From Autumn Thoughts, Poem 1
Jade frost bites the maple trees
and Wu Mountain and Wu Gorge breathe out dark fear
as river waves rise up to the sky
and dark wind-clouds touch ground by a frontier fortress.
The chrysanthemums have twice bloomed tears of other days,
When I moor my lonely boat my heart longs for my old garden.
The need for winter clothes hurries scissors and bamboo rulers.
White Emperor City looms over the rushed sound of clothes beaten at dusk.
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Fold It All Away
The fire, the heat, the hungry daze -
I will fold it all away.
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
You made my heart soar and leap
And now my heart will go to sleep
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
All desire in me is gone -
Another’s touch would just feel wrong
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
Your smile’s engraved inside my head,
The view of you, touching foreheads
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
A kiss that made my heart melt,
Feelings I had never felt
Like clothes just meant for summer days
It’s winter now - cold here to stay
I loved to hear your laughter most
But now the sound will be a ghost
Like clothes just meant for summer days
I will fold it all away
Such warmth and love can never stay
I will fold
It all
Away
Higher than I’ve ever been
The fall is here - let it begin
But I will rise again someday
The cold and winter cannot stay
For now that day seems far away
Like clothes just meant for summer days
And I will fold
Every piece
Away
It’s winter now
The cold
Will stay
Getting Out
i did not say it was a mad house.
perhaps it was me, when i left it.
perhaps i have not seen the light.
or perhaps it was too dark inside.
or perhaps the darkness is just inside myself.
but then i left it. It is now a fact.
i smile to the world now.
i have many choices about what colors
of shirt, or pants or socks to wear.
i can read any book and i can be anywhere
i want.
i did not change my face or modify my body.
there was no pressure to adopt my vision
to anyone else
or to that house that is set in the middle of the
big city and walled as high as the clouds.
all i felt was the hanging
and the inhibition as though i am caged
but you have always said
this is part of the molding and it
will be painful for a time.
i want a ring with a name and date on it.
i want a house without walls.
a face with eyes open and hands outstretch
to the sky.
i want to listen to the sound of the river
as it longs for the mouth of the sea.
i went to the mountain with trees and
listened to the songs of the birds
and the aria of the wind.
i went on top and saw the city
and it is too small for my hands.
now, i have seen the light.
now i feel freedom.
now i am myself. there is no fear
and all i have is love and
compassion.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Footsteps
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
Whenever trouble comes around
Or lonely nights lead underground
And far in the dark
Abandoned cars suddenly start up
An anxious sound
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
When loneliness induces fear
Like waves against a
Ramshackle pier
When thunder and rain
Scar the windowpane once again
I want you near
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Im longing to see you
I want you, I need you
Like a child who feels afraid
Of the dark at night
Hoping to hear a gentle touch
Turning on a welcome light
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
As long as I hear your footsteps
In the dark thats all I need
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
Footsteps in the dark
Only love will break your heart
Footsteps, footsteps
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Lake (1)
Mountain monks facing chess sit
Board on bamboo dark quiet
Shine bamboo no person see
Sometimes hear down chess piece sound
Two monks sit facing, playing chess on the mountain,
The bamboo shadow on the board is dark and clear.
Not a person sees the bamboo's shadow,
One sometimes hears the pieces being moved.
Misty River
This morning
Me in this Misty River
All the happiness
I am feeling inside myself
Misty River
The mist is coming
From this Misty River
There are clouds
In the sky
And the mist
Is caused by the condensation
Of the heat mixed in the cold water
Misty River
I am in a fishing boat
That boat is moving slowly in this
Misty river
It is early in the morning
I am eating my breakfast in the fishing boat in the middle of this
Misty River
I hear the birds singing early in the morning
In this Misty River
There must be trees because the sound of the birds is coming from the Branches
Misty River
So peaceful
It looks so different with the mist
No one is around but me
With my fishing boat
And the beautiful sound of the birds
It is so nice
To have a place to come to
Where I can
Hear the sound of the birds
And be left alone
With no one disturbing me
Misty River
This is my special place
And by afternoon
No clouds I will see
The birds are beautiful
Their song is just beautiful like mother nature intended it to be
If nobody else appreciates this Misty River
I do
Misty River
I will die for you
Misty River
I will shed my tears for you
I have been coming here for so long now
Misty River
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Hokku Poems in Four Seasons
Spring
The year's first poem done,
with smug self confidence
a haikai poet.
