bees pace the
narrow blooms of wildflowers,
working like it's play.
Spring Bees [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: poetry
In-Flight Refueling [Haiku]
“Fascinated” [Poetry Style #16] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]
The scent: copper-carpeted pine forest;
A stream rushes through: swirling, burbling;
Blue sky and snowcaps peek through the treetops.
In the distance, fishermen are trawling.
A young lady with flowing hair and gown
Passes gracefully through the thick woodlands.
Eyes move when she moves and stop when she stops,
Following her transit down the valley.
The mind shows not its usual chaos,
But is effortlessly anchored to her.
As if to a huge rising moon.
As if to blazing autumn hues.
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 translation of the sixteenth of the twenty-four poems.
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Weed Garland [Haiku]
the graveyard weeds
are blossoming in yellow
to garland the tombs.
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Pine & Rose [Lyric Poem]
An evergreen and a red, red rose:
One slowly, but dully, ever grows;
One springs to life only for a short time.
Lifespan pine and beauty rose, apposed?
And risk vice versa? One never knows!
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Spring Pond [Haiku]
the Spring pond
is teeming with tiny fish;
which will see Summer?
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“When I am dead, my dearest” by Christina Rossetti
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dew drops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.
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Burning World [Haiku]
bare earth flaming:
fire flickers, leaps, and jiggles,
but never burns out.
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The Not-So-Distant Sea [Haiku]
the sea isn't far:
somedays you see its slim band;
others, it blends.
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“The Cross of Snow” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face -- the face of one long dead --
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 