ginsberg – HIGHLIGHT
Allen Ginsberg sings “Father Death Blues,” a poem originally written at his father’s death. Now more than twenty years after Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche’s passing into parinirvana, it can also be read as a vibrant, truthful, extremely touching and beautiful hommage to Trungpa Rinpoche. This video comes ... continuePosted April 2, 2009 by Jessica Sarapoff
Shining – Brillance
By/de Nathalie-Pascale Alexandra Boisseau I am told that the magpies like to steal and accumulate shiny and precious objects. This evening in one nest, I found a mirror, And unbearable sadness. Sadness, what are you? As I struggle to console you, to fix you, to understand you, to control you, You ask ... continuePosted February 1, 2009 by nataliepascal-boisseau