I watch people in the world
Throw away their lives lusting after things,
Blending with the wind,
Snow falls;
My legacy -- What will it be?
An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year;
This treasure was discovered in a bamboo thicket --
I washed the bowl in a spring and then mended it.
“When, when?” I sighed. The one I longed for
Wild roses, Plucked from fields
When I was a lad,
I sauntered about town as a gay blade,
In a dilapidated three-room hut
I’ve grown old and tired;
This is an introduction to the Japanese Zen poet Taigu Ryoken known for his beautiful almost seer-like poetry. He revelled in the love o
When you turn the corner
And you run into yourself
When all thoughts
Are exhausted
How can I possibly sleep
This moonlit evening?
In the morning, bowing to all;
In the evening, bowing to all.
In my youth I put aside my studies
And I aspired to be a saint.
With no mind, flowers lure the
butterfly;
Yes, I’m truly a dunce
Living among trees and plants.
Like the little stream
Making its way
When spring arrives
From every tree tip
The wind has settled, the blossoms have fallen;
Birds sing, the mountains grow dark --
The Three Thousand Worlds that step forward
In stubborn stupidity, I live on alone
befriended by trees and herbs.
Midsummer -- I walk about with my staff.
Returning to my native village after many years’ absence:
I'll I put up at a country inn and listen to the rain.
No luck today on my mendicant rounds;
From village to village I dragged myself.
Two miles from town, I meet an old woodcutter
and we travel the road lined with huge pines.
At the crossroads this year, after
begging all day
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