Bright Moon and Buddha
My mother told me when I was nine
Life is fair and fine within Buddha’s sight
You must be diligent and you must try
You are your own Buddha in life
The moon is the Buddha I learned at night
She always shines to keep the dark world bright
To give those who seek wisdom and peace of mind
A renewing respite after continuing strive
Quietly she guides
To give all followers directions and delight
She is always right
Because in you she resides
My mother is now gone
But the wisdom she had left behind
Is forever in me shone my guide
She is my Buddha and moon lifelong
Mushroom Hunt
We chumps set out early at dawn to hunt
For wild mushrooms before the rising sun
The moist cool earth keeps our bare feet on run
A fond feeling remembered in years to come
I got one shouts one of us his eyes flashing delight
As he sees a single mushroom appears poise on a hill side
Sure as a button more mushrooms stand on higher grounds
We pick and cheer as we gather them in rounds
Those were wonderful childhood days in rustic life
Where green hills and clear rills surround fields of rice
Where trees shade busy farmers under the burning sun
As people grow and harvest in cycles enjoying the fun
Friendship lasts to keep individual spirits high
Gifts of nature are shared with gratitude and pride
Mushrooms thrive after heavy dews where cows had left their daunts
They are nourishing and delicious when cooked lightly or well-done
Childhood Then and Now
How I enjoy wading through the hillside brook to find fish
Sounds echoing in the valley seem to answer my wish
I know not images of beauty poets find in Nature yet
Just jump with joy when a tiny fish is caught in my net
Murmurs heard from the brook says something to me
Distant hills and trees show time permanence and peace
If by chance a sudden downpour wet me all over
The cleanliness felt goes well with the cool delight ever
When my Mom’s call for home resounds on all sides
It is time to run home fast before hearing her sighs
Happiness is a day spent with a good catch
And how a warm hug welcomes me with a smile to match
I now watch my grandson spending his hours and days in school
A three-year-old he attends classes to learn to say and to spell
To line up for turns to sing jump and sit on a designated stool
And to play computer games for fun and everything else
His parents enrolled him to school when he was eight months old
Least when he reaches two he be denied admission to a choice school
To prepare him for interviews his mother drills him to smile and charm
And to respond to questions and commands such as to words rhyme
As he advances from playgroups to kindergarten next year
His teacher will discipline him like a soldier with no freedom to fear
I dare not guess what kind of a child he becomes reaching six or seven
He will certainly not catch fishes nor listen to songs from heaven