a copse of bamboo
shades the mossy creek rocks,
deepening their green.
Bamboo Thicket [Haiku]
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Category Archives: Poetry
“I never saw a moor” (1052) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
I never saw a moor;
I never saw the sea,
Yet know I how the heather looks
And what a billow be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven.
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the checks were given.
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Ema – 絵馬 [Haiku]
a Chinese Banyan,
belted with prayer plaques,
entreats but sky & soil.
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Roosters of Youth [Haiku]
when I was a child,
roosters aggressively charged;
now: they flee, clucking.
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“When You Are Old” by W. B. Yeats [w/ Audio]
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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Spark in the Dark [Free Verse]
Through the inky night,
flies an orange spark.
And then there's darkness
once more.
And then a spray of sparks
arc through the dark.
And then there's darkness
once more.
And then there is a flame,
and darkness is held at bay...
tentatively.
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Vanishing Tracks [Tanka]
incense tracks
meander skyward --
erratically;
as they rise, they diffuse
to become nothingness.
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“When I Was One-and-Twenty” by A.E. Housman [w/ Audio]
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
"Give crowns and pounds and guineas
but not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
but keep your fancy free."
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.
When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
"The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
'Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue."
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.
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Steam Treatment [Haiku]
the tree that reaches
over the hot spring-fed pond
thrives on steam treatment.
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Happy Hour [Lyric Poem]
The valley stretches in such a way
that it gets sun but one hour a day.
That Happy Hour when the sun aligns
upon dewy grass and deep green pines.
The local villagers, they all know
when they should come and when they should go.
But that Happy Hour is not for either.
It's to face the sun and take a breather.
