Plum Blossom Haiku Ii

Are you the butterfly while in my dreams I flit after Soshi? —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It's not at all anxious to bloom, the plum tree at my gate. —Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The red plum's fallen petals seem to ignite horse dung. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder!? This white plum tree was once outside our fence! —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The white poppy accepts the butterfly's broken wing as a keepsake —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A single leaf of paulownia falling reflects the sun. —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I caught a falling cherry petal; but opening my fist ... nothing —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Evening shadows grow thick on the floating algae —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The snake slithered away yet his eyes, having met mine, remained —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bamboo grove is lit by the yellow spring sunlight —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On a hot summer night dreams and reality merge —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The summer butterfly has to look sharp to make its getaway —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The autumn sky is severed by the big chinquapin tree —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch “Cawa-cawa!” The winter crow elocutes coarsely. —Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch You rise with the sun, mysteriously warm, also scattering sunbeams. —Michael R. Burch As springs’ budding blossoms emerge the raptors glide mercilessly. —Michael R. Burch “Slain” — an impossible word to comprehend. The male lion murders cubs, licks his lips, devours them. —Michael R. Burch Her sky-high promises: midday moon —Michael R. Burch The north wind’s refrain, the receding strain of a southbound train: Invitation? —Michael R. Burch The moon blushed then fled behind a cloud: her stolen kiss. —Michael R. Burch Elderly sunflowers: bees trimming their beards. —Michael R. Burch