Haiku translations of the Oriental MastersA Poem by Michael R. Burch
Grasses wilt:
the braking locomotive grinds to a halt ― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, fallen camellias, if I were you, I'd leap into the torrent! ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness! a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning shatters the darkness― the night heron's shriek ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch One apple, alone in the abandoned orchard reddens for winter ― Patrick Blanche, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is by a French poet; it illustrates how the poetry of Oriental masters like Basho has influenced poets around the world. Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I remove my beautiful kimono: its varied braids surround and entwine my body ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This day of chrysanthemums I shake and comb my wet hair, as their petals shed rain ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This darkening autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snow-flakes settle: lilies on the rocks ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild ducks: my mysterious companions! ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Will we meet again? Here at your flowering grave: two white butterflies ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch; this has been called Basho's death poem These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The Oldest Haiku These are my translations of some of the oldest Japanese waka, which evolved into poetic forms such as tanka, renga and haiku over time. My translations are excerpts from the Kojiki (the "Record of Ancient Matters"), a book composed around 711-712 A.D. by the historian and poet Ō no Yasumaro. The Kojiki relates Japan’s mythological beginnings and the history of its imperial line. Like Virgil's Aeneid, the Kojiki seeks to legitimize rulers by recounting their roots. These are lines from one of the oldest Japanese poems, found in the oldest Japanese book: While you decline to cry, high on the mountainside a single stalk of plumegrass wilts. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another excerpt, with a humorous twist, from the Kojiki: Hush, cawing crows; what rackets you make! Heaven's indignant messengers, you remind me of wordsmiths! ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another, this one a poem of love and longing: Onyx, this gem-black night. Downcast, I await your return like the rising sun, unrivaled in splendor. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch More Haiku by Various Poets Observe: see how the wild violets bloom within the forbidden fences! ― Shida Yaba (1663-1740), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When no wind at all ruffles the Kiri tree leaves fall of their own free will. ― Nozawa Boncho (1640-1714), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Our world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet, and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, like us, tardy? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing unsteadily, I am the scarecrow’s skinny surrogate ―Kobayashi Issa (1763-1827), loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn wind ... She always wanted to pluck the reddest roses ―Kobayashi Issa (1763-1827), loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Issa wrote the haiku above after the death of his
daughter Sato with the note: “Sato, girl, 35th day, at the grave.” The childless woman, how tenderly she caresses homeless dolls ... ―Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch umazume no hina kashizuku zo aware naru Clinging to the plum tree: one blossom's worth of warmth ―Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch One leaf falls, enlightenment! Another leaf falls, swept away by the wind ... ―Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch hitoha chiri totsu hitoha chiru kaze no ue This has been called Ransetsu’s “death poem.” In The
Classic Tradition of Haiku, Faubion Bowers says in a footnote to this haiku:
“Just as ‘blossom’, when not modified, means ‘cherry flower’ in haiku, ‘one
leaf’ is code for ‘kiri’. Kiri ... is the Pawlonia ... The leaves drop
throughout the year. They shrivel, turn yellow, and yield to gravity. Their
falling symbolizes loneliness and connotes the past. The large purple flowers
... are deeply associated with haiku because the three prongs hold 5, 7 and 5
buds ... ‘Totsu’ is an exclamation supposedly uttered when a Zen student achieves
enlightenment. The sound also imitates the dry crackle the pawlonia leaf makes
as it scratches the ground upon falling.” Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles this is who I am. ―Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories this is who I am. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch This is Basho’s response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku
above
The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch The morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
I too have been accused of morning glory gazing ... ―original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun autumn breeze. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn’s in the wind. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
The surging sea crests around Sado ... and above her? An ocean of stars. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Come, butterfly, it’s late and we’ve a long way to go! ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Nothing in the cry of the cicadas suggests they know they soon must die. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Spring! A nameless hill shrouded in mist. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Cold white azalea a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart wild violets ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch The bee emerging from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch autumn nightfall ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch Like a glorious shrine on these green, budding leaves, the sun’s intense radiance. ―Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch On the temple’s great bronze gong a butterfly snoozes. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hard to describe: this light sensation of being pinched by a butterfly! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Not to worry spiders, I clean house ... sparingly. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Among the fallen leaves, an elderly frog. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In an ancient well fish leap for mosquitoes, a dark sound. