With office work slack I can slip away
we like our goodbyes sweet
there’s nothing left where you grew up
you’re going home to another place
the full moon above mountains of Ch’u
the midnight bell in the land of Huai
where will your lone boat anchor
it’s so far my heart turns away
translated by Red Pine
Where is that drunken spring wind
west of Ch’ang-an or east
if we hadn’t both resigned
we wouldn’t be here together
in Hsuanping Quarter buying wine on credit
or looking for flowers in Hsiayuan Garden
coming and going on willow-lined paths
still dodging those calico horses of the past
translated by Red Pine
Never let your heart open with the spring flowers:
One inch of love is an inch of ashes.
translated by A.C. Graham
The light on the pool suddenly hides behind the wall,
Mingled scents of flowers invade the room.
On the edge of the screen, powder smeared by the butterfly:
On the lacquered window the yellow print of the bee.
Push those state papers across to the clerks,
There’s a maid for every honest civil servant.
Let’s ride abreast and hear each other’s poems.
What’s so urgent about this business you waste your heart on?
translated by A.C.Graham
I who was given in a dream the brush of many colours
Wish to write on petals a message to the clouds of morning.
translated by A.C. Graham
Keep away from sharp swords,
Don’t go near lovely woman.
A sharp sword too close will wound your hand,
Woman’s beauty too close will wound your life.
The danger of the road is not in the distance,
Ten yards is far enough to break a wheel.
The peril of love is not in loving too often,
A single evening can leave its wound in the soul.
translated by A.C. Graham
Day after day spring’s glory vies with the glorious sun.
Sloping roads to the hill city smell of flowering almond.
How long before the heart’s threads, all cares gone,
Float free for a hundred feet with the gossamer?
translated by A.C. Graham
The sunlight thins, the view empties:
Back from a walk, I lie under the front eaves.
Fairweather clouds like torn fluff
And the new moon like a whetted sickle.
A zest for the fields and moors stirs in me,
The ambition for robes of office has long since turned to loathing.
While I live, shall I take your hand again
Sighing that our years will soon be done?
translated A.C. Graham
The thread in the hand of a kind mother
Is the coat on a wanderer’s back.
Before he left she stitched it close
In secret fear that he would be slow to return.
Who will say that inch of grass in his heart
Is gratitude for all the sunshine of spring?
translated by A.S. Graham
I didn’t realize the year was so late
or living apart was so lonely
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 