Warming
sun
spills into my room--
cold outside:
How my heart aches
for the first forsythias!
Early spring;
hazy sunshine fades--
in grayness
the people walking by
bowed in silent thought.
March sunshine:
the sound of water trickling
through melting snow,
the tracks of birds and deer
trailing off to nowhere.
Melting snow:
Touching my eyelids,
the evening mist--
I blink away the tears
that are not there.
I try to fit a tune
to the rhythm of the cold
falling raindrops:
I try to look outside
through the blurred window.
The snow having melted,
there is only a high wind blowing
cold rain in my face:
Instead of new blossoms
there are still only dead leaves.
Circling crows
fighting among each other:
An albino appears
and leads them off,
their distant caws fading.
Sparrows chirping
in the long hedgerow
in different rhythms--
they noisily punctuate
the fresh spring air!
An east wind
off the sea coast--
high clouds
foreshadow things to come
as do slowly stirring buds.
Today I saw
the first green shoots of tulips
in the garden;
my heart quickens knowing
that blossoms will soon appear!
Closely examining
the greening buds of April,
I pause and listen:
Wind whistles through the shrubs,
harmonizing with the sparrows.
Startling beauty
of bud-bursting magnolias!
I step closer
and strain to see the blossoms
high in the leaf-bare branches.
How desolate
these first forsythias look
in the cold wind,
those in the shade are still
trapped inside their buds.
Three feet deep
the snow catches light--
the gibbous moon
in the starless sky
shines on me, too.
How desolate
these first forsythias look
in the cold wind,
trapped inside their buds
where they grow in the shade.
For a moment
glimpsing her beauty
I am disarmed:
passing her I almost
trip on the last stair.
Poor crocuses,
beaten down by sleet
this morning,
your friends, the daffodils
have fared much better.
All through the day,
dealing with others’ problems,
I almost fall asleep;
Does the budding bush I passed
worry about its neighbors?
Weeping willows
put out their new strands--
A fresh greenness
in the swampy pools
behind the stone wall.
Horses out today
grazing on the fresh green grass
after last week's rain--
black flies starting to appear:
How I'll need to run from them!
Perched on the sill,
the thrush does not see me
standing underneath;
so near, I watch him chirp
loudly to my heart's
content!
In their corrals
horses quietly grazing
on the first warm day;
suddenly a black fly
comes out of the roadside marsh.
The front path
still squishy and soft
after the snow-melt;
bright new moss is poking up
around green islands of sod.
The first peepers
resounding across the pond
this first warm day--
How foolish they are if they
think the cold is gone
for good!
Under the tree,
mowing the new grass,
I see a dead chick
from the robin's nest:
it almost looks asleep.
Suddenly today,
clouds of flowering cherries!
A bright display
against the billowing darkness
of the fast-approaching storm.
Heavy raindrops
soaking my shirtsleeves--
people are funny;
How they run and hide their heads,
not noticing the new leaves.
Onset of rain:
Newly planted pansies
blown in the wind;
I, too, feel the pelting
of these heavy raindrops.
The shining purples
of small-leaf Rhododendrons;
bushes full of flowers
a lively conversation piece
for me and my nameless neighbor.
The yellow finches
hopping from branch to branch
near the feeder:
I stand out of the way
so as not to alarm them.
The darkening sky
ushering out the day's heat:
the cool rain
slakes the new pansies
as it soaks my shirtsleeves.
A first bumblebee
sucking fresh nectar from
the rhododendron,
whose flowers have been blooming
all week without a visit.
In a small flock
two pigeons are billing--
they couple and part;
as I start to move away
I startle them into flight.
They're dropping,
forsythia blossoms,
one by one:
Lilac blossoms opening,
and oh, what a scent!
Flowering cherries,
This tree white, this one pink:
new green leaves
push their way through the blossoms,
blossoms that fall to the ground.
Today I walked
past the flowering cherries;
their fading blossoms
a sadder shade of pink,
falling away on the wind.
Tiny caterpillar,
dining on a fading petal
of white cherry,
when it has withered and fallen
where will you be flying?
Dining on a petal
of a fading white cherry,
tiny caterpillar,
where will you be flying
when it is withered and fallen?
Perched at the feeder,
you take my breath away,
bright-red cardinal--
how your flight into the trees
pulls my gaze along with it!
