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Poetic License

January 9, 2011

Recently I had cause to go back through my posts from the last year and a half and I have to say, this gem is worth a repost. I never much liked poetry, and was an abomination to boot. I can’t imagine whatever came over me when I wrote the following poem, but I actually got a good laugh out of it.

 

Yoga; an Ode

Each day to yoga I will go

The truth, I hope to know.

It is enlightenment I seek

Through the third eye I peak.

The studios all range

From serious to very strange.

Some trap you in the heat,

And often reek of feet.

The teachers you hope teach,

Often prefer to preach,

Against all forms of meats,

Or what a normal person eats.

Some yogis they are light,

And smile with all their might.

Bring you to a happy place,

And carve a smile on your face.

At bikram they tend to shout,

As they watch the sweat pour out,

And fall to puddles on the floor

Until you couldn’t possibly give more.

 

Kundalini brought to the surface,

A shaded sense of purpose…

That relation did not blossom,

Ultimately to something awesome.

At this point I must mention,

That I go with some intention

On this righteous quest

To become my very best.

I use the yoga to fill a chasm,

And often describe with some sarcasm,

The journey on which I go,

Encountering much vinyasa flow.

Vinyasa is but one lone kind

Of yoga to help ease my mind,

And stretch out each and every limb

Without nearing yonder gym.

In the heat of an Ashtanga series

In my mind are many queries.

Please tell me how it goes,

That my ear is on my toes?

Or in Iyengar I use a prop

And open my hips with a pop!

I near the wall with due suspicion

To then hang there in submission.

Each asana is something too,

And hard ones bring pain anew.

Bat pose is something rare,

At its full incarnation you will stare.

Scorpion to which I aspire,

Lift legs up like spire,

Drop them down upon your head

Gives you lots of yoga cred.

Lotus pose, it seems so easy

But after some time you get queasy

As the pain shoots through your knee,

From the room you wish to flee.

Downward dog, the resting pose,

Is no such thing , everyone knows.

From beneath you hands do slip,

Face to the floor in one short trip.

Head stands, now those are fun.

That Dharma Mittra, he’s a one,

That no longer needs his hands

To support him as he stands.

Arm balances like the crow,

Grow easier as you go,

But only if early the yogi nabs

A great deal of strength in the abs.

Many yogis I’ve met tend to decree

That child’s pose is king, quite simply.

Here’s an argument I’d like to make,

Corpse pose surely takes the cake.

As unlikely as it seems,

It is yoga that fills my dreams,

And keeps me centered all the day

As work steals my time away.

One day I’d like to complete

Something in yoga more concrete.

Perhaps like a training feature,

So that I can be a teacher.

My passion and love I will share,

Abandoning sarcasm if I dare.

Perhaps if I am very lucky,

Pupils will write odes to me.

Om shanti shanti shanti

 

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