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What would you like to do?
Scarecrow in the hillock
Paddy field --
How unaware! How useful!
Passing through the world
Indeed this is just
Sogi's rain shelter.
A wild sea-
In the distance over Sado
The Milky Way.
The she cat -
Grown thin
From love and barley.
How wild the sea is,
and over Sado Island,
the River of Heaven
Morning and evening
Someone waits at Matsushima!
One-sided love.
Wrapping dumplings in
bamboo leaves, with one finger
she tidies her hair
On Buddha's birthday
a spotted fawn is born –
just like that
On Buddha's deathday,
wrinkled tough old hands pray –
the prayer beads' sound
I like to wash,
the dust of this world
In the droplets of dew.
With dewdrops dripping,
I wish somehow I could wash
this perishing world
Won't you come and see
loneliness? Just one leaf
from the kiri tree.
moonless night...
a powerful wind embraces
the ancient cedars
Behind Ise Shrine,
unseen, hidden by the fence,
Buddha enters nirvana
This ruined temple
should have its sad tale told only
by a clam digger
in my new clothing
i feel so different, i must
look like someone else
low tide morning...
the willow skirts are tailed
in stinking mud
A green willow,
dripping down into the mud,
at low tide.
a clear waterfall —
into the ripples
fall green pine-needles
overhanging pine...
adding its mite of needles
to the waterfall
The pine tree of Shiogoshi
Trickles all night long
Shiny drops of moonlight.
Culture's beginnings:
rice-planting songs from the heart
of the country
Singing, planting rice,
village songs more lovely
than famous city poems
Spring air --
Woven moon
And plum scent.
Heated spring air
In tiny waves of an inch or two -
Above wintery grass.
Fresh spring!
The world is only Nine days old -
These fields and mountains!
Spring!
A nameless hill
in the haze.
it is spring!
a hill without a name
in thin haze
Oh, these spring days!
A nameless little mountain,
wrapped in morning haze!
Spring too, very soon!
They are setting the scene for it --
plum tree and moon.
From all directions
Winds bring petals of cherry
Into the grebe lake.
Under the image of Buddha
All these spring flowers
Seem a little tiresome.
The leafless cherry,
Old as a toothless woman,
Blooms in flowers,
Mindful of its youth.
That great blue oak
indifferent to all blossoms
appears more noble
The oak tree stands
noble on the hill even in
cherry blossom time
Spring rain
conveyed under the trees
in drops.
Spring rain
Leaking through the roof,
Dripping from the wasps' nest.
In this warm spring rain,
tiny leaves are sprouting
from the eggplant seed
The sun's way:
hollyhocks turn toward it
through all the rains of May.
Spring departs.
Birds cry
Fishes' eyes are filled with tears
No blossoms and no moon,
and he is drinking sake
all alone!
Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain.
A perfect evening!
A little girl under a peach tree,
Whose blossoms fall into the entrails
Of the earth.
By the old temple,
peach blossoms;
a man treading rice.
Unknown spring --
Plum blossom
Behind the mirror.
With plum blossom scent,
this sudden sun emerges
along a mountain trail
Very brief:
Gleam of blossoms in the treetops
On a moonlit night.
From among the peach-trees
"Blooming everywhere,"
The first cherry blossoms.
A lovely spring night
suddenly vanished while we
viewed cherry blossoms
From every direction
cherry blossom petals blow
into Lake Biwa
Kannon's* tiled temple
roof floats far away in clouds
of cherry blossoms
(Bodhisattva of Compassion)
From all these trees –
in salads, soups, everywhere –
cherry blossoms fall
Cedar umbrellas, off
to Mount Yoshimo for
the cherry blossoms.
On a journey,
Resting beneath the cherry blossoms,
I feel myself to be in a Noh play.
in the blossoms’ shade
as in the noh drama
a traveller sleeps
Clouds of cherry blossoms!
Is that temple bell in Ueno
or Asakusa?
The temple bell stops.
But the sound keeps coming
out of the flowers.
all the more I wish to see
in those blossoms at dawn
the face of a god
Searching storehouse eaves,
rapt in plum blossom smells,
the mosquito hums
Bush clover in blossom waves
Without spilling
A drop of dew.
the moon still is
though it seems far from home
Suma in summer
Taking a nap,
Feet planted
Against a cool wall.
Melon
In morning dew,
mud-fresh.
Wet with morning dew
and splotched with mud, the melon
looks especially cool
The old pond:
a frog jumps in,-
the sound of water.
Frog pond --
A leaf falls in
Without a sound
The old pond;
the frog.
Plop!
At the ancient pond
a frog plunges into
the sound of water
Summer moon -
Clapping hands,
I herald dawn.
