song birds
like butterflies
flitting across silk floss blossoms
~ Meeta Ahluwalia
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“With no-mind, blossoms invite the butterfly;
With no-mind the butterfly visits the blossoms.
When the flower blooms, the butterfly comes;
When the butterfly comes, the flower blooms.”
— Ryōkan
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"Now that my barn has burned down, I can see the moon."
-Mashide, Japanese Zen poet
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One of my favorite poems. All is said. Everything else is silence and mystery.
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Who says my poems are poems?
My poems are not poems.
After you know my poems are not poems,
then we can begin to discuss poetry.
- Ryokan
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The Minotaur Dreams of Ariadne - Out Now!
.
The Minotaur Dreams of Ariadne is my latest collection of haiku poetry and is now available for the princely sum of 99p! You couldn’t even buy a hosomaki for that price!
Just click on the cover and, by a process of sorcery not yet fully understood by humankind, you will be miraculously transported over to Amazon where you can avail yourself of a smorgasbord of haiku penned by yours…
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Bassé
My father gave me #zen poetry
#bassé 🔈japanese poetry
In plum’s sense of smell
Suddenly,
Up
Art 🎨 🖼 🎭 My home 🏡 ♥️ A.Varshavski.
Dancing 💃
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“With no-mind, blossoms invite the butterfly;
With no-mind the butterfly visits the blossoms.
When the flower blooms, the butterfly comes;
When the butterfly comes, the flower blooms.”
— Ryōkan
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The first bowl moistens my lips and throat;
The second bowl banishes all loneliness;
The third expelled the dullness from my mind,
Inducing inspirations born from all the books I’ve read;
At the fourth cup, I begin to perspire –
life's troubles evaporate through my pores.
The fifth cup cleanses my entire being.
Six cups and I am in the realm of the Divine.
Seven cups - ah, but I can drink no more:
I can only feel the gentle breeze blowing through my sleeves,
wafting me away to the Isle of Immortality!
Lu Tung, 8th century Taoist poet
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LIke vanishing dew, a passing apparition or the sudden flash
of lightning-already gone— thus should one regard one's self.
Ikkyu Sojun
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At winter solstice
Dressed in icicles, winterin my bearda sickle-moon aboveand spruces dressed in snowtells me maybe, deathwill wait another year.
Zen poetry with Grace at dVerse. I have always held the belief that the best time to die is right before the winter solstice.
Deceber 15, 2022
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