Perched at the feeder,
you take my breath away,
bright-red cardinal--
how your flight into the trees
pulls my heart along with it!
I bend to smell
low-hanging wisterias
in the garden;
a bumblebee emerges:
Did I break his samadhi?
Here in New England,
how strange to see a stand of it--
towering bamboo:
What will you not find
on the back streets of Cambridge!
How do you live here,
towering stand of bamboo,
here in the city
up north where the winter’s sting
kills your tropical friends?
Towering bamboo,
you survived the winter too:
I wore warm clothing
against the long months of snow;
tell me, what is your secret?
Towering bamboo
in this northern climate--
its greenness
blending so with the maples
I almost didn't notice.
On the front lawn
between dandelions and moss,
forget-me-nots:
Do not be afraid,
I will not step on you.
Flowering cherries
have long since lost their blossoms:
lilacs are in bloom,
but already their petals
begin to wither and fall.
Lady cardinal,
where is your bright-red mate?
Plaintive is your call
as you flit from bush to tree
and off into the forest.
Female cardinal--
where is her bright-red mate?--
her call so plaintive
as she flits from bush to tree
and off into the forest.
Honeybee, why
are you clinging so to the
withered iris blossom—
there is no nectar there,
let the wind take you away.
In the stiff breeze
a honeybee clings fast…
a withered iris
with all its petals gone
is no place to find nectar.
A bright hello
yet no interest in me,
just being nice:
but for me so much more…
my detachment has fled.
We tenderly part--
I try to go back to sleep,
fitfully tossing;
I think of her long journey
and the days I’ll be alone.
A sparrow chirping
in the deep echoing cave:
The darkness
cannot stanch the flow
of its joyful song.
Dark gray clouds
moving in across the sun:
a sudden cloudburst
and the fresh young leaves
shine brightly in the breeze.
Rain puddles
gathering in the road:
gardenia blossoms
gratefully celebrating
in shades of bright pink.
Lilac blossoms
reduced to grayish clumps:
Memorial Day,
and the steady rainfall
watering the dry irises.
Early morning mist--
stopping to smell the fresh air
after heavy rain:
the half-moon in the tree-tops
is a reassuring ghost.
On a spring day
I mourn its fallen blossoms,
the flowering cherry--
now I spot two white flowers
among the hard green fruits.
Purple brilliance,
large-leafed rhododendrons…
attracting bees--
they have also attracted
my wistful, admiring eyes.
The purple brilliance
of large-leafed rhododendrons;
bees search out nectar--
the blossoms also attract
my wistful, admiring eyes.
Heavy-hanging clouds
and a strong wind in my face--
rhododendrons!
How my mood has soared
from wistfulness to joy.
I miss the bloom
of the flowering
cherries:
Look! two blossoms there!
How bright they
appear
among the hard green fruits.
Long gone are the blooms
of the flowering
cherries . . .
Look! two blossoms there!
How bright they appear
among
the hard green fruits.
Withered side by side
on the flowering cherry,
the last two blossoms--
Where is their strength to hold on?
is it loyalty or love?
Heavy fog
now thinning out in patches--
growing sunlight
tries to burn its way through the mist
and into my grieving heart.
Flower to flower,
O first summer butterfly,
are
you come early?
Calendar says it is spring,
your golden flight says
summer.
After a rainsquall
a vision across the sky--
what a cloudburst,
sending streams of sun
rays
upwards, sideways, below.
Walking in the heat,
looking at all the
blossoms:
How sweet they smell--
Yellow roses, red
roses,
orange, pink and white roses!
A few weeks ago
these were flowering cherries--
no longer;
their specialness is gone,
now the
blossoms have fallen.
A few weeks ago
these were flowering cherries--
their specialness is gone
now that the blossoms have fallen
and all is a sea of green leaves.
I watch the sparrow
and nervously he flies away--
my heart is saddened,
but I know his relatives
will come this way again.
The heat has passed
and the day is become cool;
a gentle breeze
caresses my face as I
listen to the sparrows’ song.
Waves of summer heat
exerting a
crushing weight
after the solstice:
already the the daylight hours
have a waning
energy.
Heat bearing down --
the feel of dew on the skin
after the night’s rest . . .
detachment fails to release
this unreasonable clinging.
In the searing heat,
wafting in front
of me
a lazy butterfly --
and in the shade two boxers
too hot to guard
master's gate.
