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
These spray-can scrawls on public walls
Express my psychic rage with rude intent.
My tags provoke a thoughtful pause
In much the same way Banksy does,
With cold irony and unrepentant guile.
My way of bombing bubble style
Might even tease a tourist’s smile.
But my darker themes paint silent screams:
Is it public?
Is it street?
Is it urban?
Is it commercial?
And then let’s consider my masterwork mural,
A brutally honest and life-like self-portrait,
A glimpse of me in all my squalid bohemian splendor,
Nothing but pavement crack and tenement dysfunction.
Too hard-edge for primetime, you say?
Well, I didn’t get a face like this
By staying out of trouble.
So there!
I was in Eden, when the stars saw and moulded man
I beheld the achievement of my toils and plan
I surveyed the ape body beneath my tail of green
I contemplated the workings of my servants
I breathed my warm breath of wisdom into his nostrils
I saw the flesh breathe in and out, tasting the air
His brown eyes opened, and looked in the four directions
Her ears twitched, to listen to the stars whispering
His wide nose sniffed, smelling the corpses of my past works
Her hands felt the grass dancing beneath her rough skin
His mind awoke, the beauty of my dream departed
Her soul moved, and I was filled with breathless horror
Your almond skin concealed the web of veins and muscles
Your hair was black that pointed in all directions
Your teeth were thirty two pearls of white bathed in cows milk
Your two eyes sparkled with inquiry and longing
Your soul in your eyes was as white as the night sky’s pearl
Your mouth spoke about the pink pearl beneath the shell
“Let my pink pearl drift in the gnosis river
Let my pink pearl drift high above Eden’s stars”
The Greatest Poem Ever Written
The greatest poem ever written,
made the angels cry...
the oceans fade...
the mountains sway...
and every heart sigh.
But, you would never know...
because I hit an advertisement link below...
and away my masterwork did go.
by Martin Braun
July 28, 2023
It echoes dull dawn past a long evening.
Dusk is being thawed off like flowering.
Your aegis bore the road to the doorway.
A soft tune for a crucial sweep of sway,
High, grim oaks form a tone of masterwork.
All around, snow-cloaked raw act like a stork,
Much frost lingers baffled to the twigs' arms.
Glancing all around, watching over barns!
Like a butterfly fetching my glamour,
Your love drew my wings, a kiss of amour.
Like a child was wiping my tears, says no.
Your grin, an easing-up pole for rainbow,
All, out of this apex, to the prime peak
From ice orb to the vast sky, it's all leak.
But clear than a gismo, that hits my sight!
Dazzling had to mix magic and heal plight.
Everything you own is what you have loved.
Get relieved of your ego and think roved.
Nothing huge was ever done without zeal.
Love, be grateful and assist others heal.
Written: February 08, 2022
Selected as POTD
A haikuist was Matsuo Basho
his masterwork,Kasen *you know
He practiced this long poetic sequence
a 36 stanza poem recited in length
*https://www.jstor.org/stable/2718744
This Rose
This rose reminds me,those days,
Those days you were mine,
Those days I was drunk and you were the wine,
This rose reminds me how I was ready to carry the cross,
Now you and I are history,
And I'm no longer part of your story,
Your ego could not make you feel sorry.
What we shared was plastic,
Our love was never elastic,
The attraction was never magnetic,
No wonder you saw me as a tick,
I was trapped in your jail arms,
Yet I promised to keep you from all harms,
This rose reminds me of us,
And how stupid I was and an ass.
I know I should be happy,
Happy and jumpy,
You moved on I guess,
And I will never be in your dress,
It is time I moved on and clean my mess,
But this rose will always remind me of us and those fake promises.
This rose,
I'm still praying,
To the Lord and crying,
So that He will send another real angel,
True gem with rare games,
So this rose will remind me to be hopeful.
© MasterWork
The masterwork of Cabbala is the Zohar
I took a glance at it today
in the mystical bookstore near me - Namaste
What I read about was the importance of the Sabbath
I usually attend services Friday night at the Reform temple near me
The presence of God can be found
if you open your heart to it
The scoffers non withstanding
the Sabbath brings peace and healing
and is something to look forward to
after the week's toil
I am a cross-stitch masterpiece.
Seen perfect in front, inside a frame;
But messed up and intricate behind.
(You are made beautiful but there is the reality
that life isn’t perfect with your troubles and battles in it.)
I am a broken mirror,
Damaged; but with proper use,
Can still emit reflections of light.
(Within your troubles, you get broken but you learn
how to get out of the darkness and be hopeful.)
I am a shattered glass,
Broken into pieces; but can still
Prick and cut the deepest.
(Within your battles, you get hurt but you learn
how to stand and fight with resilience.)
I am a jigsaw puzzle,
Cut into pieces with various shapes;
But when fitted together forms a masterwork.
(With the various experiences that you get in,
it is actually yourself that you are building.)
I am just a brick of wood;
But if carved with care and precision,
Forms a lovely contour.
(Moreover, from life’s simple things, you can
shape amazing ones with patience and perseverance.)
I am therefore a metaphor.
If you read me, I may not make any sense;
But if you analyze me,
Everything will be wonderful to your senses!
Minuscule marvel;
a technical masterwork
entombed within glass.
-----------------------
July 2014
Written for the "One Solo EPIC Senryu or Haiku - in a Bottle" competition.
Sponsored by Poet Destroyer A - Eleventh Place.
It lurks there, fitfully
around the corner of my mind
and will not show its face
like an April thunderfront, and
scarce aware that winter slipped away
a week ago behind a cloud of consciousness,
reluctantly occludes the air with nebulosity,
a shy Olympus in denial.
It moves within my chest, a void
creating sleep, denying it
as some sardonic phantom torture
just outside the room...
the stillness its ally...
the calm a faithless sanctuary,
death delayed as if my very breath were there
to test a faith that I no longer own.
What kind of ghost reality
will mock its own existence...
claim its victim with an objectivity
in doubt...a phantom court
without a charge to read,
a plaintiff unidentified?
Indeed, what kind of God
could graciously endow
his Adam in a garden home
so redolent with unseen sin
diffused before his unborn eyes?
I do not know. For though millenia
have passed, I'm only of hominidae,
my blueprint is not finished and
my paradisal masterwork
amorphous, cold beneath my touch,
and still.
~
This poison paint colors my canvas
Indelible, it will not depart
Painted this masterwork is on my surface
Loathsome canvas!
Wicked art!
A masterpiece you work
Varnished transgressions that can not be washed free
Free, from my oil-receptive canvas
For this reason, now
I must hide this artistic blot
This poison paint
With oils of Truth
Worked by hands of spirit
So that set eyes will never see this crafted bane
A new masterpiece in its stead
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