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Yosa Buson Short Poems | Poetry

Famous Short Yosa Buson Poems. Short poetry by famous poet Yosa Buson. A collection of the all-time best Yosa Buson short poems

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Yosa Buson | Short Famous Poems and Poets

 
by Yosa Buson

Harvest moon

 Harvest moon--
called at his house,
he was digging potatoes.


by Yosa Buson

Old well

 Old well,
a fish leaps--
 dark sound.


by Yosa Buson

Sparrow singing

 Sparrow singing--
its tiny mouth
 open.


by Yosa Buson

Early summer rain

 Early summer rain--
houses facing the river,
 two of them


by Yosa Buson

Evening wind

 Evening wind:
water laps
 the heron's legs.


by Yosa Buson

My arm for a pillow

 My arm for a pillow,
I really like myself
under the hazy moon.


by Yosa Buson

Calligraphy of geese

 Calligraphy of geese
against the sky--
 the moon seals it.


by Yosa Buson

Blow of an ax

 Blow of an ax,
pine scent,
the winter woods.


by Yosa Buson

The spring sea rising

 The spring sea rising
and falling, rising
 and falling all day.


by Yosa Buson

A bat flits

 A bat flits
in moonlight
above the plum blossoms.


by Yosa Buson

Coolness

 Coolness--
the sound of the bell
 as it leaves the bell.


by Yosa Buson

Dawn

 STILL as the holy of holies breathes the vast,
Within its crystal depths the stars grow dim;
Fire on the altar of the hills at last
 Burns on the shadowy rim.
Moment that holds all moments; white upon The verge it trembles; then like mists of flowers Break from the fairy fountain of the dawn The hues of many hours.
Thrown downward from that high companionship Of dreaming inmost heart with inmost heart, Into the common daily ways I slip My fire from theirs apart.


by Yosa Buson

Listening to the moon

 Listening to the moon,
gazing at the croaking of frogs
in a field of ripe rice.


by Yosa Buson

Lighting one candle

 Lighting one candle
with another candle--
 spring evening.


by Yosa Buson

Buying leeks

 Buying leeks
and walking home
 under the bare trees.


by Yosa Buson

Dawn

 Dawn--
fish the cormorants haven't caught
swimming in the shallows.


by Yosa Buson

Not quite dark yet

 Not quite dark yet
and the stars shining
above the withered fields.


by Yosa Buson

Before the white chrysanthemum

 Before the white chrysanthemum
the scissors hesitate
 a moment.


by Yosa Buson

Ploughing the land

 Ploughing the land--
not even a bird singing
in the mountain's shadow.


by Yosa Buson

The old man

 The old man
cutting barley--
bent like a sickle.


by Yosa Buson

The end of spring

 The end of spring--
the poet is brooding
 about editors.


by Yosa Buson

White blossoms of the pear

 White blossoms of the pear
and a woman in moonlight
 reading a letter.


by Yosa Buson

Washing the hoe

 Washing the hoe--
ripples on the water;
 far off, wild ducks.


by Yosa Buson

His Holiness the Abbot

 His Holiness the Abbot
is shitting
in the withered fields.


by Yosa Buson

Blown from the west

 Blown from the west,
fallen leaves gather
 in the east.