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flowers with thorns remind me of my hometown ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reaching the white chrysanthemum the scissors hesitate ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A kite floats at the same place in the sky where yesterday it floated ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Picking autumn plums my wrinkled hands once again grow fragrant ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A silk robe, casually discarded, exudes fragrance into the darkening evening ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Whose delicate clothes still decorate the clothesline? Late autumn wind. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An evening breeze: water lapping the heron’s legs. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch gills puffing, a hooked fish: the patient ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The stirred morning air ruffles the hair of a caterpillar. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! This white plum tree was once outside our fence! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender grass forgetful of its roots the willow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the poem above can be taken as commentary on ungrateful children. It reminds me of Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."―MRB Since I'm left here alone, I'll make friends with the moon. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hood-wearer in his self-created darkness misses the harvest moon ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White blossoms of the pear tree― a young woman reading his moonlit letter ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pear tree flowers whitely: a young woman reading his letter by moonlight ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On adjacent branches the plum tree blossoms bloom petal by petal―love! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A misty spring moon ... I entice a woman to pay it our respects ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Courtesans purchasing kimonos: plum trees blossoming ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring sea rocks all day long: rising and falling, ebbing and flowing ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the whale dives its tail gets taller! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While tilling the field the motionless cloud vanished. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even lonelier than last year: this autumn evening. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My thoughts return to my Mother and Father: late autumn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Late autumn: my thoughts return to my Mother and Father ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This roaring winter wind: the cataract grates on its rocks. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While snow lingers in creases and recesses: flowers of the plum ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plowing, not a single bird sings in the mountain's shadow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the lingering heat of an abandoned cowbarn only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The red plum's fallen petals seem to ignite horse dung. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dawn! The brilliant sun illuminates sardine heads. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The abandoned willow shines between bright rains ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dew-damp grass: the setting sun’s tears ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew-damp grass weeps silently in the setting sun ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White plum blossoms― though the hour grows late, a glimpse of dawn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is believed to be Buson's jisei (death poem) and he is said to have died before dawn. Lately the nights dawn plum-blossom white. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a second interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). In the deepening night I saw by the light of the white plum blossoms ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a third interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). Our life here on earth: to what shall we compare it? Perhaps to a rowboat departing at daybreak, leaving no trace of us in its wake? ―Takaha Shugyo or Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I thought I felt a dewdrop plopon me as I lay in bed! ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch We cannot see the moon and yet the waves still rise ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first morning of autumn: the mirror I investigate reflects my father’s face ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wild geese pass leaving the emptiness of heaven revealed ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Silently observing the bottomless mountain lake: water lilies ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cranes flapping ceaselessly test the sky's upper limits ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Falling snowflakes' glitter tinsels the sea ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Blizzards here on earth, blizzards of stars in the sky ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Completely encircled in emerald: the glittering swamp! ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The new calendar!: as if tomorrow is assured... ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Ah butterfly, what dreams do you ply with your beautiful wings? ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because morning glories hold my well-bucket hostage I go begging for water ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring stirs the clouds in the sky's teabowl ― Kikusha-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tonight I saw how the peony crumples in the fire's embers ― Katoh Shuhson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch It fills me with anger, this moon; it fills me and makes me whole ― Takeshita Shizunojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch War stood at the end of the hall in the long shadows ― Watanabe Hakusen, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because he is slow to wrath, I tackle him, then wring his neck in the long grass ― Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pale mountain sky: cherry petals play as they tumble earthward ― Kusama Tokihiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The frozen moon, the frozen lake: two oval mirrors reflecting each other. ― Hashimoto Takako, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The bitter winter wind ends here with the frozen sea ― Ikenishi Gonsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, bitter winter wind, why bellow so when there's no leaves to fell? ― Natsume Sôseki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Winter waves roil their own shadows ― Tominaga Fûsei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch No sky, no land: just snow eternally falling... ― Kajiwara Hashin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Along with spring leaves my child's teeth