Mogami River, yanking
The burning sky
Into the sea.
Yellow rose petals
Thunder -
A waterfall.
Cold white azalea -
Lone nun
Under thatched roof.
Three months after we saw
Cherry blossoms together
I came to see the glorious
Twin trunks of the pine.
I felt quite at home,
As if it were mine sleeping lazily
In this house of fresh air.
June clouds,
At ease on
Arashiyama Peak.
Octopus traps -
summer’s moonspun dreams,
soon ended.
Summer in the world;
floating on the waves
of the lake.
in your summer-room...
garden and mountain going too
as we slowly walk
Ugoku ha mo
Naku osoroshiki
Natsu kodachi
Even leaves don't move
Awesome is the
Summer grove
The summer's grass!
all that's left
of ancient warriors' dreams.
Summer grasses:
all that remains of great soldiers’
imperial dreams
A thicket of summer grass
Is all that remains
Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
All the rains of June
it brings together, and it is swift --
the river Morgami.
Summer zashiki
Make move and enter
The mountain and the garden.
This hot day swept away
into the sea by the
Mogami River
A lightning gleam:
into darkness travels
a night heron's scream.
Along the roadside,
blossoming wild roses
in my horse’s mouth
The farmer's roadside
hedge provided lunch for
my tired horse
My horse
Clip-clopping over the fields--Oh ho!
I too am part of the picture!
All day in grey rain
hollyhocks follow the sun's
invisible road
An ivy spray
Trained up over the wall
And a few bamboos
Inviting a tempest.
How many priests
How many morning glories
Have perished under the pine
Eternal as law?
along the mountain road
somehow it tugs at my heart—
a wild violet
Traveling this high
mountain trail, delighted
by violets
looking carefully,
a shepherds purse is blooming
under the fence
petal by petal
yellow mountain roses fall—
sound of rapids
Petals of the mountain rose
Fall now and then,
To the sound of the waterfall?
The petals tremble
on the yellow mountain rose –
roar of the rapids
Long conversations
beside blooming irises –
joys of life on the road
The lilies!
The stems, just as they are,
the flowers, just as they are.
The bee emerging
from deep within the peony
departs reluctantly
Slender, so slender
its stalk bends under dew --
little yellow flower
For those who proclaim
they’ve grown weary of children,
there are no flowers
Exhausted, I sought
a country inn, but found
wisteria in bloom
Morning glory trailing --
All day the gate-
bolt's fastened.
Breakfast enjoyed
in the fine company of
morning glories
The morning glories
bloom, securing the gate
in the old fence
bush-clover flowers —
they sway but do not drop
their beads of dew
Flower
under harvest sun - stranger
To bird, butterfly.
without turning
into a butterfly, autumn deepens
for the worm
Deep into autumn
and this caterpillar
still not a butterfly
A caterpillar
this deep in fall
still not a butterfly
With every gust of wind,
the butterfly changes its place
on the willow.
On the white poppy,
a butterfly’s torn wing
is a keepsake
butterflies flit…
that is all, amid the field
of sunlight
butterflies flit
in a field of sunlight
that is all
Kochira muke
Ware mo sabishiki
Aki no kure
Will you turn toward me?
I am lonely too,
This autumn evening.
As firmly cemented clam-shells
Fall apart in autumn,
So I must take to the road again,
Farewell, my friends.
Farewell, my old fan.
Having scribbled on it,
What could I do but tear it
At the end of summer?
kono aki wa nande
toshiyoru kumo ni tori
this autumn
as-for why grow old
cloud to bird
this autumn
why am I aging so?
to the clouds a bird
this autumn
as reason for growing old
a cloud and a bird
the whole family
all with white hair and canes
visiting graves
souls' festival
today also there is smoke
from the crematory
lotus pond
as they are unplucked
Souls' Festival
Buddha's Death Day
from wrinkled praying hands
the rosaries' sound
not to think of yourself
as someone who did not count --
Festival of the Souls
all night
autumn winds being heard
behind the mountains
so clear the sound
echoes to the Big Dipper
the fulling block
taken in my hand
it will vanish in hot tears
autumn frost
bright red
the pitiless sun
autumn winds
autumn wind
broken with sadness
his mulberry stick
autumn winds
in the sliding door's opening
a sharp voice
autumn wind:
as thickets in fields are
Fuwa's barriers
people no longer live
at the Fuwa Barrier
in a house with wooden eaves
weathered bones
just thinking of the wind
it pierces my body
in the world outside
is it harvesting time?
the grass of my hut
for one touched by monkey cries
how is it when a child's abandoned
