I swept the snow from my secluled path
living retired I look for old friends
I still have some solstice wine left
and plum blossoms are early this spring
how long shall we wander outside the east wall
and which day along that winding stream
take some time off and spend it on pleasure
don’t wait until you’re wearing new robes
translated by Red Pine
Don’t sigh about the road beyond the city gate
or that you won’t be coming back in a carriage
your brocade robes are there in your trunk
along with your books from rue-scented halls
with red rice grown in a well-watered land
and whitefish fresh from the Yangtze
your breakfasts can also be offerings
what good is longing for fortune and fame
translated by Red Pine
“. . .. . . You
put that much life in it, baby,
you know you can’t win . . .”
See what happens when you don’t hear
The pistachio splitting apart on the branch,
Just see what happens to you.
See what happens, if you don’t hear this rain
Or the rolling bell or the man talking,
See what happens if you don’t smell the seaweed
Or the lobster, or the shrimp,
Blowing in wind from the sea . . .
translated by George Messo
A monk grew enamored of the moon in a well,
So he drew moonlit to pour in a jar.
When he came back to the temple, he found,
As he lifted the jar, the moon was gone.
translated by Sung-il Lee
The moon is bright over Cold Pine Pavilion;
The autumn waves are calm on Mirror Lake.
Crying, a seagull flies away only to return;
The bird over the sand must have a message for me.
translated by Sung-Il Lee
My love said he would come at moonrise;
The moon has risen, but he has not come.
I presume that where my love lives
The mountain is so high the moon rises slowly.
translated by Sung-Il Lee
Cold night rain rustles the bamboo,
And crickets tell of autumn near my bed.
How can I hold the fleeting years at bay?
I cannot keep my hair from turning white.
translated by Sung-Il Lee
Thirty springs have passed since I first came here;
Visiting the site of my past pleasure only grieves my heart.
In the yard, the pear tree still blossoms,
But those who sang and danced are gone.
translated by Sung-Il Lee
All the beautiful women thought
Every love poem I wrote
I wrote for them.
But I always felt bad
Knowing I wrote them
Just for something to do.
translated by George Messo
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
In Kate's World
Leonard Durso 