In the searing heat,
a lazy butterfly wafts
in front of me --
those two boxers in the shade,
are they too hot to bark?
After burning heat
the cool of summer
night
a welcome respite –
the sound of
passers-by
a restful soothing pace.
Crags and boulders
stacked down the
plunging cliff,
a nightmare:
Where has the bridge gone,
and where the
traveller?
Thunder and lightning,
distant rumbling and
flashing
after the rainstorm:
a time to listen to the
gods
debating at midnight.
Lady in black
with skirt hem so high
tell me -
who is it you are mourning?
who is it you are tempting?
Wandering about
to avoid
pedestrians,
black pigeon,
they do not
notice at all
your striking charcoal
hue.
The sky opens up
and down comes a deluge
soaking everything;
even the very raindrops
seem fully saturated.
A beautiful warbler
singing many melodies
in the green shrub;
hiding itself away
it leaves us with just a song.
After the storm,
its thunder, lightning and rain,
a double rainbow
fades back into the dark clouds
as the sun sets in the West.
Threatening stormclouds
in the distance to the West
where the sun shines--
a burst of light burns through
the long dark shadows.
Seeking nectar,
a tiny bee flying over
tall tiger lilies--
how they capture the sun
in their wide open petals!
Giant puffs of clouds
slowly sailing overhead,
white and gray on blue,
sunshine pokes through here and there,
the mind wanders everywhere.
How refreshing, cool
is the breeze through the window:
The golden sun
warms the skin of my face
just kissed by the lilting wind!
Heat bearing down
like a thousand hands;
the burning sun
slowing the pace of walkers,
even the chirping of birds.
Even the tree shade
gives no mercy from the heat;
the sun penetrates
into the flesh and bones
of the tired wanderer.
Crimson sunset
slowly sinks to the horizon;
the rose-tinted clouds
opening my eyes to the
serene Western Paradise.
Giant puffs of clouds
slowly sailing overhead:
Cumulus on blue--
sunshine pokes through here and there,
the mind wanders everywhere.
Rich blue overhead,
clouds slowly moving across
the eternal sky:
Myriads have watched this scene
since the beginning of time.
Hot summer evening
and a faint orange glow--
the green corn moon,
whose mournful gibbous face
shares my feelings of sadness.
Even in the shade
of the hedgerow, burning heat--
where is there relief?
Only in far-distant mountains
remain the snows of winter.
Walking under trees
protecting me from the heat--
hanging crabapples
as thick as my fingers
recall bitter memories.
A male pigeon
following females around--
a very hot day;
how hot those long-past days
when we were first together!
A flash of red!
Though I turn my head quickly,
it’s too late:
I cannot identify
the bird now in the bushes.
In the bright sun
perched on adjacent stones
two still pigeons,
one brown-speckled on white,
the other shades of gray.
Passing a garden
the neighbors usually keep,
weeds gone to seed:
and out from the wild herbs
the sound of a lone cricket.
First cool breezes
of early September nights:
Memories of autumn
returning to mind--even now
a deep longing for winter.
Squabbling crows
circling over head--
a cooling breeze
announcing first autumn,
mourning summer's demise.
Why is it
those sparrows look so small?--
flitting at my feet
they persist in their search
for crumbs, finding only sand.
Squabbling crows
circle over head--
a cool breeze
announces first autumn,
mourning summer's demise.
A chill in the air:
painted across the sky,
heavy clouds
moving in high winds--
red leaves falling, fallen.
Like summer,
this late October heat:
a single bee
crosses my path
through the turning leaves.
A pallid sky...
Crows attacking pigeons,
swooping and diving:
They caw loudly, striking
terror into many hearts.
How strange it is
to feel summer returning
so deep in autumn—
the respite is far too brief
to revive wizened branches.
Walking through
an old pine forest
at night:
the thick bed of needles
cushions my footfalls.
Having no interest
in resolving my life's pain,
Ponderosa pines . . .
towering far above me,
they direct my gaze upward.
Long low branches
of the great pine tree
clad in new snow . . .
this heavy whiteness
bends them to the ground.
Through the pines
the sound of a howling dog
cutting through,
the soft new-fallen snow
shows the path of deer.
How beautiful,
the towering pines
by the road,
poison ivy and lichens
lying in long shadows.