Longer has become the daytime;
a pheasant is fluttering
down onto the bridge.
Yearning for the Bygones
Lengthening days,
accumulating, and recalling
the days of distant past.
Slowly passing days,
with an echo heard here in a
corner of Kyoto.
The white elbow
of a priest, dozing,
in the dusk of spring.
Into a nobleman,
a fox has changed himself
early evening of spring.
The light on a candle stand
is transferred to another candle
spring twilight.
A short nap,
then awakening
this spring day has darkened.
Who is it for,
this pillow on the floor,
in the twilight of spring?
The big gateway's heavy doors,
standing in the dusk of spring.
Hazy moonlight --
someone is standing
among the pear trees.
Blossoms on the pear tree,
lighten by the moonlight, and there
a woman is reading a letter.
Springtime rain -- almost dark,
and yet today still lingers.
Springtime rain --
a little shell on a small beach,
enough to moisten it.
Springtime rain is falling,
as a child's rag ball is soaking
wet on the house roof.
@Summer
Within the quietness
of a lull in visitors' absence,
appears the peony flower!
Peony having scattered, two
or three petals lie on one another.
The rain of May --
facing toward the big river, houses,
just two of them.
At a Place Called Kaya in Tanba
A summer river being crossed,
how pleasing,
with sandals in my hands!
The mountain stonecutter's chisel;
being cooled in the clear water.
Grasses wet in the rain,
just after the festival cart passed by.
To my eyes how delightful
the fan of my beloved is,
in complete white.
A flying cuckoo,
over the Heian capital,
goes diagonally across the city.
Evening breeze --
water is slapping against
the legs of a blue heron.
An old well --
jumping at a mosquito,
the fish's sound is dark.
Young bamboo trees --
at Hashimoto, the courtesan,
is she still there or not?
After having been fallen,
its image still stands --
the peony flower.
Stepping on the Eastern Slope
Wild roses in bloom --
so like a pathway in,
or toward, my home village.
With sorrow while coming upon the hill
--flowering wild roses.
Summer night ending so soon,
with on the river shallows still remains
the moon in a sliver.
@Autumn
It penetrates into me;
stepping on the comb of my gone wife,
in the bedroom.
More than last year,
I now feel solitude;
this autumn twilight.
This being alone may even be a kind of happy
-- in the autumn dusk.
Moon in the sky's top,
clearly passes through this
poor town street.
This feeling of sadness --
a fishing string being blown by the autumn wind.
@Winter
Let myself go to bed;
New Year's Day is only a matter
for tomorrow.
Camphor tree roots are quietly getting wet,
in the winter rainy air.
A handsaw is sounding,
as if from a poor one,
at midnight in this winter.
Old man's love affair;
in trying to forget it,
a winter rainfall.
In an old pond,
a straw sandal is sinking
-- it is sleeting.
poem by Yosa Buson
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Reflections-1
1 Waves
Surging waves shouting
'Sky fallen, sky fallen, save'
Holds the horizon
2 Conch
Ringing in her heart
A hiss of His melody
Forever in hush
3 Horizon
Merry waves rise cheer
Waken earth blushing crazy
Sunsprung horizon
4 Dark Waves
Storming ocean dark
Up-sky adown sunken dark
Bubbling boat hosting
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Rainbow Of Clouds
(09/27/11)
Oh! How I love to look at the sky
So many colors that attract the eye.
Blues, grey s , reds, and oranges too
Create such a perfect view.
Especially at dusk or dawn
When new colors are born.
Or when the white clouds look like
Snow covered mountain tops
And the rippling waves that it creates
Puts you at a restful state.
What about the patches of blue
In between the oranges and grey s
And your heart wishing that they would stay.
The skies can create such a therapeutic state
On which so many of us can relate.
Putting our minds and bodies at such ease
Like the feel of a soft gentle breeze.
It also has its black clouds
Covering its face like a shroud.
These dark clouds tend to hide the day
And you never know what will come your way.
But Even the darkest of clouds can bring joy.
The rains that the dark clouds bring
Gives life to everything.
poem by Louis Rams
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September Sky
Cool air, September sky.
