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
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