in autumn winds
speaking out
my lips are cold
in autumn wind
autumn wind
in Ise's shrine cemetery
even more lonely
walking on and on
even through I fall down sick
in fields of clover
from this very day
erase the inscription with dew
on the bamboo hat
autumn colors
without a pot
of red-brown soup
turn this way!
I too feel lonely
late in autumn
Stone Mountain
whiter than the stones
autumn wind
borrowing sleep
from the scarecrow's sleeves
midnight frost
I would like to use
that scarecrow's tattered clothes
in this midnight frost
along this road
going with no one
autumn evening
autumn deepens
the man next door
how is he doing?
saying farewell to people
farewell being said to me brings
autumn in Kiso
I didn't die!
the end of a journey
is autumn nightfall
autumn nears
my heart is drawn
to a four-mat room
autumn night
striking and making it crumble
our small talk
blowing stones
flying from the volcano Asama
autumn gale
chrysanthemum's scent
in the garden a worn-out sandal
just the sole
rainy day
the world's autumn closes
Boundary Town
banana plant in autumn storm
rain drips into tub
hearing the night
departing autumn
with hands spread open
chestnut burs
Kiso's chestnuts
for a person of the floating world
a souvenir
Over the ruins of a shrine
a chestnut tree
still lifts its candles
I’ll take these back
for the city slickers –
sour chestnuts
The Chestnut by the eaves
In magnificent bloom
Passes unnoticed
By men of this world.
though autumn winds blow
it is still green
bur of the chestnut
The winds of fall
are blowing, yet how green
the chestnut burr.
also green
it should remain a thing
the pepper pod
at Nara
the fragrance of chrysanthemums
ancient Buddhas
drinking morning tea
the monk is peaceful
the chrysanthemum blooms
while growing thin
without a reason
the chrysanthemum bud
white chrysanthemum
catching in one's eye
nary a speck of dust
chrysanthemums
flowers blooming
in the stones
autumn coolness
hand and hand paring away
eggplants -- cucumbers
don't imitate me
we are not two halves
of a muskmelon
ear of the pine tree
mushroom on a strange tree
with a leaf stuck to it
the village so old
there's not a single house
without a persimmon tree
autumn begins
sea and sprouting rice fields
one green
failing health
chewing dried seaweed
my teeth grate on sand
grabbing at straws
the strength to bear
our parting
on this mountain
tell me of its sorrow
wild-yam digger
after the flowers
all there is left for my haiku
wisteria beans
The beginning of autumn;
The sea and fields,
All one same green.
In the bitter radish that
bites into me, I feel the
autumn wind
Will you turn toward me?
I am lonely, too,
this autumn evening.
Cho tori-no
Shiranu hana ari
Aki no sora
Unknown to birds and butterflies
A flower blooms
The autumn sky
a strange flower
for birds and butterflies
the autumn sky
Autumn approaches
and the heart begins to dream
of four-tatami rooms
Wild boars and all
are blown along with it --
storm-wind of fall!
A autumn wind
More white
Than the rocks in the rocky mountain.
kono michi ya yuku hito nashi ni aki no kure
this road go
person nonexistent
with autumn’s evening
On this road
where nobody else travels
autumn nightfall
All along this road
not a single soul – only
autumn evening comes
Along this way,
no travellers.
Dusk in autumn.
My way –
no-one on the road
and it’s autumn, getting dark
The first day of the year:
thoughts come - and there is loneliness;
the autumn dusk is here.
Cold as it was
We felt secure sleeping together
In the same room.
Chilling autumn rains
curtain Mount Fuji, then make it
more beautiful to see
The winter storm
Hid in the bamboo grove
And quieted away.
Should I hold them in my hand,
They will disappear
In the warmth of my tears,
Icy strings of frost.
Hailstones
Glancing off the rocks
At Stony Pass.
Awake at night,
The lamp low,
The oil freezing.
Winter rain --
The field stubble
Has blackened.
Crossing long fields,
frozen in its saddle,
my shadow creeps by
Awakened at midnight
by the sound of the water jar
cracking from the ice
Water-drawing rites,
icy sound of monks' getas
echo long and cold
On the cow shed
A hard winter rain;
Cock crowing.
The winter leeks
Have been washed white --
How cold it is!
Winter downpour -
even the monkey
needs a raincoat.
Winter solitude--
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.
I'm a wanderer
so let that be my name –
the first winter rain
Winter seclusion –
sitting propped against
the same worn post
On New Year's Day
each thought a loneliness
as winter dusk descends
Along my journey
through this transitory world,
new year's housecleaning
