The windy forest is checkered
By the light of the setting,
Waning moon. I tune the lute,
Its strings are moist with dew.
The brook flows in the darkness
Below the flower path. The thatched
Roof is crowned with constellations.
As we write the candles burn short.
Our wits grow sharp as swords while
The wine goes round. When the poem
Contest is ended, someone
Sings a song of the South. And
I think of my little boat,
And long to be on my way.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
Nightfall. Clouds scatter and vanish.
The sky is pure and cold.
Silently the River of Heaven turns in the Jade Vault.
If tonight I do not enjoy life to the full,
Next month, next year, who knows where I will be?
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
watching a film about time traveling
a man
his father
the woman he loves
reliving moments in life
correcting mistakes
small ones
not major ones
no killing Hitler
or sleeping with Helen of Troy
as the father says
explaining the deal to his son
but those days that are memorable
become more so
a second
or even a third
time around
and my eyes water
watching this fictional son
and his father
bonding over and over again
through time
or his second
even third
chances at getting it right
with the girl he falls in love with
I’m a sucker for those moments
wishing life was like a movie
one could write
and rewrite
the script for
and then act it out
this time
and that time
each precious moment
what I wouldn’t give
to step back in time
to change a few little things
a hand on a shoulder
a head in a lap
a harsh word not spoken
a head not turned
a right turn instead of a left
a vow not broken
a door not slammed
and love acknowledged
again and again and again
in word in deed
and death
when it comes
as surely as it must
as it will
one can go knowing
one did one’s best
as many times as necessary
to those that mattered
in this life
time and time again
When a friend starts on a journey of a thousand miles,
As he is about to leave, he delays again and again.
When men part, they feel they may never meet again.
When a year has gone, how will you ever find it again?
I wonder where it has gone, this year that is ended?
Certainly someplace far beyond the horizon.
It is gone like a river which flows to the East,
And empties into the sea without hope of return.
My neighbors on the left are heating wine.
On the right they are roasting a fat pig.
They will have one day of joy
As recompense for a whole year of trouble.
Will we leave so carelessly the years to come?
Everything passes, everything
Goes, and never looks back,
And we grow older and less strong.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
The city is silent,
Sound drains away,
Buildings vanish in the light of dawn,
Cold sunlight comes on the highest peak,
The thick dust of night
Clings to the hills,
The earth opens,
The river boats are vague,
The sky still–
The sound of falling leaves.
A huge doe comes to the garden gate,
Lost from the herd,
Seeking its fellows.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
The mirror of the pond gleams,
Half an acre in size.
The splendor of the sky,
And the whiteness of the clouds
Are reflected back upon themselves.
I ask the pond where I can find
Anything else as pure and transparent.
“Only in the springs of the water of life.”
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
The burgeoning trees are thick with leaves.
The birds are singing on all the hills.
The east wind blows softly.
The birds sing, the flowers dance.
This minor magistrate is drunk.
Tomorrow when he wakes up,
Spring will no longer be new.
translated by Kenneth Rexroth
cut loose means
to let go
as in letting go of a person
of a group of people
one’s feelings change
not for the better
or the worse
just different
bar none means
without exception
I cut them loose
bar none
crumbling means
falling apart
not quickly
but gradually
as if termites
infected the house
the walls began to crumble
so that one had to abandon
that particular domicile
or one’s home
the place of residence
negotiations meaning
a compromise
trying to find the middle ground
if at all possible
when people are phony
it means not real, fake
than there can be no relief
or let up
and the only consolation
is a pat on the back
a sorry, sport
better luck next time
doomed means
it is over
to lose forever
whatever one had
or was under the illusion
of having
has become scarce
as in disappeared
leaving a void
or perhaps causing
a moral crisis
which can only be resolved
or concluded
by exiting stage left
or right
whichever leads
to one’s safe haven
in a glass bushmills
neat with a glass of water
back in one swift take
the night still looms up ahead
and those memories don’t fade
The shadows of the t’ung tree, glistening and clear,
having just passed,
Bells under the eaves tinkle in the wind,
breaking off my daytime sleep.
In a dream I found myself in a painted hall with no one around,
And only a pair of swallows softly treading zither strings.
translated by Irving, Y. Lo
Being Present for the Moment
Website storys
Illustration, Concept Art & Comics/Manga
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
Singer, Songwriter and Author from Kyoto, Japan.
An online activist from Bosnia and Herzegovina, based in Sarajevo, standing on the right side of the history - for free Palestine.
A place where I post unscripted, unedited, soulless rants of a insomniac madman
Dennis Mantin is a Toronto-based writer, artist, and filmmaker.
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
An 'erm, what I doing with my life?' cabaret.
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet and author by accident.
At Least Trying Too
A Journey of Spiritual Significance
Life in islamic point of view
Through the view point of camera...
L'essenziale è invisibile e agli occhi e al cuore. Beccarlo è pura questione di culo
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Leonard Durso 