Grasshopper rests on a leaf;
Untroubled by undulations.
Grasshopper [Haiku]
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DAILY PHOTO: Qiz Qalasi
“The Aim Was Song” by Robert Frost [w/ Audio]
Before man came to blow it right
The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
In any rough place where it caught.
Man came to tell it what was wrong:
It hadn’t found the place to blow;
It blew too hard—the aim was song.
And listen—how it ought to go!
He took a little in his mouth,
And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south,
And then by measure blew it forth.
By measure. It was word and note,
The wind the wind had meant to be—
A little through the lips and throat.
The aim was song—the wind could see.
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PROMPT: Talk
I’d like to be able to talk to anyone in Mandarin soon, unfortunately my pace of learning is so glacial as to preclude talking “soon” — at least on broad and undefined topics. [Note: When I say “anyone” I mean anyone who speaks Mandarin and has interesting things to say.]
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Cherry [Haiku]
vibrant red orbs
grow in dense clusters --
undisturbed, for now!
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DAILY PHOTO: St. Gregory the Illuminator Cathedral
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Stranger [Free Verse]
What a view --
Lying on one's back
In a strange land,
Seeing familiar skies,
&
Unfamiliar faces,
And wondering what kind
Of strange beast
They take one for --
On one's back,
In the churchyard
Of a strange land.
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“Lament 2” [感遇二] by Zhang Jiuling [张九龄]
Verdant orchid leaves of Spring;
Cassia blooms bright in Autumn;
Thriving plants, top to bottom.
Festivals planned by their timings.
Who knows the forest recluse --
Pleased with winds and winds with he.
Plants have stems, branches, and roots
Why beg a belle to pluck their fruits.
This is poem #2 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首,] and is the second in a quartet of poems called 感遇 [Gan Yu.] The original poem in Simplified Chinese goes:
兰叶春葳蕤， 桂华秋皎洁；
欣欣此生意， 自尔为佳节。
谁知林栖者， 闻风坐相悦。
草木有本心， 何求美人折？
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PROMPT: Belongings
I do have a jō (short wooden staff) of which I’m fond. I crave books, but since I could care less whether I read them as paper or on a screen and gladly give any but those with long-term reference value away after reading, I don’t think they count.
Being fonder of ideas than anything material, I like the story about Diogenes the Cynic who, upon seeing a boy drink from cupped hands, threw away his cup in self-anger for being such a hoarder.
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The Curse [Lyric Poem]
Knowledge can be a wicked curse,
Like gold coins in a sturdy purse.
Tied up -- inviolably pent --
To be rattled... but never spent.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 