Long Basho Poems
Long Basho Poems. Below are the most popular long Basho by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Basho poems by poem length and keyword.
The Roads of South Africa
To travel the land of one's land is to meet oneself,again and again,in dust and cockcrow.
I am convinced that mist and mountain leave at daybreak to date at Sani Pass.The bend between them is a prayer breathed to the wind.The world here twinkles in folds of cobalt blue and is aflame with warm copper tones . Goats stride like prophets.As the thin air harries your heart it sounds like a drum calling the spirits of your ancestors.
zephyr of mountain gods-
clouds bow at the road's shoulder
boots remember home
The Panorama Route is a complete storybook.God's Window,a laceration of light.The hawk whirling aloft knows no awe.It is awe itself.It has always belonged here.
gap of ancient song,
winds write anthems on ochre...-
echoes wear the sun
A ribbon of defiance is Chapman's Peak Drive.It cuts between the mountain and the sea.Listen closely and you will hear,''beauty is dangerous ''.The sea conducts a reckless choir. It crashes its body against cliffs.A road where valor restrains restlessness and danger seduces the incautious.
froth kisses granite
A gull dives through light and fear,
Waves hail the sky
Long Tom Road winds through mist and memory,canons from the conflicts of Autshumato and Jan van Riebeeck sleep beneath the pines.The virulent air smells pine and history and grilled asparagus tied around pine branches,served with pine oil and pine salt.Long Tom Road is an epistle half written,half read.
Snow on iron rails,
History hums its refrain-
wheels turn,hearts listen
Matsuo Basho: English translations of haiku about summer, trees, firefly, fireflies, cuckoos, rice fields, rice paddies, bush-clover, Iris, Irises, temple, temples, Japanese culture, light, daylight, lit, boat, boats.
Fireflies
turn our trees
into well-lit lodges.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
A noontime firefly,
dim by daylight,
hides behind a pillar.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Firefly watching,
the tipsy boatman
rocks the boat.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rising above fields of rice and barley,
the cry of the summer cuckoo.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Tedious life!
Plowing the rice field
back and forth...
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Lying in the summer grass,
discarded like a king’s robe,
the snakeskin.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The shrubby bush-clover?
How impudent
her appearance!
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Glistening dew
sways without spilling
from the bush-clover.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I bow low
to the venerable
rabbit-eared Iris.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rabbit-eared Iris,
pausing to chit-chat,
one joy of my journey.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The rabbit-eared iris
inspires
another hokku.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rabbit-eared Iris,
admiring your reflection?
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Inside Uchiyama,
unknown to outsiders,
blossoms full-bloom.
—Matsuo Basho, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Uchiyama was a temple little-known to the outside world. In fact, uchi means “inside.”
No words, oily body sweats, city summer.
Desperate to get out and never return although
stalled on Triborough Bridge I admired the skyline.
My city, my death, I did it my way.
Counting your blessings a healthy activity,
the park out my back window, a job that pays.
But I am losing strength to fight
for the world in my imagination. Acceptance of reality
makes me a fossil of society.
Basho in old age found strength to walk
deep into the mountains. He visited famous sites
up north. Po Chu-i traveled mountains in his dreams.
You can leave at any time. You can return
without being seen. A way to learn
your insignificance, freedom to have never been.
The E(n)dge
I leave damp mudprints
there where I met the shore.
The dragonflies' dances,
the goslings scrammed,
and I for now (or 'lo, for once)
exhaled. Edges do that.
A turtle somewhere spied me
not spying a frog; quick to leap.
And splash! My eyes follow my ears.
A biped clown, here at a threshold.
A stronghold of thrushes.
And red-winged blackbirds...
briefly visiting tufts and reeds.
When I go I think it likely
no memory of me will remain
no indication, no story, no song.
But where my callous kissed
the muck.
Invert puddlings, concentric whorls.
A fish somewhere, like I,
determined to visit an edge.
Marks with its 'foot'prints,
lips breaking the tension,
A visit to the start of Sky...
now gone.
We each leave our prints.
We leave each other's
memories,
in time.
I see a green tree. It is all I want.
A dry rocky mountain and a hawk
satisfy. To die spiritually in
the hot sun and the body go on
climbing. To take the paths among
the rocks and mahogany bush.
To feed on rock lichen and blue
sky. To not need a house.
To leave my mind in the foothills.
To climb everything but blind. In
the deer shade of the cool aspens.
Forgotten by the work force and the shrew.
Bored as a badger disturbed at
its stream. Free singing as the stream
cutting the gorge. Cool as a hummingbird
in its wet spray. Caterpillar fur.
