October 2025 Exchange Complete! Enjoy two sample poems.

 The October 2025 Exchange is complete! A note from Jade. 

This issue is a preponderance of Plums. 10 members of Plum Village contributed. We had our first poem with concrete elements, with J.M W. of Peaceful Songbird integrating color text into their poem, a number of very short but powerful poems, and a long, lovely journey of a poem by Fire to close the issue out. 

With the permission of the poet, I am reproducing two poems here to give a taste of this Exchange. The second is mine.

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Amy. E

No Comparison

“You are greater than I,” said Beethoven to me in my dream.

What mockery, I thought, and rolled over.

“You are greater than I,” said Van Gogh, next.

My mind reeled at the outrageousness.

“You are greater than I,” said Einstein with a shrug.

I sat up in bed.

“What brings these words on,” I cried, with a hmph.

“We are naught but dust, notes in a song, pigments on a canvas or equations on a page,” was

the reply.

“You are worshipped everywhere,” I shouted back and continued,

“Your creations are admired and employed everyday around the world.

Whereas I have done nothing of importance and I am anonymous.

Museums, books, songs and statues are created for you and about you.”

Silence.

Then.

“What good is this to us?

You have everything we want.

The taste of water

The first thought of the day

Awe for a bird in flight.

The hum of the crickets

The smile of a dear one

The familiar ache of an old hurt

The beat of a favorite song.

All these and more are lost to us.

Oh, to be alive once more!”

I lay back in bed.

The softness of my pillow sang to me.

The wind brushed up against my window with a sigh.

I wiggled my toes and cried out with a squeak.

I am alive!

I am not just a notion.

I am here.

I am now.

I am living.

With no great accomplishments, no great fame, no great power.

I am living,

Simply,

To enjoy my life.

---

Jade K.
As it Ended
(describing a “good” walking meditation around April 2025)
In the part of my mind that is free
there is a lollipop for every hurt.
There is a bird singing
to every scraped knee.
There are gloves for my toes.
There are children with enough parents. 
There are lazy hours,
lazy days, in the free part of my mind,
there are times when the ache
does not come. 

But in the freest portion of that freedom
there is no gender or sound.
There is no water to drink
and no throat to thirst,
there is no gender euphoria
and no desire to hold another,
there are no notions,
there are no words, 
no striving,
no succeeding,
no wanting.

I don't think that is it either. 

But once I dwelled in this part of my mind
that was plainly here,
my backyard fell into me
and I into it,
and there wasn't a word that could describe it,
nor a word that entered me,
in that space between boundaries.

As it ended
my thoughts were so so slow
you could drop one
and hear it echo.
Then notions and words returned. 
Now I want to let go
so I am thirsty. 

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