The Blue Sheep must be ever so sad:
For of all the colors in which its clad --
None is blue; there're shades of brown, black, and white,
But blue must be symbolic, if judged by sight.
Blue Sheep [Lyric Poem]
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Tag Archives: poetry
Brisk Morn [Haiku]
brisk morn dragonfly:
too cold to move, or dead?
unmoved by footfall.
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Full Moon [Senryū]
a drunk staggers
around the corner, and stares
into the full moon.
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“Song of the Open Road” (1 of 15) by Walt Whitman [w/ Audio]
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open
road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading
wherever I choose.
Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself
am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone
no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries,
querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.
The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to
them.
(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them
with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of
them,
I am fill'd with them, and I will fill them in
return.)
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“Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –” (236) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --
I keep it, staying at Home --
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome --
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --
I, just wear my Wings --
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton -- sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman --
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last --
I'm going, all along.
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A Day’s Last Gasp [Haiku]
warm pre-dusk light
glows through yellow blossoms;
sundown sneaks nearer.
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“The Joy of Words” by Lu Ji [w/ Audio]
Writing is joy --
so saints and scholars all pursue it.
A writer makes new life in the void,
knocks on silence to make a sound,
binds space and time on a sheet of silk
and pours out a river from an inch-sized heart.
As words give birth to words
and thoughts arouse deeper thoughts,
they smell like flowers giving off scent,
spread like green leaves in spring;
a long wind comes, whirls into a tornado of ideas,
and clouds rise from the writing-brush forest.
Translation by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping in The Art of Writing (1996) Boston: Shambhala.
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“Ebb” by Edna St. Vincent Millay [w/ Audio]
I know what my heart is like
Since your love died:
It is like a hollow ledge
Holding a little pool
Left there by the tide,
A little tepid pool,
Drying inward from the edge.
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BOOKS: “The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar” by Paul Laurence Dunbar
The Complete Poems of Paul Laurence Dunbar by Paul Laurence DunbarMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Available online at Project Gutenberg
As the title suggests, this is all the published poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar. With a career pre-dating the Harlem Renaissance, during which lyric poetry ruled the roost, Dunbar may not be as well-known today as several of the African American poets who came later, but it’s not for being any less masterful.
The collection includes a wide variety of lyric forms from simple quatrains to intermediate length poems of several pages. The content and tones also vary, and there is often a sense of whimsy in the poems that goes beyond just being lyrical in form. Dunbar wrote both in dialect and in standard English. He was a big fan of James Whitcomb Riley’s dialectal work, as a poem in Riley’s honor attests. The dialect poems are easy enough to follow and are a pleasure to read. Dunbar was by no means limited to dialectal writing; he also wrote in Standard English cleverly, and the juxtaposition of his very “proper” poems and the dialectal ones shows a great range.
I’d highly recommend this collection for poetry readers, particularly those who enjoy lyric and dialectal poems.
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“Without desire everything is sufficient” by Ryōkan Taigu
Without desire everything is sufficient.
With seeking myriad things are impoverished.
Plain vegetables can soothe hunger.
A patched robe is enough to cover this bent old body.
Alone I hike with a deer.
Cheerfully I sing with village children.
The stream under the cliff cleanses my ears.
The pine on the mountain top fits my heart.
Translation by Kazuaki Tanahashi and Daniel Leighton in Essential Zen (1994) HarperSanFrancisco.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 