I stay in the mountains unknown.
The roof soot of the city calls me back.
The museum women shaking their bodies
at the stuffed tigers. The meditating
curators and entrepreneurs. Burro.
* * *
Old Basho, early Spring, took fond leave of his friends,
closed his small house at edge of village,
and with one peasant companion climbed the long narrow road to
the North.
Blessed morning!
the day I left life behind
but not this world of dew.
Midnight Lullaby
by Michael R. Burch
I.
A measureless rhythm rules the night—
few have heard it,
but I have shared it,
and its secret is mine.
To put it into words
is as to extract the sweetness from honey
and must be done as gently
as a butterfly cleans its wings.
But when it is captured, it is gone again;
its usefulness is only
that it lulls to sleep.
II.
So sleep, my love, to the cadence of night,
to the moans of the moonlit hills'
bass chorus of frogs, while the deep valleys fill
with the nightjar’s shrill, cryptic trills.
But I will not sleep this night, nor any …
how can I—when my dreams
are always of your perfect face
ringed by soft whorls of fretted lace,
framed by your tear-drenched pillowcase?
"Midnight Lullaby" has been set to music by the award-winning New Zealand composer David Hamilton.
Bashed by Basho
by Michael R. Burch
He came to me like an early birdie
and said, “My, my, you are REALLY wordy!”
Keywords/Tags: lullaby, lullabies, music, musical, song, child, children, childhood, baby, babies, midnight, night, rhythm, sleep
Winter
Snowflakes crowd the sky,
tumble in silence to Earth,
their journey ended.
***
Note:
The old “Sanjo-ohashi Bridge” spanned the Kamo River to Kyoto, the former imperial capital city of Japan during the Edo period, aka the Tokugawa period (1603–1868). Kyoto marked the end of the old walking trail (a 300-mile journey) that existed between it and Edo (Tokyo).
The Edo period was the last era of traditional Japan ruled under the shogunate (military dictatorship) and was a time of peace, political stability, economic prosperity, and cultural and artistic creativity and advancement. During this period, Japan maintained an isolation policy from the outside world. Christianity was banned, and Neo-Confucianism was the prevailing philosophy followed. During this period, the Japanese style of poetry known as the haiku flourished, with the Japanese poet Basho (1644–1694) credited for promoting its style.
Popping out from under time's ruffled sun
a regally vested, chit-chatty Robin.
Cheerily navigating the lemon lime grass.
Perhaps looking for a beetle or crumb.
He daintily hip-hopped into my ring
on legs of beige twigs and lute strings.
Gently tilting a Tiffany-kissed beak.
Offering a daisy chain of silvery peeps.
I thought him just another avian busker
hustling up a mate and something to eat.
I'd little to offer and vigorously apologized.
He just glanced toward his robin egg sky.
Then offered me, in pastels, a Basho haiku.
I volleyed back with crayon-streaked senryu.
Before gliding off to sweet memory land,
he gifted an orange gem from his regal vest.
I considered this day to be impeccably blessed
by Lord Robin of the lemon-lime grass.
A True Story
Mr. Matsuo Basho
danced his words with delight
making better poets of us all.
Here I sit pen and paper in my hand
Mind is like a tornado whirling around and around
Many letters and words I need to find.
Today my computer and I have a really hot date,
typing out all the words I want to say.
Saying what I want to say,
is not always so easy.
Sometimes good for all to hear,
sometimes bad~naughty.
Sometimes happy~hooray,
sometimes sad and I want to cry.
Sometimes oh so serious,
sometimes, funny as can be.
Here I sit writing away,
I do it each new day just for you.
Date Written: 4/25/2022
1 Place
POEM ON POETRY MUSEContest Judged:4/29/2022
Sponsored by:Beata Agustin
Note: Mr. Matsuo Basho Lived 1644 to 1694.
I took 3 poems blended and added to make 1 new write.
Sarumino -BASHO MONKEYS RAINCOAT is unique in Renku ,the ancient collaborative form(36 stanza linked verse poems)with examples from Basho(and his disciples...)namely Winters First shower/Summer moon/Katydid/and Plum young herbs, considered to the most typical of Basho's mature style conveying his attitude to life & compiled during his 1689 'Back Roads' pilgrimage ,the translator/editor adds both a cultural commentary for each stanza therein and an index of informative notes thereto
A haikuist was Matsuo Basho
his masterwork,Kasen *you know
He practiced this long poetic sequence
a 36 stanza poem recited in length
*www.jstor.org/stable/2718744