I lean on my staff, gaze at the sunlit snow,
Clouds and gullies in countless layers.
The woodcutter returns to his plain hut,
As the winter sun falls behind sheer peaks.
A wildfire burns over the grass of the hills;
Broken patches of mist rise from among the rocks and pines.
Then, turning back on the mountain temple road,
I hear the bells ring in the evening sky.
translated by Stephen Owen
Sworn to the death to exterminate the Huns:
five thousand sable doublets on that alien ground.
Pity, by Lost River there, those bones,
men still, in the dreams of their lovers.
translated by J.P. Seaton
The great desert of sand is snow
and the Yeh Mountain moon is a hook.
When will I be harnessed with golden reins,
galloping clear autumn beneath my hooves?
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
After three years away from you
I’m back at last for one day, and more.
We drink green Luling wine this evening
and I see yellow cloth-wrapped books, like when I left.
My sick bones still exist,
so nothing is impossible in this world!
Why bother to plead with the crows-and-horses dice,
just throw and let them roll!
translated by Tony Barnstone & Chou Ping
The old fisherman spends his night beneath the western cliffs.
At dawn, he boils Hsiang’s waters, burns bamboo of Ch’u.
When the mist’s burned off, and the sun’s come out, he’s gone.
The slap of the oars: the mountain waters green.
Turn and look, at heaven’s edge, he’s moving with the flow.
Above the cliffs, the aimless clouds go too.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Ten long years I’ve honed this sword:
frost white blade as yet untried.
Today, like any other gentleman,
it’s looking for injustice.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Settled, settled: I dwell on the shore of the world.
Longingly, longingly, I gaze toward the view.
The winter plum is most hateful,
For it always blossoms with last year’s flowers.
translated by James J.Y. Liu
The family’s living up Brocade Creek,
while I’ve struggled off to this distant sea.
Of ten letters sent, maybe one gets through,
and when it does, it says,
another year’s gone by.
J.P. Seaton
Great love could seem indifference.
The only hint before the cup: we cannot smile.
Only the candle’s not heartless:
wept tears for us until the dawn.
translated by J.P. Seaton
Everyday the light of spring competes with the light of the sun.
In the hilly town, by the slanting road, the apricot flowers are sweet.
When will my train of thought be free from all cares
And follow the floating gossamer a hundred feet long?
translated by James J.Y. Liu
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.
Erm, what am I doing with my life?
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet 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 