My vision bordered by trees,
Dying for the winter-
God's silent fireworks,
Brilliant reds, oranges, yellows.
There is the threat of frost in the air,
A biting chill which seeps into my clothes.
The smell of a woodstove is in the air,
Invigorating.
It is as much a part of the September sky
As the colors on the wind.
There is a stillness in the air,
Punctuated by the cries of a few lonely birds.
I look to the sky,
Clear blue, like your eyes.
I feel lost, lonely-
I am in this dream,
But you are not.
I am leaving, I know,
Leaving behind a connection of the heart
That I once was unaware of.
I am alone, September Sky.
poem by James Grengs
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The Isles Of Sleep.
The opiate isles upon time's sea
In the dream-dark
Rise with their harbours silently
Before each day-abandoned bark,
And the worn mariner anchors there
Till thought, new-waked in the dewy air,
Sings like a lark.
The silent isles with their dream-shores
On the waves float,
Whereto the faint-eyed mariner oars
Within the dusk his eerie boat;
All care put by, like one who knows
No tide there turns and no wind blows,
Near or remote!
From day to day upon time's main
We sail on so,
Sure every night some port to gain
In the dream-dark where no winds blow;
Until we too this sea have cross'd
E'en like the galleons that were tost
Here long ago.
Some seem each day to sail so far,
They reach that shore
So very soon where all things are
As they will be for evermore;
Some for so many a night and day
Have to drift on their lonely way
Ere all is o'er.
But all sails touch the land at last:
The slowest come
As in a mist out of the past —
The last dream-isle fades on the foam,
The last stars rise, the last stars set,
And there is but the last day yet
'Tween them and home.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Mother Natures Fall Dress
The wind came up and started to blow
A sky filled with dark and rain coming slow.
Trees swaying touching the ground
The rain still coming but now surrounds.
Lightening slashing the fabric of the sky
Exposing the vestitial virgins colorful eye.
The river was in a turmoil with patches of wake
Falls first weather and summer heat, to break.
The wind picking up almost to a gale
Thunder and lightening with enough rain to fill a pail.
I sit among natures eventual force
Wind, ligntening and dark clouds of course.
More white caps on the river below
In a few short months we will call them snow.
The butterfly with flapping wings in haste
The wind takes no excuse for being late.
Disneyland could put on a replica of this endeavor
Wind, rain, thunder and lightening and be very clever.
poem by chuck Hurley
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Tripping...
you go places
riding on a bus
transferring to a boat
sitting for a moment
on a port
seeing people disembarking
on a plank of wood
outside a launch
you see children lifted by their fathers
mothers with umbrella
sunny days
a line of green trees along the
seemingly endless road
more days to
circumnavigate an island
of white sands
night when you are alone with
everyone
staying for a while
checking their bags and
clothes
days are going fast
passing you by
on wish not to hold on any hour
you flow
like a river, yes always like a river
not a part of you wishing a clog
a barrier
you are like a rubber stretched
nothing snaps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Desires Of The Heart
My desires run deeper than the deep blue,
You'll find my desires are so deep and true,
And my desires are always true,
I, a mermaid, swimming in waters blue,
Swimming for desires a garden rose could lose,
No frost or snow shall hit my bloom,
No frost or snow to let my heart forget you.
This flower is blooming in a garden dark,
A garden that will lead straight to your heart,
No prick shall harm the fingers that I touch,
Hands that touch this delicate rose,
As I spread my leaves in the soft moonlight,
The garden of dark waiting for this flower to grow and bloom,
Waiting for your touch, so that in pleasure I shall grow.
poem by Paula Glynn
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Arriving At The Island... Alone
the boat takes you to the island
the only person there
is you,
the coconut trees rise to the sky
and the white sand spreads
there is a bed
and blanket
and pillow and the glass of wind
and you embrace the body of the sea
and they
who think that you better be left alone
as you like it
have long left everything there
and you put your body down
clothes on the white sands
skin on the tree
and bones under the rocky shorelines
you close your eyes
and begin to fly away
into the abyss of
solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Monologue To Sadness
you touch me and i shiver and i feel so shaken
i am like a building of light materials
bamboo-like, i feel that i am falling
to the ground, you're an earthquake
my clouds are heavy and i am about to rain.
i hold things on a grip, like bolt and screw, not giving
up, not letting go, you're sadness
and i am your favorite object, a pebble to your palm,
a flower to your hair,
a hand gripped by the hand of another,
'why do you always go with me? ' i am a nobody.
