Here, after wandering among these renowned
mountains, the heart grows rich with idleness.
Why talk of cleansing elixirs of immortality?
Here, the world’s dust rinsed from my face,
I’ll stay close to what I’ve always loved,
content to leave that peopled world forever.
translated by David Hinton
I held in my hand a perfumed piece of clay
that came to me from a beloved’s hand.
I asked it, “Are you musk or ambergris?
Like fine wine, your smell intoxicates me.”
“I was,” it said, “a loathsome lump of clay
till someone set me down beside a rose.
Then my companion’s scent seeped into me.
Otherwise, I am only the earth I am.”
courtesy of my friend Richard Newman
Rich and full, all surging swells and white gulls in flight,
it flows springtime deep, its green a crystalline dye for robes.
Going south and coming back north, you grow older, older.
Late light lingers, farewell to a fishing boat bound for home.
translated by David Hinton
What vast additions to the convenience and comforts of living might Mankind have acquired if the money spent in wars had been employed in public utility.
This bird of the immortals born for the wind
with turquoise lapels and robe of green
regards my feathers as peculiar
as I twitter away thinking I can sing
we flew back and forth across Loyang
amusing ourselves along crystal streams
friendship with the gods wasn’t meant to be
but happiness filled our hearts
now you’re leaving on a distant mission
on a long dark road through the clouds
but we can still drink and enjoy this day
and sleep tonight among different trees
I’ve paid for lodging east of the city
and spread out a feast in the shade of the wall
as I lift this wine and wish you well
the sadness I feel makes it seem heavy
translated by Red Pine
5am
candle melted down
wine glass empty
the cat curled up
on the back
of the chair
the ceiling fan turns
disturbing air
but not the silence
that hangs there
waiting for the sun
to show its face
so the day can begin
once again
I did not expect
the honesty within
a heart open
a promise
in the picture
of your eyes
so soon
too soon
for an old heart
grown weary
these many years
from home
The creators of the American Yiddish theater also provided what earlier entertainers had given to the Irish and the Germans: the immense gift of laughter. They used gags, skits, slapstick, and wit to make fun of one another. Romanians made fun of Hungarians. Both made fun of Poles. All made fun of Russians. They skewered the greenhorns, the pompous nouveau rich, the greedy landlords, the humorless goyim, the corrupt politicians; and they added something else, an attitude that forever shifted the New York mind: irony.
That is, they made jokes out of the difference between what America promised and what America actually delivered. Irony remains the essence of American humor to this day.
not alone
as long as the moon
looks down
on you
on me
though far apart
as I look up
your eyes too
are there
The sour trace of plums squirts between my teeth
the light green of bananas fills my window screen
waking up at noon without a thought or care
I sit and watch my children chasing willow fuzz
translated by Red Pine
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
Finding Inspiration
Off the wall, under the freeway, over the rainbow, nothin' but net.
A virtual cabaret of songs, stories and questionable life choices.
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
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 