Category Archives: poem

“West River Moon” by Su Shi [w/ Audio]

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Wavelet on wavelet glimmers by the shore;
 Cloud on cloud dimly appears in the sky.
 Unsaddled is my white-jadelike horse;
 Drunk, asleep in the sweet grass I'll lie.
 My horse's hoofs may break, I'm afraid,
 The breeze-rippled brook paved by moonlit jade.
 I tether my horse to a bough of green willow.
 Near the bridge where I pillow
 My head on arms and sleep till the cuckoo's song awakes
  A spring daybreak.

Translation: Xu Yuanchong [translator]. 2021. Deep, Deep the Courtyard. [庭院深深.] Cite Publishing: Kuala Lumpur, p. 238

True Balance [Senryū]

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standing on one leg,
 steadfast while squirrels mistake
 one for a tree.

Four Seasonal Haiku of Yosa Buson [w/ Audio]

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SPRING*

The spring sea;
 gently, quietly, 
 all day long.

SUMMER

what a joy!
 wading through summer rivers,
 sandals in hand.

AUTUMN

vacant teahouse,
 atop the mountain:
 a harvest moon.

WINTER

neighbors detest me
 for my whistling kettle:
 a cold winter night.

* Translation by: Wilson, William Scott. 2023. A Beginner’s Guide to Japanese Haiku. Tuttle Publishing: North Clarendon, VT.

River Differences (Or, Follow Your Lazy) [Senryū]

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nature makes no
 straight rivers; men make none
 that meander.

Camouflage, Not! [Haiku]

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a squirrel chitters;
 its black body against
 the ash gray tree.

“Jerusalem” by William Blake [w/ Audio]

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And did those feet in ancient time
 Walk upon England's mountains green?
 And was the holy Lamb of God
 On England's pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine
 Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
 And was Jerusalem builded here
 Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold:
 Bring me my Arrows of desire:
 Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
 Bring me Chariot of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight,
 Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand
 Till we have built Jerusalem
 In England's green and pleasant Land.

Sunrise Fisherman [Haiku]

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sunrise orange
 sparkles on the lake;
  lone fisher casts nets

Quiet Harbor [Haiku]

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a quiet harbor
 keeps choppy seas at bay,
 but all boats are out.

“The Gardener – 85” by Rabindranath Tagore [w/ Audio]

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Who are you, reader, reading my poems my poems an hundred years hence?
 I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, 
  one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
 Open your doors and look abroad.

From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories 
  of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
 In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning,
  sending its glad voice across an hundred years.