Posts Tagged ‘Basho’



storm grey, the hills crackle.
intense, the colour of the day,
but still the trees catch flecks
of sudden golden light.
and a hum from the distant town.

Wang Wei sits motionless;
Li Po walks through his own eyes
into the landscape;
Basho hunts for a word
that carries silence;
Chuang Tzu remembers, laughs,
forgets again, laughs;
Buddha puts on a kettle for tea.

the day is the same as any other day-
a jewelled and a fragrant passing.
but few will notice even that.

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Autumn leaves.
The path ahead obscured.
That is why I am so late!

Only one leaf left
On the old tree –
And that is a bird.

(Basho on biophobia)

The old pond.
A shopping trolley pushed in.
Profound emptiness.

Midwinter road.
Around the corner:

A half moon sunk low.
In the valley. Listen!
The river, shivering.

The past turns haiku.
The valleys dissolve in rain.
Dissappearing light.

To culture silence
Become that grey backed heron
And watch unhurried.

Dark water
The ash bows down

The smallest day.
Mosses, lichen, drip their own green light.
Darkening woods.

Foot in mouth
I walk words
Tasting damp leaves.
The spiral of green moments.

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Basho by the Pond.

He turns to listen:

The sound
Of one hand



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We are adrift in sunshine and birdsong.

The green fields turning golden hay.

Grandchildren like chirping sparrows.

Fresh breeze from the hills.

Nothing to report,
Lost in time and space……


Basho by the pond.

He turns to listen:
The sound
Of one hand

(Some more words scribbled down from my diary. It’s been a busy summer. Just recently missed a great flurry of strong words. It’s so important to write when those times arise, as the fuel that fires the flow is soon consumed..)


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