the lawn blossoms:
attracting minds that never
paid heed the grass.
Heed the Grass [Senryū]
Reply
It's as if ones gone mining --
From lead, silver refining.
That's how one cleanses a heart:
With pure love, not pining.
Like a pond from Spring rainfall:
Mirror to heavens and all,
Without defect of image --
True as the moon's bright, white ball.
Stargazing across night skies;
Singing songs of hermits, wise;
The water flowing today
Will know that bright moonrise.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a crude translation of the seventh of the twenty-four poems. This poem’s Chinese title is 洗炼, and it has been variously entitled: “Clean,” “Refining,” and “Wash — Smelt.”
What’s the story behind your nickname?
Unfortunately, it’s just the most common abbreviation of my proper name.
The Song of Hiawatha by Henry Wadsworth LongfellowAll overgrown by cunning moss,
All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of "Currer Bell"
In quiet "Haworth" laid.
This Bird -- observing others
When frosts too sharp became
Retire to other latitudes --
Quietly did the same --
But differed in returning --
Since Yorkshire hills are green --
Yet not in all the nests I meet --
Can Nightengale be seen --