In Praise of the Lama

In Praise of the Lama


I have been here ever since I left;

watching the flying flowers of Tara Mandala

flutter above the faces of their earth bound sisters.

The red winged black bird still sways on slender reeds,

his shrill cries announcing the interloper –

rooted beings stretch to hear his voice.


Green clad mothering hills roll away

brushed by the bodies of clouds,

necklaced in rainbow radiance.

Elk graze on the verge of the forest,

too shy to ravage the lettuce in the hard won garden

as the brazen wild horses do.


Young coyotes squabble at midnight, shrill as children

on a playground.  At dawn their elders, lamenting

the first edge of the day, call the wandering pups to sleep.

Here the holy one has said, byung-b” – called into

this valley a Mandala in the wilderness where those

Blessed to know of its existence come to take Refuge.



Barbara A. Coloe