Moonrise --
big and bright --
over a quiet town.
People stare --
alone but simultaneously --
'til the milky light
hurts their eyes.
This moon reminds them
of one from childhood
but seems unlike so many since...
But it's all one moon.
a drunk staggers
around the corner, and stares
into the full moon.
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.”
A touch of cold in the Autumn night --
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
One sleepless night:
I sit up to strum my lute.
The moon shines through thin curtains,
A gentle breeze rustles my robe.
A wild goose honks in the wilderness,
Stirring a cascade of other birdcall.
I pace and peek out windows --
Alone, and burdened with sorrows.
Slowly, silently, the moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon;
This way, and that, she peers, and sees
Silver fruit upon silver trees;
One by one the casements catch
Her beams beneath the silvery thatch;
Couched in his kennel, like a log,
With paws of silver sleeps the dog;
From their shadowy cote the white breasts peep
Of doves in a silver-feathered sleep;
A harvest mouse goes scampering by,
With silver claws, and silver eye;
And moveless fish in the water gleam,
By silver reeds in a silver stream.
in the darkness
beyond the big city lights,
a moon looms.
Sound of water cascading over rock.
A silent mountain in the night.
Bright moonlight washes over the pines.
One thousand peaks, all in one color.
a daytime half moon,
feeble compared to at night,
yet I stop to look.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 