Chilling mist
and squabbling sparrows
in the pines,
where wind whistles through
and sings a sad song.
Cool mist
causes me to blink:
My eyes clear--
Is there a large forest
behind this row of pines?
The sun shining down
after days of sleet and rain--
squabbling sparrows:
Remembering that distant day
when sharp words came between us.
Fresh fallen snow
half melted in a slurry
under a gray sky--
seagulls this far inland
have also lost their way.
Just as an ant
being squashed under foot
desperately clinging
to the last moments of life
how the fallen must have felt.
The gentle cool air
of the last day of autumn:
a circling pigeon
painting itself in the sky
upon the cloudy canvas.
Overcast day
with mild intermittent rain:
An ache in my heart
arises already for spring,
so early in winter.
Snow is falling
beyond the long mountains
in great
abundance--
my heart is warming up
to thoughts of the new year.
Across the path
lies a pool of hard ice
reflecting sunlight--
the heat I receive
barely keeps me warm.
Through my window
the sunlight is pouring in:
New Year's Day--
the bitter cold without
cannot freeze the warmth inside.
Colder today,
And yet it could be
even colder--
it would be were it not for
the warmth in my heart.
Petals clinging
to the wintered rose vine:
a cloudless day
and stillness everywhere--
aimless thoughts wither away.
What do you see
from the topmost branch,
solitary crow--
If I could be inside you
would I see things differently?
Drizzling:
the sound of raindrops
breaking the silence,
the flapping of the gull's wings
with a fading plaintive cry.
Pools of hard ice
shining in the moonlight--
the howling wind
fades to the raucous wailing
of alley cats in heat.
Pools of hard ice
shining in the moonlight--
midnight:
the howling of cats
breaks the silence.
Breathing fresh air
on a mild winter day:
Sparrows chatter
in the leafless hedgerow--
How true are their complaints?
Have I entered
a high blown cloud?
thick flurries
blinding my vision and
strangers with umbrellas.
An old stone wall
holding back the earth--
leafless branches
of the maple trees
barely quiver in the wind.
Winter drought broken
by a slight spray of rain:
How long must we wait
for March or April showers
to bring May flowers?
Tulip shoots
erupting from the cold soil:
early spring chill
offers no mercy
for man or flower.
How the crocuses
must also be shuddering,
this freezing day
I withdraw into the warmth
of my winter coat.
Pushing out,
yellow forsythia buds
about to burst--
my waiting for spring
can barely contain itself.
Soaking rain
and a chilling wind
raging,
desires unfulfilled
leave me in tears.
A strong head wind
drives the cold into me;
slowly bursting buds
cannot open fast enough
with the sun behind the clouds.
This early spring
looking at cherries,
yearning,
impatiently I await
the pink and white blossoms.
Cherry blossoms
on both sides of the road
in the chilling wind,
I look up into the branches
and find myself in heaven.
Encased by the warmth
of the beaming sun above,
I quiet my mind:
Bumblebees taking nectar
from small-leaf rhododendrons.
A cool breeze
ripples through my sleeves--
passions are quenched;
will the peace of the moment
be shattered tomorrow?
The flowering pear
where the two roads meet--
spring warmth,
and the cloudy night sky
where the two roads divide.
This late in April
and still the chill persists
despite the sunrays,
tulips are slow to open
and so too is my heart.
Soaking rain
slaking the dry ground--
this hunger,
will it ever be satisfied
now that sp
ring is here?
Bending to smell
lilac blossoms opening--
what a scent
and how fleeting, fickle
and faithless this sweetness!
A cold rain
turns into raging streams
along the road,
where hopes fade to dreams
and dreams fade to emptiness.
Trees a deeper green,
the winds mild and warm --
how alive
the feeling as this long day
slowly winds to its end!
Flash of lightning
and crashing claps of thunder
slowly receding,
my thoughts turn again
to the soft pillow and sleep.
When was it
that it was only a dream,
this summer heat?
Now that spring is gone
there are new dreams.
The heat washed away
in a lightning rainstorm--
now a cool breeze
comes in through the window
this peaceful evening.
A wood fire
burning through the night--
the full moon
captures my dreams
as the flame does the moth.
The moon shines
through the misty veil--
a blurred outline
haunts my waking dreams
and stirs me to stillness.
