Matsuo Basho Short Poems
Famous Short Matsuo Basho Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Matsuo Basho. A collection of the all-time best Matsuo Basho short poems
by
Matsuo Basho
In the twilight rain
these brilliant-hued hibiscus . . .
A lovely sunset
by
Matsuo Basho
From time to time
The clouds give rest
To the moon-beholders.
by
Matsuo Basho
An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
by
Matsuo Basho
Autumn moonlight--
a worm digs silently
into the chestnut.
by
Matsuo Basho
First winter rain--
even the monkey
seems to want a raincoat.
by
Matsuo Basho
A bee
staggers out
of the peony.
by
Matsuo Basho
Spring:
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist.
The beginning of autumn:
Sea and emerald paddy
Both the same green.
The winds of autumn
Blow: yet still green
The chestnut husks.
A flash of lightning:
Into the gloom
Goes the heron's cry.
by
Matsuo Basho
In the cicada's cry
No sign can foretell
How soon it must die.
by
Matsuo Basho
A monk sips morning tea,
it's quiet,
the chrysanthemum's flowering.
by
Matsuo Basho
The dragonfly
can't quite land
on that blade of grass.
by
Matsuo Basho
Winter solitude--
in a world of one color
the sound of wind.
by
Matsuo Basho
First day of spring--
I keep thinking about
the end of autumn.
by
Matsuo Basho
First snow
falling
on the half-finished bridge.
by
Matsuo Basho
A caterpillar,
this deep in fall--
still not a butterfly.
by
Matsuo Basho
Taking a nap,
feet planted
against a cool wall.
by
Matsuo Basho
Heat waves shimmering
one or two inches
above the dead grass.
by
Matsuo Basho
A snowy morning--
by myself,
chewing on dried salmon.
by
Matsuo Basho
The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.
by
Matsuo Basho
At a hermitage:
A cool fall night--
getting dinner, we peeled
eggplants, cucumbers.
by
Matsuo Basho
Awake at night--
the sound of the water jar
cracking in the cold.
by
Matsuo Basho
Spring rain
leaking through the roof
dripping from the wasps' nest.
by
Matsuo Basho
How admirable!
to see lightning and not think
life is fleeting.
by
Matsuo Basho
Don't imitate me;
it's as boring
as the two halves of a melon.
by
Matsuo Basho
Winter garden,
the moon thinned to a thread,
insects singing.
by
Matsuo Basho
This old village--
not a single house
without persimmon trees.