Year’s end, all
corners of this
floating world, swept.
This first fallen snow
is barely enough to bend
the jonquil leaves
The first snow
the leaves of the daffodil
bending together
The first snow,
Just enough to bend
The leaves of the daffodils.
Tethered horse;
snow
in both stirrups.
First snow
Falling
On the half-finished bridge.
On the polished surface
Of the divine glass,
Chaste with flowers of snow.
The crescent lights
The misty ground.
Buckwheat flowers.
Come out to view
the truth of flowers blooming
in poverty
New Year’s first snow -- ah --
just barely enough to tilt
the daffodil
Polished and polished
clean, in the holy mirror
snow flowers bloom
Watching for snow,
the boozers’ faces –
a flash of lightning
fragrant orchid—
into a butterfly’s wings
it breathes incense
Wake, butterfly -
It's late, we've miles
To go together.
Butterfly -
Wings curve into
White poppy.
Heard, not seen,
the camellia poured rainwater
when it leaned
Misty rain;
Today is a happy day,
Although Mt. Fuji is unseen.
Even a wild boar
With all other things
Blew in this storm.
The wind from Mt. Fuji
I put it on the fan.
Here, the souvenir from Edo.
Tremble, oh my gravemound,
in time my cries will be
only this autumn wind
shaking the grave
my weeping voice
autumn wind
Sleep on horseback,
The far moon in a continuing dream,
Steam of roasting tea.
where's the moon?
as the temple bell is --
sunk in the sea
The moon about to appear,
all present tonight
with their hands on their knees.
Black Cloudbank broken
Scatters in the night...Now see
Moon-lighted mountains!
Husking rice,
a child squints up
to view the moon.
a peasant’s child
husking rice, pauses
to look at the moon
The clouds come and go,
providing a rest for all
the moon viewers
Clouds come from time to time --
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon.
All the fields hands
enjoy a noontime nap after
the harvest moon
Whore and monk, we sleep
under one roof together,
moon in a field of clover
Now I see her face,
the old woman, abandoned,
the moon her only companion
A cuckoo cries,
and through a thicket of bamboo
the late moon shines
This bright harvest moon
keeps me walking all night long
around the little pond
the moon:
I wandered around the pond
all night long
the setting moon
the thing that remains
four corners of his desk
In the moonlight a worm
silently
drills through a chestnut
All my friends
viewing the moon –
an ugly bunch
Among moon gazers
at the ancient temple grounds
not one beautiful face
viewing the moon
no one at the party
has such a beautiful face
The moon is the guide,
Come this way to my house,
So says the host of a wayside inn.
occasional clouds
one gets a rest
from moon-viewing
hair shaved in a moon-shape
with their hands on their knees
in the early hours of night
buying a measure box
now I feel differently
about moon-viewing
sleeping in the temple
the serious-looking face
is moon-viewing
the full moon
seven story-songs of a woman
turning towards the sea
the farmer's child
rests from husking rice
then sees the moon
famous moon!
circling the pond all night
even to the end
the moon so pure
a wandering monk carries it
across the sand
harvest moon
northland weather
uncertain skies
full autumn moon
to my gate comes rising
crested tide
thin from the Kiso trip
and still not yet recovered
the late harvest moon
blue seas
breaking waves smell of rice wine
tonight's moon
Autumn full moon,
the tides slosh and foam
coming in
Mii Temple
knocking on the gate for a wish
today's moon
your hermitage
the moon and chrysanthemums
plus an acre of rice fields
flower of the harvest moon?
it only looks that way
a cotton field
butt of the tree
see in the cut end
today's moon
on a bare branch
a crow has settled
autumn dusk
A solitary
crow on a bare branch-
autumn evening
Kareeda ni
karasu no tomari keri
aki no kure
On dead branches
Crows remain perched
At autumn's end.
The voices of plovers
Invite me to stare into the darkness
Of the Starlit Promontory.
Dark night -
Plover crying
For its nest.
Sparrow, spare
The horsefly
Dallying in flowers.
in blossoms
a horsefly plays… don’t eat it
friend-sparrow
Sparrows
In rape-field,
Blossom-viewing.
Sparrows in eves
Mice in ceiling -
Celestial music.
Baby mice in their nest
squeak in response
to the young sparrows
Where cuckoo
Vanishes -
An island.
higher than a skylark
resting in the sky
on a mountain pass
above the moor
not attached to anything
a skylark singing
though a skylark sings
beating inside
the pheasant's sad cry
All the day long-
yet not long enough for the skylark,
singing, singing.
Do the tea-pickers also,
hidden in the bushes,