I remember her
on that quiet moonlit eve--
the autumn wind
sweeps away fallen leaves
and whistles through the trees.
Mind belabored by
disconcerting thoughts and fears:
where does peace reside?
in the passing light of the moon
or the faint light of daybreak?
The moon has long set,
but crickets are still chirring
with stars overhead--
my eyes finding patterns
in the sky's dark infinitude.
The crashing surf
on the point at Gloucester
spraying sand in the air--
in the fine mist a rainbow
with pots of sorrow at both ends.
Rain clouds have gone,
and now in the warming sun--
morning glories
that were puckered this morning
have opened to receive the light.
Chill in the air;
a steady late summer rain
slowly falling--
the sound of soaking shoes
tramping along the path.
The wind quickens
driving waves higher, higher,
dashed against the shore--
a piece of driftwood shatters
with the trembling of my heart.
Cool air
blows through my sleeves--
a pigeon's feather
caught in a lilting updraft
floats in through the window.
What cacophony,
sea-gulls circling overhead!
The cool gray sky
gives this late summer day
a ghostly preview of autumn.
A sweltering day
and the pigeons overhead
cooing loudly--
with what passion also
do our limbs entwine?
Festoons of ivy
spilling over the stone wall--
a single ant
crossing the walkway
feeling its way to safety.
Cool autumn nights
give way to searing heat--
wilted rose blossoms
have fallen to the ground,
and again the rains come.
Trickle of water
in the deep mountain brook--
one short leap
and I've crossed it,
into what unknown land?
Darkness descends
yet the faint echo of dusk
lingering--
my thoughts on that night
which never seemed to end.
Sun behind the clouds--
Barely a branch stirring
in the tall trees;
at once a sparrow flies up
and the first drop of rain falls.
Warmth again;
in the withering sunshine--
sparrows
heckling each other
for invisible bits of food.
Hiding behind
a gossamer cloud,
the pale moon
showering beams of
delicately softened light.
Autumn blooming
of small-leafed rhododendrons--
a bumblebee
flitting from blossom to blossom
still holds out hope for nectar.
On a breeze
the scent of salt air--
the seacoast
hosting the ebb tide
and the crabs left behind.
The cloudless sky
as day gives way to dusk;
quiet sunglow
with a light western breeze
quivering the treetops.
The afternoon clouds
have all floated away--
the cold clear sky
has not so much as a breeze
to break the evening stillness.
The old windows
shaking in the cold wind;
the bright sunshine
barely penetrates the walls,
barely melts the snow.
Midnight comes,
and with it the first snowflakes--
the rising wind
whistles through the trees
and the walls of the house.
Snowflakes driven
by a gentle winter wind;
people walking by
on the icy sidewalks
in crooked lines.
Even in the sunshine
the ice does not melt;
a cold wind
blows through the empty vines,
the roses having long since faded.
Dawn's first light--
the sound of chopping wood
in the stinging cold;
Dream-thoughts come and vanish
in the half-asleep world.
The blue light
of the guttering candle;
a cold wind
thrashes leafless branches
against the windowpane.
Snowflakes thicken
as the bitter wind rises;
the muted sunlight
fills my mind with memories
of long-forgotten dreams.
Deep snowdrifts;
the flakes have stopped falling
this clear night,
the sliver of crescent moon
floating in the heavenly dark.
Morning sunlight
reflected on wide snowdrifts--
this brightness
blinding to squinting eyes
in every direction.
The sound of sparrows
chattering in the morning
under the eaves;
the slow melting of snow
in the blinding sunlight.
Deep snowdrifts;
the flakes have stopped falling
this clear night,
the sliver of crescent moon
floating in the heavenly dark.
The new-fallen snow
radiates the morning sunlight;
what stillness!
only the tracks of a deer
that has passed in the dawn.
In winter's depth
the old pine has fallen;
what silence
as it lies in the snow--
even the birds are quiet.
Now it is silent
where children once played--
this playground,
overgrown with brush
and home only to squirrels.
The river's ice
slowly floating seawards;
this overcast sky
brings a muted sadness
to a heart awaiting spring.
A passer-by
whistling an unknown tune --
darkening clouds,
and chattering sparrows
moving from shrub to shrub.
Taking a sniff
of a marigold blossom;
peeyuww!!
a bee buzzes by
indifferent to the scent.
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Last
modified: 8 September 2012.