Best Ronin Poems
I wander the landscapes of solitude
Unchecked and unhealed,
Beneath heavens speared with bamboo rain,
A blade on my back concealed
Beyond where the eye can envisage and see,
Deserts burning dry,
Beyond where the temples sink in the dust,
Under a storm laden sky.
There is no one to swear allegiance to,
The loneliest decree,
To walk the earth as the years dissolve
And land crumbles into sea.
I wander the heartlands of yesterday,
Of feudal souls no more,
Where the killing fields were hearth and home,
My brothers men of war.
No master to slip the chains and unleash
Honour and ferocity,
Belonging to nothing, beloved of none,
Rootless, accursed and free.
Dishonorable Tao pen,
your fealty strokes
are guided by
shogun lust for the yen
Quill treachery
blot your avarice ambition
Devious calligraphy
be the torn loyalty decision
Vain kimono pride
is bushido vow laid aside
Naked truth disrobed —
Coin motive
ain’t unsheathe noble
Ink ronin,
got no master to gallantly serve or valor save
Unworthy pen,
every vile thrust
spilt more scarlet sin upon your Shinto grave
Inscribe your pulse amorality
with a crimson postscript
Follow your vagabond reality
into that inkwell miry pit
True patience means bearing the unbearable
Once I
Lived
bushido
At Heart.
Served my lord,
Wielding carbon
And steel
In fidelity.
Cast aside,
I have
No master now.
I will not taste
My blade
Outcast,
I wander the
Rising sun
to know
The Way anew,
And to learn
I again
for the first time.
I
Ronin
Old age and its wisdom but
mostly luck of the draw one inch to the right
or left of the arrow that kills a comrade beside me
To be just past the flames that explode and incinerate
those unfortunate enough to be in front of me
is luck
pure and simple at the cost of dreams and desires
Narrow piercing painful eyes that have seen so much
and wonder still why those who make war
seldom dress for battle
I am nearing the endless night and my body
reminds me of it’s torture in a daily vigil
toward reprimand
My adoration of you my love has passed
from heated loins on pillows
to passionate words on parchment
My son the weapons of war
are now wielded in words
I am old yes a gift that I did not deserve
but a treasure I shall take with me
to the next horizon
upon this pebbled road
Stone pebbles crush beneath my sandals
Bare skin welcoming warm breezes
in the aftermath of a cold shameful bath
Washing crimson away and
my soul bit by bit Honor is the excuse
given for bloodshed
River rock and coy drink in my horrors
bear now the burden that drives these feet
upon this pebbled road
Raised to believe many things
One which a guy from up high
Comes flying out that sky that we all see
It had to be literally
Did i believe it?
Without a doubt i did,
Because the one who trained me
told me nothing was hid
I grew and trained and meditated on this as a kid
Was lead to believe this era was far from kingdom come
How far from the truth was this.
Now it beats on me like a drum
The day i became self aware i was delivered from the dragons liar
Enraged he was that i began growing out my hair
Becoming his end, a vicious truth with a cold stare
Freshly crafted nunchucks marked by sevens
3 days later
I can only tell you an angel put it there
Truth is ....it is true
but my trainer missed the vitual tools
Parables connect us from what we do
Poetry and emotion are not apart
And we are not damn robots
I chose it just as it chose me
But....it answered my question to an extreme
I was the only one in this existence
that can deem myself eternally
My other self sealed this deal
By blood sweat and tears did he feel
Seems tho that hasnt changed as the end is near
But maybe this time...
I feel i need someone else to help me see
I dont know why but its what has always driven me
To put an end to your enemy is to see as they see
And at the end....choose whats truly honorably
And so to my blood family
I become ronin
Because i am me
To Rise, conquer,
and in truth ...find honor
Until the end of my journey sets me free
High upon this hill of long grass we sit in repose staring off in the distance
down upon the valley and village of our youth
the sun is setting in the sky and I feel its fading warmth
pushing us toward winter pushing me back toward duty and my destiny
but my dream is now with you at my side and nothing to want or worry
A child runs with purpose against the blowing grasses
This child your child your boy left as a gift and testament from his father
runs quickly into your welcoming arms winded breathing a familiar innocence
out into this undeserving world
the weight of my purse has become burdensome as it presses against
my sword and side I rip it free from my body
this bloodprice bloodmoney I have never had a use for until now
Possibly to do good could justify the price it has cost my conscience
Freely I pass it over to you
As the wind blows between us you know
soon I will be gone
Ronin
Forty-seven men,
hereditary nobles,
military samurais,
serving their master,
who was betrayed and killed by
another lord, ronin's, they
turned masterless, schemed
samurai, three years
spun thieves, mercenaries, and
madmen, delight all
the challenges that are faced,
the adrenaline that is
peaked, did kill their lord
master betrayer and their
met deed, all did seppuku,
a mass suicide,
belief be dead, chose
myth, honor, than masterless.
***A ronin (drifter or wanderer) was a samurai without a lord or master during the feudal period (1185–1868) of Japan. A samurai became masterless upon the death of his master or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege.
2020 March 26
Howmanysyllables;
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Before I wake this split second of pure white joy
alone in a field of blowing grasses and nothing
No sound no fear no joy no duty
just infinity with the sun and sky and self
The quiet peace humbles me before I blink
And clash thunderous swords with a soul
I share no history with except an ending
A tear-filled mother and scorn-bitten child that realize
nothing but the taste of vengeance in their mouths
their spit burns the earth it falls on
as a father’s blood feeds the flowers
that grow in spring
hindsight if only clearer in my future my present
still sitting here upon weathered rock warmed by years
of summers sun only now can I give reflection
to the tree that sways in the breeze ebbing and flowing
in the wind of my thoughts
past memories a boy with a dream and desire
following the rising sun and daring to imagine
something outside of his world his preordained future
a goal not granted a thought riding on the coattails of
a samurai’s dressings a moment to be more than himself
before fate crashes the dream onto a rock of reality
and a broken man sits down beside a stream
reflecting upon a weathered rock
There is a brotherhood among soldiers
a bond a band a fellowship
that those at battle’s end speak of
I long for its connection, its embrace
Yet here you lay blood bubbling from your lips
as you try to speak to me Beg me for comfort
in your final setting sun
My hand cannot stop the rose petals that burst
from your body with each failing breath.
In our eyes we both know the outcome
But in my heart my secret my truth
I hate the burden you have left the living
My fathers pride as well as his fathers unquestioned
and now as knife is held to top knot I question respect
Is that not the very same thing that has robbed me of my life
I have been bound to those who have dishonored me
and loved those I have disgraced
In a simple motion the top knot is cut and I am no longer bound
The sun sets and I know now that my days are
no longer in stone My story is no longer the fates to tell
Clearly I see you now Death I am not afraid to look
Where were you when the earth ran red
and a thousand men screamed for you to take them
And you sat on mountaintops with generals
sipping drinks and laughing and staying
out of the afternoon’s oppressive sun
No I do not fear you I welcome you on level ground
as an equal warrior for we will have our feud
No mistake I know the outcome but you know well
I will fight and not yield with every dying breath
until I am forced to accept all that I have done
I have cowered I have crawled I have begged and I have survived
Honor is something that those that do no battle speak of
Shame is something dictated by those who have not survived
I have felt a shame in that which I have done
but also a love in those I have fought beside
a knowing and an understanding that
if you do not stand beside me
you will never be allowed to judge me