take root, blossom ― Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Stillness: a single chestnut leaf glides on brilliant water ― Ryuin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch As thunder recedes a lone tree stands illuminated in sunlight: applauded by cicadas ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snake slipped away but his eyes, having held mine, still stare in the grass ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Girls gather sprouts of rice: reflections of the water flicker on the backs of their hats ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Murmurs follow the hay cart this blossoming summer day ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The wet nurse paused to consider a bucket of sea urchins then walked away ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch May I be with my mother wearing her summer kimono by the morning window ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The hands of a woman exist to remove the insides of the spring cuttlefish ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The moon hovering above the snow-capped mountains rained down hailstones ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, dreamlike winter butterfly: a puff of white snow cresting mountains ― Kakio Tomizawa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring snow cascades over fences in white waves ― Suju Takano, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tanka and Waka translations: If fields of autumn flowers can shed their blossoms, shameless, why can’t I also frolic here ― as fearless, and as blameless? ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Submit to you ― is that what you advise? The way the ripples do whenever ill winds arise? ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Watching wan moonlight illuminate trees, my heart also brims, overflowing with autumn. ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart. ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch That which men call "love" ― is it not merely the chain preventing our escape from this world of pain? ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Once-colorful flowers faded, while in my drab cell life’s impulse also abated as the long rains fell. ― Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I set off at the shore of the seaside of Tago, where I saw the high, illuminated peak of Fuji―white, aglow― through flakes of drifting downy snow. ― Akahito Yamabe, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Sotoba Komachi is a modern Noh play by Yukio Mishima (1925-1970). Mishima's play is based on an ancient work by Kan'ami Kiyotsugu (1333-1384). The title may be interpreted as something like "Beauty's Shrine" or "Shrine to Beauty." Kan'ami was the first playwright to incorporate the Kusemai song and dance style and Dengaku dances into plays. He founded a sarugaku theater group in the Kansai region of Honshu; the troupe later moved to Yamato and formed the Yuzaki theater company, which would become the school of Noh theater. Excerpts from SOTOBA KOMACHI by KWANAMI loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Priest of the Koyasan: We who have built our homes on shallow slopes now seek solitude in the heart's deep recesses. Second Priest: This single thought possessed me: How I might bring a single seed to flower, the wisdom of Buddha, the locus of our salvation, until in despair I donned this dark cassock. Ono no Komachi: Lately so severed, like a root-cut reed, if the river offered, why not be freed? I would gladly go, but here no wave stirs ... I was once full of pride now fled with the years, gone with dark tresses and with lustrous locks; I was lithe as a willow in my springtime frocks; I once sang like a nightingale sipping dew; I was wild as the rose when the skies shone blue ... in those days before fall when the long shadows grew. But now I’ve grown loathsome even to w****s; even urchins abhor me; men treat me with scorn ... Now I am nothing but a poor, withered bough, and yet there are wildflowers in my heart, even now. Only my body lingers, for my heart left this world long ago! Priests (together): O, piteous, piteous! Is this the once-fabled flower-bright Komachi, Komachi the Beautiful, whose dark brows bridged eyes like young moons; her face whitest alabaster forever; whose many damask robes filled cedar-scented closets? Original Haiku and Tanka by Michael R. Burch Childless
She bathes in silver Cats are seldom impressed by human accomplishments, while the canine members of our family have always hated fireworks and other unexpected loud noises. You astound me, You astound me; Born into the delicate autumn, Soft as daffodils fall The Original Sin: Rhyming Haiku!
Haiku should never rhyme: it's a crime! ―Michael R. Burch
The herons stand, sentry-like, at attention... rigid observers of some unknown command. ―Michael R. Burch
Late fall; all the golden leaves turn black underfoot: soot ―Michael R. Burch
A snake in the grass lies, hissing "Trespass! " ―Michael R. Burch
Honeysuckle blesses my knuckle with affectionate dew ―Michael R. Burch
My nose nuzzles honeysuckle's sweet nothings ―Michael R. Burch
The day's eyes were blue until you appeared and they wept at your beauty. ―Michael R. Burch
The moon in decline like my lover's heart lies far beyond mine ―Michael R. Burch
My mother's eyes acknowledging my imperfection: dejection ―Michael R. Burch The sun sets the moon fails to rise we avoid each other's eyes ―Michael R. Burch brief leaf flung awry ~ bright butterfly, goodbye! ―Michael R. Burch leaf flutters in flight ~ bright, O and endeavoring butterfly, goodbye! ―Michael R. Burch a soaring kite flits into the heart of the sun? Butterfly & Chrysanthemum ―Michael R. Burch The girl with the pallid lips lipsticks into something more comfortable ―Michael R. Burch I am a traveler going nowhere, but my how the gawking bystanders stare! ―Michael R. Burch Unrhymed Original Haiku and Tanka by Michael R. Burch These are original haiku and tanka written by Michael R. Burch, along with haiku-like and tanka-like poems inspired by the forms but not necessarily abiding by all the rules. Dark-bosomed clouds pregnant with heavy thunder... the water breaks ―Michael R. Burch
one pillow... our dreams merge ―Michael R. Burch Crushed grapes surrender such sweetness! A mother's compassion. ―Michael R. Burch My footprints so faint in the snow? Ah yes, you lifted me. ―Michael R. Burch An emu feather still falling? So quickly you rushed to my rescue. ―Michael R. Burch The eagle sees farther from its greater height― our ancestors' wisdom ―Michael R. Burch The ability to disagree agreeably: civility. ―Michael R. Burch The sun warms a solitary stone. Let us abandon no one. ―Michael R. Burch Here's a poem composed of haiku-like stanzas: Lift up your head dandelion, hear spring roar! How will you tidy your hair this near summer? Leave to each still night your lightest affliction, dandruff. Soon you will free yourself: one shake of your white mane.
