Sri Lanka haiku
after traveller’s tummy —
a calming breakfast
on the Laccadive Sea
˜
handbag-free
no iPhone to count my steps —
beach walk
˜
Gangaramaya shrine…
an old lady adds some jasmine
to our flower tray
˜
accompanying us
uphill to the sacred footprint —
frog tones
˜
the temple’s lily pond
stripped of its blooms —
full moon day
˜
chatter in the tour bus stops tsunami damage
˜
storm breaking we circumambulate the wishing stupa
˜
Fourteen Days
Mother has stopped eating
I google what happens next:
others who have done this
survive around fourteen days.
I google what happens next:
hunger-strikers and anorexics
survive around fourteen days,
declining to drink water.
Hunger-strikers and anorexics
turn their faces to the wall,
decline drinking water,
refuse all foodstuffs.
She has turned her face to the wall
though she seems quite serene:
refusing all foodstuffs,
just lying in her bed.
She seems quite serene,
like others who have done this,
just lying in her bed –
our mother has stopped eating.
Buddhas of Asia
After seeing the world’s largest indoor seated bronze Buddha at Nara,
I visit the largest outdoor seated bronze Buddha outside Hong Kong.
This difference is important: big Buddhas mean big business –
everyone wants a piece of His calm. Later I see the smallest
Buddha in the world, through a magnifying glass placed
behind more glass, in a temple in Colombo;
not long after I stumble upon the casket
bearing some of His skullbone relics
in the National Museum of India
where I learn that He had had
an early aniconic phase: His
only representations then
the Wheel of Dharma,
an empty throne,
the Bodhi tree,
footprints…
Europe haiku sequence
coffee al fresco
the horsefly takes
half a bite
˜
human statue –
his companion applies more paint
this sweltering day
˜
peeling a courgette…
the sound of child’s play
in another language
˜
boat tour of the port –
a drone generates
the most excitement
˜
balmy night
a swallow dips close
to my breaststroke
˜
city lake –
a moorhen leads her chicks
towards the evening sun
˜
A Lapsed Catholic’s Prayer
or two, or three,
or try twenty –
said in twenty churches
and cathedrals, all
along St. James’s
way, with rows
of matching flame-wax.
On a May-day
I come to rest
in Notre Dame
as choral notes
drift upwards
to kiss a trio
of glass roses.
Fourteen Days and other poems are © Maeve O’Sullivan |
Chris Murray 