[Arts] My autumn poem

[Onsho]

Every year I am born from the frost, thrive in the sun, and I die in the snow.

I am a flower that emerges from the frozen ground to take place in the yearly cycle. I get blown in the wind. I get nurtured by the rain and the shade. I feel content, and I sow my seeds to start the process once again before sinking back into the autumn mud.

Deep in my bones I’m beginning to feel my pedals loosen, winter is coming.
Rest is coming.

Every year I am born from the frost, thrive in the sun and die in the snow.


Gassho,
Keith
Satlah

[Mark-us]

Thank you for posting this poem. It is beautiful and fitting for the fall weather where I live.

Gassho,
Markus
Sat

[Rocio]

Beatiful

Sat today
Rocío

[Jundo]

Lovely!

You might enjoy our poets corner, Keith, where on might hang with the other Zen Bards.

https://www.treeleaf.org/forums/foru...php?186-Poetry

(Later, I will move your poem over there so that we might keep it around).

Gassho, Jundo

stlah

[Onsho]

Amazing! I didn’t know we had a place like that here. I just found it in the practises category.
It looks cozy there. Thank you for directions, I didn’t even know I was lost.

Gassho,
Keith
Satlah

Lovely!

You might enjoy our poets corner, Keith, where on might hang with the other Zen Bards.

https://www.treeleaf.org/forums/foru...php?186-Poetry

(Later, I will move your poem over there so that we might keep it around).

Gassho, Jundo

stlah

[Mokuso]

Every year I am born from the frost, thrive in the sun, and I die in the snow.

I am a flower that emerges from the frozen ground to take place in the yearly cycle. I get blown in the wind. I get nurtured by the rain and the shade. I feel content, and I sow my seeds to start the process once again before sinking back into the autumn mud.
Deep in my bones I’m beginning to feel my pedals loosen, winter is coming.
Rest is coming.

Every year I am born from the frost, thrive in the sun and die in the snow.


Gassho,
Keith
Satlah

my autumn poem, quickly translated from Swedish to English.

My hands they are shaking.
When I know what they cause
and not an apple exists that tastes.
Fear, regret and worry
builds an ever-larger nest.
What kind of faith it breeds.

There is a fire at the nearest farm.
Someone drives around in an old Ford.
Stops and happily shouts record.
The fire engine cannot be heard with its screeching
and I can't bring myself to go out.
The water has run out anyway.

Autumn has now made its entrance.
I take my newspaper and eat a pie.
Sees a country drowned by a wave.
Stormy winds, bombs and guns.
I burn my tongue and swear.
Yes, that's the way it is.