Now there are worlds into which you appear and disappear
seemingly at will but invariably blown wildly, then still.
Gasp at the bright chill glower of winter.
Icicles splinter; sleep still an hour, till, resurrected in power,
you lift up your head, dandelion. Hear spring roar! ― Michael R. Burch
Variations on Fall
Farewells like falling leaves, so many sad goodbyes. ―Michael R. Burch Falling leaves brittle hearts whisper farewells ―Michael R. Burch
Autumn leaves soft farewells falling... falling... falling... ―Michael R. Burch
Autumn leaves Fall's farewells Whispered goodbyes ―Michael R. Burch Variations on the Seasons by Michael R. Burch Mother earth prepares her nurseries: spring greening
The trees become modest, coy behind fans
*
Wobbly fawns have become the fleetest athletes: summer
*
Dry leaves scuttle like crabs: autumn
*
The sky shivers: snowfall
each translucent flake lighter than eiderdown
the entire town entombed but not in gloom, bedazzled.
Variations on Night
Night, ice and darkness conspire against human warmth ―Michael R. Burch Night and the Stars conspire against me: Immensity ―Michael R. Burch
in the ice-cold cathedral prayer candles ablaze flicker warmthlessly ―Michael R. Burch Variations on the Arts by Michael R. Burch Paint peeling: the novel's novelty wears off...
The autumn marigold's former glory: allegory.
Human arias? The nightingale frowns, perplexed. Tone deaf!
Where do cynics finally retire? Satire.
All the world's a stage unless it's a cage.
To write an epigram, cram. If you lack wit, scram.
Haiku should never rhyme: it's a crime!
Video dumped the b**b tube for YouTube.
Anyone can rap: just write rhythmic crap! Variations on Lingerie by Michael R. Burch Were you just a delusion? The black negligee you left now merest illusion.
The clothesline quivers, ripe with unmentionables.
The clothesline quivers: wind, or ghosts? Variations on Love and Wisdom by Michael R. Burch Wise old owls stare myopically at the moon, hooting as the hart escapes.
Myopic moon-hooting owls hoot as the hart escapes
The myopic owl, moon-intent, scowls; my rabbit heart thunders... Peace, wise fowl!
Tanka
All the wild energies of electric youth captured in the monochromes of an ancient photobooth like zigzagging lightning. ―Michael R. Burch
The plums were sweet, icy and delicious. To eat them all was perhaps malicious. But I vastly prefer your kisses! ―Michael R. Burch
A child waving... The train groans slowly away... Loneliness... Somewhere in the distance gusts scatter the stray unharvested hay... ―Michael R. Burch
How vaguely I knew you however I held you close... your heart's muffled thunder, your breath the wind― rising and dying. ―Michael R. Burch
Miscellanea sheer green stockings queer green beer St. Patrick's Day! ―Michael R. Burch
cicadas chirping everywhere singing to beat the band― surround sound ―Michael R. Burch
Regal, upright, clad in royal purple: Zinnia ―Michael R. Burch Love is a surreal sweetness in a world where trampled grapes become wine. ―Michael R. Burch
although meant for market a pail full of strawberries invites indulgence ―Michael R. Burch late November; skeptics scoff but the geese no longer migrate ―Michael R. Burch as the butterfly hunts nectar the generous iris continues to bloom ―Michael R. Burch © 2021 Michael R. Burch |
Stats
73 Views
Added on September 27, 2019 Last Updated on August 18, 2021 Tags: Haiku, Translation, Oriental, Japanese, Chinese Author
|
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Subscribe
Flag Writing