hear the hototogishu?
Skylark on moor --
Sweet song
Of non-attachment.
Over skylark's song
Noh cry
Of Pheasant
resting higher
than a lark in the sky
a mountain pass
Even these long days
are not nearly long enough
for the skylarks to sing
By a singular stroke
Of luck, I saw a solitary hawk circling
Above the promontory of Irago.
Unknowingly he guided us
over pathless hills
with wisps of hay
My eyes following
until the bird was lost at sea
found a small island
A mountain pheasant cry
fills me with fond longing for
father and mother
The lightning flashes
And slashing through the darkness,
A night-heron’s screech.
O bush warblers!
Now you’ve shit all over
my rice cake on the porch
the sea darkens —
the voices of the wild ducks
are faintly white
Seas slowly darken
and the wild duck's plaintive cry
grows faintly white
very exciting
yet after awhile so sad
cormorant fishing
a sick wild duck
falling down with the dark cold
to sleep overnight
cloud-parting friend!
temporarily this wild goose
must go away
With a warbler for
a soul, it sleeps peacefully,
this mountain willow
The warbler sings
among new shoots of bamboo
of coming old age
Delight, then sorrow,
aboard the cormorant
fishing boat
But for a woodpecker
tapping at a post, no sound
at all in the house
Even in Kyoto,
how I long for Kyoto
when the cuckoo sings
Lead my pony
across this wide moor to where
the cuckoo sings
The shallows –
a crane’s thighs splashed
in cool waves
A dragonfly, trying to –
oops, hang on to the upside
of a blade of grass
temple bell
also sounds like it is
cicada's voice
cricket
forgetting sounds with its cry
by the fireplace
in the cow shed
mosquito's voice darkens
lingering heat
bagworm's place
it seems to be inside
the cherry blossoms
bagworms
to hear their songs
come to my hut
spiders have a cry?
well, what is chirping
autumn's wind?
secretly at night
a worm under the moon
bores into a chestnut
With what kind of voice
would the spider cry
in the autumn wind?
Firefly viewing -
Drunken steersman,
Drunken boat.
The dragonfly
Can't quite land
On that blade of grass.
Dying cricket,
how he sings out
his life!
Gray hairs being plucked,
and from below my pillow
a cricket singing
Ungraciously, under
a great soldier's empty helmet,
a cricket sings
how piteous!
beneath the soldiers helmet
chirps a cricket
a terrible sound –
the gilded helmet’s
trapped cricket
Yagate shinu
Keshiki wa miezu
Semi no koe
Cicadas singing --
No sign
Of dying soon.
soon to die
yet no sign of it
in the cidada's chirpNothing in the cry
of cicadas suggests they
are about to die
Shizukasa ya
Iwa ni shimi-iru
Semi no koe
Calm and serene
The sound of a cicada
Penetrates the rock
stillness
piercing the rocks
cicada's shrill
Lonely silence,
a single cicada's cry
sinking into stone
How still it is!
Stinking into the stones,
the locusts' trill.
Eaten alive by
lice and fleas -- now the horse
beside my pillow pees
at my poor hovel
there’s one thing I can offer —
small mosquitoes
The usually hateful crow:
he, too -- this morning,
on the snow!
Even that old horse
is something to see this
snow-covered morning
What luck!
The southern valley
Make snow fragrant.
Hello! Light the fire!
I'll bring inside
a lovely bright ball of snow
to Kyoto
still half the sky to go—
snowy clouds
Only half the way I came
To the ancient capital,
And above my head
Clouds heavy with snow.
Crossing half the sky,
on my way to the capital,
big clouds promise snow
Not even a hat --
and cold rain falling on me?
Tut-tut! Think of that!
A cold rain starting
And no hat --
So?
under my tree-roof
slanting lines of april rain
separate to drops
The banana tree
blown by winds pours raindrops
into the bucket
How admirable,
He who thinks not, "Life is fleeting,"
When he sees the lightning!
How very noble!
One who finds no satori
in the lightning-flash
Shake, oh grave!
The autumn wind
Is the voice of my wailing.
Ill on a journey,
all about the dreary fields
fly my broken dreams.
DEATH POEM
Sick on my journey,
only my dreams will wander
these desolate moors
A weathered skeleton
in windy fields of memory,
piercing like a knife
@PleasantStorm

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commented Mar 29, 2019

Thank your words
How they act
Coders need them

As quick as it came.
Descends through the air.
A quiet sunset.

Few have grasped.
It leaves too soon.
A life well lived.

Brian Joseph Johns

In the hairs of my arm
Alone in the night
A mosquito's last moments!"

Mishima Sato

Thank you friend.

Brian Joseph Johns
http://www.shhhhdigital.com

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