dry leaf rattle:
shaken by a steady breeze:
Winter song.
Winter Song [Haiku]
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Category Archives: poem
“Crops” by Walter de la Mare [w/ Audio]
Farmer Giles has cut his rye;
Oh my! Oh my!
Farmer Bates has cut his wheat;
Och, the thieving hares in it!
Farmer Turvey's cut his barley;
Ripe and early, ripe and early.
And where day breaks, rousing not,
Farmer Weary's cut his throat.
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Music Mind [Free Verse]
a meandering melody
hijacked my bliss track
and, as I drifted in the void,
my spine straightened,
my breath slowed,
and I tumbled -- for a time --
through eternity.
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“Down to Jiangling” [下江陵] by Li Bai [李 白]
I left Baidi amid ochre clouds --
Crossed a thousand li by day's end.
Monkeys howled and chased along each bank;
My skiff slipped past ten thousand mountains.
The original in Simplified Chinese:
朝辞白帝彩云间
千里江陵一日还
两岸猿声啼不住
轻舟已过万重山
Note: this is poem #269 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐詩三百首.]
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In Its Time [Senryū]
impatient child
gives pollen fluff a blow;
it does not yield.
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Anyone Home? [Lyric Poem]
I came across a turbinate shell
While walking forest, glade, and dell.
With fingernail, I gave a tap
To learn if its tenant was in nap.
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Wen Fu 4: “Ekstasis” [文赋四] by Lu Ji [陆机]
It's all the amusing matters
That sages admire without bounds.
Writers find their way through the void --
Knock on silence to find its sound.
Silk scroll messages from afar,
The bard's words surge forth from the heart.
Words and ash grow to overflow --
Thoughts transcend depths to become art.
Flowery fragrance pungently sprawls;
Plants shoot forth verdant greenery.
The brush winds swirl to whirlwinds
Clouds climb above the academy.
Note: I previously posted other translators’ (Barnstone and Chou) version of this poem as The Joy of Words @ https://berniegourley.com/2024/12/31/the-joy-of-words-by-lu-ji-w-audio/
Original poem in Simplified Chinese:
伊兹事之可乐，固圣贤之所钦。
课虚无以责有，叩寂寞而求音。
函绵邈于尺素，吐滂沛乎寸心。
言恢之而弥广，思按之而逾深。
播芳蕤之馥馥，发青条之森森。
粲风飞而猋竖，郁云起乎翰林。
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Golden Grass [Haiku]
Autumn sunlight
strikes dry pampas grass
and it flares gold.
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Puppy Poem [Lyric Poem]
I saw a puppy the other day,
And I had my fears
That it might grow into its big feet,
But not into those ears!
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“Tavern” by Edna St. Vincent Millay [w/ Audio]
I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May sit them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy --
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 