a monk sips morning tea
his other pleasure
the rustle of leaves
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Poet Tree
Rustle, little leaves above, rustle in the breeze...
Rustle, little leaves of love, rustle mid God's peace!
Rustle, every night and day, rustle every hour...
Rustle, rustle, come what may, rustle mid God's power!
Rustle, for then wise words are formed,
Great expectations made!
Through such as these, men's hearts are warmed
And children's prayers are prayed!
Rustle upon the Poet Tree,
Above the poets' ears,
So they may learn each melody,
These God-picked volunteers...
Rustle sweetly, and gently on,
Persist from age to age -
Let all God's poets write upon
Their separate nearby page...
Rustle until all humans die
And no more poets live!
Until no soul would question, 'Why? '
And there's no cause to give!
Rustle until God tells you stop,
'Dear friends, at last, be free...
'Tis time for you to fall, to drop...
Beneath the Poet Tree...
I've loved each poem, every one...
And Jesus loved them, too!
You've blessed the world! Your task is done!
Your rustle days are through...'
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A monk sips morning tea
A monk sips morning tea,
it's quiet,
the chrysanthemum's flowering.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Matsuo Basho
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Inspired by Basho - Morning Tea
morning tea
fragrance lights up the mind
like dawn sun
morning tea
fragrance tips the mind
like dawn sun
inspired by
A monk sips morning tea,
It's quiet,
The chrysanthemum's flowering.
-Matsuo Basho-
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Every single pleasure I can imagine or have experienced is more delightful, more of a pleasure, if you take it in small sips, if you take your time. Reading is not an exception.
Picture Poem #212 (From, This is my Wasteland)
Morning fresh
with sound of rustle wind
at the treetops
blowing sunset leaves
tomorrow's
a hunter of dream
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Poya Day
A throne draped in virgin white
Flowing gently in the mildest of mistrals
Like the gentle flight of a coasting crane
Under the lofty branches of a lonely Bo tree
As the bountiful leaves part with a vivacious rhapsody
The rustle of shelves of leaves, elating the prospering dew
Yearning to spring on the unsuspecting feet of the passing crowds
As Aurora unveiled the promise of a Poya day
As the gathering crowd await the advent of a scholarly monk
For reverberating wisdom to burgeon the mind
In the fluidity of a heavenly ataraxia, a serendipitous tranquility
Tides of an apical serenity embracing the sands of the porous psyche
As the mistral gathers vivacity, a lonely monk ascends to his apical seat
A worldly acumen resonates from the epicenter of the monk's voluble lips
To harness grains of benevolence, to nurture the voracious appetites of thawing minds
To cater to the famished intellect, to engender a transformation from within
To fuse in to the resonance of goodwill a lonely monk bestows
Worldly wisdom jumping across through mental faucets
To enliven the conscience, to lend a helping hand to the marginalized
All this wrapped in the articulate sermons of a Poya day
As the full moon appears in the twilight sky, one can envision
The shimmering coronas of a submerged psyche swamped in wisdom
Yearning for an act of deliverance to ghettos of contemporary life
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Voice
`
leaves rustle in a dance
the wind, their live band
birds, their vocal ensemble
but your voice remains still
not a sound to be heard
leaves rustle on a tome
your words printed out and bound
inked clues guide memories
but your voice still remains -
faded familiar sound
leave, just leave without a word
your thoughts riding on the wind
echo back that distant call
bring to life this one last time
the hearts you left behind
`
poem by Frederick Kesner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0018 Man Raking Leaves (re Jim Morrison lyric)
The sound of wooden rake scratching concrete.
walk nearer - rustle of dry leaves.
This, the beginning of a Japanese haiku
or maybe a Japanese film -
dry sound first, then rake, then leaves, then man -
that evokes autumn
too near the heart
to need a title
the sound stops. silence. man leans on rake.
then match strikes, there's almost yes an echo
from the dry leaves not yet fallen from the trees
in the forest all around.
then the first tickle in the nostrils
of burning leaves which
the two-year old scrunching through the trees
hand in hand with older sister
will remember all his life
like the silence between
two lines of a haiku or
the silence of the moment when the seasons turn.
and who can say
what the golden-orange-yellow-brown trees
slowly stripping in a rustle as of silken nightgown
to the tune of, more a whisper than a breeze -
what the trees feel
as the incense of their, their, burning leaves
steals like a last caress
for each such faithful
lover?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Saving Love
Would we but love what will not pass away!
The sun that on each morning shines as clear
As when it rose first on the world's first year;
The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray.
The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gay
When graves are full of all our hearts held dear,
When not a soul of those who loved us here,
Not one, is left us--creatures of decay.
Yea, love the Abiding in the Universe
Which was before, and will be after us.
Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cry
For human love--the beings that change or die;
Die--change--forget: to care so is a curse,
Yet cursed we'll be rather than not care thus.
poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If nothing touches the palm-leaves they do not rustle.
The dry leaves do not rustle if no wind blows.
In school, I could hear the leaves rustle and go on a journey.
quote by Clint Eastwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To A Common Prostitute
To a Common Prostitute
BE composed--be at ease with me--I am Walt Whitman, liberal and lusty
as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to
rustle for you, do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for
you.
My girl, I appoint with you an appointment--and I charge you that you
make preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.
Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not
forget me.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Another Lonesome Morning
(clinton codack/wendy special)
Another lonesome morning
Another long lonesome day
Youll have to live without him
The morning seemed to say
Another lonesome morning
You thought you didnt care
But morning breezes find you
Wishing he were there
Bobwhite sings his same old song
Trying hard to please
And you hear the sound
That he used to love
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
Thru the rustlin of the leaves
You losing him has taught you
That you wanted him to stay
And you know that all another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
All another lonesome morning brings
Is another lonesome day
Is another lonesome day
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
These little thoughts are the rustle of leaves; they have their whisper of joy in my mind.
aphorism by Rabindranath Tagore from Stray Birds (1916), translated by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Silvia Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Soft sweet golden sound
Shedding sadness dry leaves fall
Heart sips salty snack.
haiku by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
comma-shaped leaves
rustle in the wind
the beauty of pauses
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
old battle ground
sigh and rustle
sword fights between leaves
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!