'i love you', you answer me.
I want to run away, i want to have the feet of a gazelle.
and you become the wind behind me.
I shed tears, i never expect to be weak, and then you give up on me.
' i miss you' i send you flying kisses.
' Hypocrite' she says. She packs up her clothes.
'Be happy! ' my last words.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Man Beside Me
now we are sailing on a
bamboo raft
floating on a silk river
bound to the other
side
except for the man
with a long bamboo pole
to touch the floor
and push us more
there is this man
beside me murmuring
his face is covered
by the shadow of his
big straw hat
the natives respect
him thinking that he
is god sent
knowing the words of
the mountain gods
who give them rain
after the drought
he chatters the song
of the cicadas
he murmurs the heaves
of the rain
finally he stops and
hands in the silence
of the rocks
that protrude in the
middle of the river
the waters rise
flood rages on
and i begin to hear
another song
of the incoming storm
then we arrive at the other
side of the river
this time we have become
one in the fold of the
fury asking the protection
of the mountain's belly
the morning news shall
tell about two men who
are fuming the seeds of
discontent of the plains
and the city
we have no names here
just coincidences
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mother Nature's Fall Dress
Mother Nature's Fall Dress
The wind came up and started to blow
A sky filled with dark and rain coming slow.
Trees swaying touching the ground
The rain still coming but now surrounds.
Lightening slashing the fabric of the sky
Exposing the vestigial virgins, colorful eye.
The river was in a tourmoil with patches of wake
Falls first weather and summer heat to break
The wind picking up almost to a gale
Thunder and lightening with enough rain to fill a pail.
I sit among nature's eventual force
Wind, lightening and dark clouds; of course.
More white caps on the river below
In a few short months we will call them snow.
The butterfly with flapping wings in haste
Wind takes no excuse for being late.
Disneyland could put on a replica of this endeavor
Wind, rain; thunder and lightening and be very clever.
10-28-05 Aho speaks.
poem by AHO Speaks
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The Boat and The Sea
I will tell you, my Dear
Story of the Boat and the Sea
'Since the unknown time
The Boat heard the call from the Sea
Wings of Gull, blue waves
Took Boat traveled everywhere, all ways
The Boat's soul's filled with hopes
And the Sea's boundless love
Boat went far, further no tiresome
The Sea was still far...so far
Those nights the moon was gentle
The sea was like a girl, who's little
She whispered, she sent her thoughts
Round the boatside, waves elapsed
Sometimes, causeless
The Sea, its waves, pourred impetuously in the Boat
(Because of Love, for all times, ever was just imovable?)
Only the Boat understood
How boundless the Sea was
Only the Boat knew
Where the Boat went to, back to
The days without meeting
The sea was with white head, with missing
The days without gathering
The Boat was broken - crack
If already seperated from the Boat
The Sea only remained the wind and waves
...up and down, a craze'
If having to be separated from you
I just only remain storms
(composer: Xuân Quỳ nh, traslator: Hanh My Nguyen)
poem by Hanh My Nguyen
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November
November month of fog and mists.
The early mornings have a bite
the silver grass by Jack Frost kissed
in the dark hours of the night.
The sun reluctant slow to rise
His winter rays no longer warm
that frost persists is no surprise.
This is the calm before the storm.
Winter advances openly
no power can withstand its might
What has to be will come to be
A winter world of black and white.
Though advent justifies a feast
the winter cares not in the least.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Tz'u No. 18
To the tune of "Intoxicated in the Shadow of Flowers"
Thin mist, dense clouds, a grief-stricken day;
auspicious incense burns in the gold animal.
Once again, it is the joyous mid-autumn festival,
but a midnight chill
touches my jade pillow and silk bed-screen.
I drink wine by the eastern fence in the yellow dusk.
Now a dark fragrance fills
my sleeves and makes me spin.
The bamboo blinds sway in the west wind.
And I am even thinner than a yellow flower.
poem by Li Ching Chao
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