Meaningless Black and Meaningless Orange

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

The monk alone includes the universe,

No abbot and no temple needed here.

The robe can sit alone and chant a verse

And nothing more is needed:  Buddha’s near

Is what the plain robe knows.  The garden path

Was made so long ago that now the curve

Means everything despite the gods and wrath.

Ten thousand doctrines twirl and shift and swerve

Explaining all and teaching nothing though

The monk and abbot and the temple surge

Together or remain apart.  They glow

In separation and when fused with urge.

  Nirvana waits inside the flesh and gate

     And robes.  Their preachment is the lack of fate.

© Phillip Whidden