Autumn Moon [Haiku]

Autumn moon first glimpse 
is impossibly huge;
the next, it shrank!

Dark Delta [Haiku]

sun sets upon
the river delta:
then pitch black night.

“Wanderers” by Walter de la Mare [w/ Audio]

Wide are the meadows of night, 
And daisies are shinng there,
Tossing their lovely dews,
Lustrous and fair;

And through these sweet fields go,
Wanderers amid the stars --
Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune,
Saturn, Jupiter, Mars.

'Tired in their silver, they move,
And circling, whisper and say,
Fair are the blossoming meads of delight
Through which we stray.

Note: the word “shinng” seems to be spelled that way in all sources. I don’t know whether it was a typo, dialectic, or a heterodox spelling.

DAILY PHOTO: Bright Signs of Busan by Night

Goblin [Free Verse]

After dark —-
A city park —-
There runs the thing
That comes to life
By night.
Caged in stillness
Through sunlit hours.
Its night persona
Is blurred movement
Seen only from the
Corner of an eye.
It stays near deep shadow,
Beyond the lamp lit arcs.

Where is it?
No one knows,
But if one were to
Check the cathedral
Spire, you’d find
Only an impenetrable
Void…
until sunup.

DAILY PHOTO: Seoul by Night

Bell Pavilion [Haiku]

Summer night: 
bell pavilion - silent,
but for cricket chirp.

“Little Echoed Hills” [小重山] by Yue Fei [岳飞] [w/ Audio]

Last night chirps resounded in the cold,
Through witching hour no sleep occurred.
I rose and slowly walked, alone.
Moonlight window glow, but no one stirred.

I've grayed in service and search of fame.
On hills, back home, the pines have grown old.
That's the story I'd let my lute tell,
If a string weren't broken &
there was someone to be told.

DAILY PHOTO: Busan by Night

Night Swimming [Free Verse]

Trudging into lapping waves
On a dim and dusky eve.

Chest deep
One pops up, pressing one's chest
Onto the water,
And swims toward a distant
Silhouetted rock outcrop.

But it doesn't stay silhouetted.

Soon, one is heading into
A grand, black abyss,
There is no shape in this world,
Only the feel of limbs -- pulling & kicking.

Sounds grow ever more feeble --
And ever more rare --
Until the smell of seawater becomes
A bright and vivid sensory experience --
Layered & textured.

Rolling onto one's back, one can see
Patches of sparkling stars
In the cloud gaps.

One lays upon the waves --
Feeling as though one conforms to them
As one floats like a piece of driftwood --
And sees the twinkle of distant stars,
In a world too vast to understand.