A colorful hanging chart with no lines.
A pure algebra problem with no solution.
A one-string harp, stirring rosaries
that hang from dripping eaves.
A pair of oars that can never reach
the other side of the ocean.
Waiting silently like a bud.
Gazing at a distance like a setting sun.
Perhaps an ocean is hidden somewhere,
but when it flows out–only two tears.
O in the background of a heart,
in the deep well of a soul.
translated by Chou Ping
I tell you, don’t adore your coat of gold brocade.
I tell you, adore the short spell of youth.
When the bloom is ready it must be plucked.
Don’t wait till flowers drop and break the empty twig.
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
BUT WHY do you go to the wall?
WHY does he go to the wall?
You go to the
wall because
that’s where the door is
maybe.
Down on the sidewalk recurrent
children’s forms, reds, greens,
walking along with the watching
elders not their own.
It’s winter, grows colder and colder.
How to play today without sun?
Will summer, gone, come again?
Will I only grow older and older?
Not wise enough yet to know
you’re only here at all
as the wind blows, now
as the fire burns low.
Light of the soul, divine light,
beacon, torch, star, sun. . .
A man gropes his way along
carrying a lamp on his back.
translated by Mary G. Berg & Dennis Maloney
If I could get
my hands on
a little bit
of it–neither fish,
flesh, nor fowl. Not
you, Harry. No one’s
mother–or father,
or children. Not
me again. Not
earth, sky, water–
no mind, no time.
No islands in the sun.
Money I don’t want.
No place more
than another–
I’m not here
by myself. But,
if you want to give
me something for Xmas,
I’ll be around.
It’s possible that while we were dreaming
the hand that casts out the stars like seeds
started up the ancient music once more
–like a note from a great harp–
and the frail wave came to our lips
in the form of one or two honest words.
translated by Robert Bly
You say nothing is created new?
Don’t worry about it, with the mud
of the earth, make a cup
from which your brother can drink.
translated by Robert Bly
Beyond living and dreaming
there is something more important:
waking up.
translated by Robert Bly
What the poet is searching for
is not the fundamental I
but the deep you.
translated by Robert Bly
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 