Guest poem sent in by sukrit
(Poem #725) Silver
Slowly, silently, now the moon Walks the night in her silver shoon; This way, and that, she peers, and sees Silver fruit upon silver trees; One by one the casements catch Her beams beneath the silvery thatch; Couched in his kennel, like a log, With paws of silver sleeps the dog; From their shadowy cote the white breast peep Of doves in silver-feathered sleep; A harvest mouse goes scampering by, With silver claws and a silver eye; And moveless fish in the water gleam, By silver reeds in a silver stream.
Silver is the creation of the moon. The sunlights falls on the moon, it reflects it back to earth and the world becomes a poem. Devoid of any sort of quasi-intellectualism we often try to put on, the poem radiates a lovely naturalness. Try this - close your eyes and be inside the frame of this poem. Its a pleasure beyond words. This poem has something that needs to be felt rather than just read or admired (for Walter's dexterity with words) i quote from "Three Pillars of Zen", "Every koan is a unique expression of the living, indivisible Buddha-nature, which cannot be grasped by the bifurcating intellect...To people who cherish the letter above the spirit, koans appear bewildering (and may i add trite, in our case)...(koans) force us to open ours mind's eye and see the world and everything in it undistorted by our concepts and judgments". Maybe its stretching it, calling this poem a koan, or maybe it isn't? sukrit -- "It's today!" said Piglet. "My favorite day," said Pooh.