This is my first poem here, hope you like it. let me know if it breaks any guidelines.

I sit down to meditate
and immediately I become frustrated
how slow meditation is
why can't I do it faster and more efficiently?

then I laugh at the absurdity of that idea
I take a spacious breath

then slowly I become frustrated
with a knot in my stomach
how slow meditation is
why can't I do it faster and more efficiently?

Forest.

Thousands of tree-bodies and mine.

Leaves are waving,

Ears hear the stream's call,

Eyes see into the sky of mind,

A half-smile unfolds on every leaf.

There is a forest here

Because I am here.

But mind has followed the forest

And clothed itself in green.

Benign and Gentle Saraswati, Your Sacred Veena has spoken the Myths and Epics that come from a Vision Eightfold, between the Vibration of Its strings lies Plane after Plane of Your Beautiful Knowledge to behold, from Your Teachings, the Mind Ascends Upwards, expanding our Conciousness to levels of Wisdom Untold. Together with Lakshmi and Parvati, You reside in the Triplicate of Creation, of Art, of Luck, by the Messages of Your Peacock and Swan, Dugar's Crashing Thunderbolt will be fiercely struck, for not much longer, will the Kali Yuga be allowed to run amuck. On a White Horse of Triumph, by the Blazing Blade of Kalki, the Battle will be won on such a Bright, Benevolent Day, and when It's done, Saraswati shall strum and hum the Cursed Night to Distant Dimensions that are Entire Universes away, against the Ganges flow, all the Deva and the Devi will witness the Courage with which a Lion defends the Gateway.

 Whistling grasses of the Esk Valley,
 So many incidents occur.
 The image is the climate of this part of the country.
 There comes a hailstorm--
 Children, children, seek protection!
 A mighty thunderbolt strikes to the ground.
 It does not make any distinction between trustees and the 
     spiritual leader.
 Violent winds shake the Scots pine tree,
 Copper beech and rhododendrons.
 I said to myself,
 You, most mighty of all, should have come three weeks earlier.
 Here is the big storm.
 Buckets of rain pour down.
 The Esk river turns reddish in color,
 Sweeps all the trees and branches away.
 A mighty force invades our valley--
 Fishes thrown up on the banks for the birds' delight.

 Chogyam watches all this,
 Wishing that I could be one of those fishes,
 That this ruthless political current would throw me away.
 Why wasn't I born an innocent fish
 That would die in peace on the banks of the Esk?
 If karma exists the weather will adjust.
 I am not seeking revenge.
 I am seeking peace
 As one of those fish peacefully dead on the bank,
 Its body a feast of its victory.

 "When I was a young apprentice,
 I slipped into the currents.
 
 "Carried along this way and that,
 I grasped blindly
 praying every time
 that some fortunate cord
 might arrest my drowning--
 instead, always finding debris.
 
 "You never forget this feeling,"
 the Old Man said,
 "when promise dissolves into rockweed."

 "So, dear friend, today I see
 none among all
 your precious wares
 worth carrying home."

I'm yelling out at the top lungs, but it seems like my screams are falling upon deaf ears. The same plight that those who came before still exist. When did we loose our way? How did it come to this? My ansectors sacrificed their lives to give me the gift of "I can."

They fought to abolish inequality. They marched to do away with no. They bled to disintegrate shan't Yet my government habitually tells me I I can't. I can't wear a hood. I can't operate a defective vehicle. I can't play with water pistols. I can't have my music up above more than one decibel. I can't reach for wallet. I can't have a meeting out in public with a group larger than three. I can't sell sell cigarettes. Whew. I can't breathe. Now I can't even have the right to remain silent. Is this what they died for? Is this what America is suppose to be? If I speak on it I'm a trouble maker. If I openly share my thoughts; I get accused of sewing the seeds of hate. Is bowing down to genocide suppose to be my fate? Don't I have the right to have my loved ones come home safely at night? The freedom bell tolls. It tolls for America. It tolls the. The bell tolls. The freedom bell does not toll for me.

In this way and that, I tried to save the old pail
Since the bamboo strip was weakening and about to break
Until at last the bottom fell out.
 

No more water in the pail!
No more moon in the water!

From Zen Flesh / Zen Bones

Unborn, yet continuing without interruption,
neither coming nor going, omnipresent,
Supreme Dharma,
unchangeable space, without definition,
spontaneously self-liberating--
perfectly unobstructed state--
manifest from the very beginning,
self-created, without location,
with nothing negative to reject,
and nothing positive to accept,
infinite expanse, penetrating everywhere,
immense, and without limits, without ties,
with nothing even to dissolve
or to be liberated from,
manifest beyond space and time,
existing from the beginning,
immense inner space,
radiant through clarity
like the Sun and the Moon,
self-perfected,
indestructible like a Vajra,
stable as a mountain,
pure as a lotus,
strong as a lion,
incomparable pleasure beyond all limits,
illumination, equanimity,
peak of the Dharma,
light of the Universe,
perfect from the beginning.

 Busy little housebuilder,
 I am captivated by
 our dwelling's newest additions.

 These proud towers
 make for comfortable abidings.

 And these magnificent halls
 --crossing as like spider's webs--
 span as far as the eye can see.

 What will you do
 When the water rises?

Opportunity
& humanity's freedoms
Are hard to attain

What is born must die
What comes together will part
So why do we cling?

Good produces good
& for bad the same applies
Action; consequence

Life is tragedy
Yet admitting this is peace
Accept it, let go

Admit something.

Everyone you see, you say to them

“Love me.”

Of course you do not do this out loud:

Otherwise,

Someone would call the cops.

Still, though, think about this,

This great pull in us

To connect.

Why not become the one

Who lives with a full moon in each eye

That is always saying,

With that sweet moon

Language,

What every other eye in this world

Is dying to

Hear.

Shame on you Shakyamuni for setting
the precedent
of leaving home.
Did you think it was not there –
    in your wife's lovely face
    or your baby's laughter?
Did you think you had to go   elsewhere
to find it?
Tsk, tsk.
I am here to show you
dear sir
that you needn't step
even one sixteenth of an inch away – stay
here – elbows dripping with soapy water
         stay  here – spit up all over your chest
         stay here – steam rising in lazy curls from
                                       cream of wheat
Poor Shakyamuni – sitting under the Bo tree
                           miles away from home
Venus shone all the while

 Craving comes, as like a swarm of gnats at dusk.
 
 Daydreaming, a dullard fails
 to notice this cloud in the distance
 until he feels it striking his face.
 
 He swats about foolishly,
 exciting those little hunters
 and exposing his skin to their teeth;
 
 Or otherwise--averting his gaze
 and dashing toward pleasant abodes--
 learns nothing.
 
 Open your eyes and look!
 
 Look, whenever it arises,
 with uncompromising vision
 at this mass of suffering and harassment.

 Learn its nature and anatomy--
 its arrivals, departures, and homes.
 
 At first your eyes may sting,
 But then you will start to see.

 Having extinguished
 the last great source
 of my mundane confusion,
 lightness and clarity of purpose arose.
 
 Mind resolved,
 seeing no other roads
 worth pursuing,
 
 I will gratefully walk this path
 until the day of my final Unbinding.