Tuesday, March 26, 2019

The Tuesday Platform

I can survive anything even the burnt of failure, the pain that lingers long after circumstances have altered, this and so much more only if I feel loved. 

I stumbled upon an incredibly evocative poem by Peter Cole and was deeply touched by the wisdom in his writing. Born in Paterson, New Jersey in 1957 he has been called "one of the handful of authentic poets of his own American generation" by the critic Harold Bloom. His work both as a poet and a translator reflects a sustained engagement with the cultures of Judaism and especially of the Middle East.

His collections of poetry include Rift (1989), Things on Which I’ve Stumbled (2008), The Invention of Influence (2014), and Hymns & Qualms: New and Selected Poems and Translations (2017). With Adina Hoffman, he wrote the nonfiction volume Sacred Trash: The Lost and Found World of the Cairo Geniza (2011).

The Ghazal of What Hurt 
by Peter Cole

Pain froze you, for years—and fear—leaving scars. 
But now, as though miraculously, it seems, here you are 

walking easily across the ground, and into town 
as though you were floating on air, which in part you are, 

or riding a wave of what feels like the world’s good will—
though helped along by something foreign and older than you are 

and yet much younger too, inside you, and so palpable 
an X-ray, you’re sure, would show it, within the body you are,
 
not all that far beneath the skin, and even in 
some bones. Making you wonder: Are you what you are—

with all that isn’t actually you having flowed 
through and settled in you, and made you what you are? 

The pain was never replaced, nor was it quite erased. 
It’s memory now—so you know just how lucky you are. 

You didn’t always. Were you then? And where’s the fear?
Inside your words, like an engine? The car you are?! 

Face it, friend, you most exist when you’re driven 
away, or on—by forms and forces greater than you are. 


I also found an exquisite song by Three Days Grace which goes beautifully with the poem by Cole.


Welcome to the Tuesday Platform, the weekly open stage for sharing poems in the Imaginary Garden. Please link up a poem, old or new, and spend some time this week visiting the offerings of our fellow writers.

SHARE * READ * COMMENT * ENJOY

Saturday, March 23, 2019

Weekend Mini Challenge: Nomenclature


Welcome to the Weekend Mini Challenge with Kim from Writing in North Norfolk.

A couple of Saturdays ago I visited the Natural History Museum in London. Saturdays are always very busy, especially in the dinosaur section, so we wandered into the Darwin Centre, where we found the Cocoon, a huge space dedicated to the collecting and naming of new species. Having studied linguistics at university and being a retired English teacher, as well as a writer, I was drawn to this section (apologies for the photograph).

Some of the names given to flora and fauna are little poems on their own, such as Everlasting friendship and Robin-run-the-hedge, as found on this display. I have found some fantastic names given to insects, such as Blue moon butterfly, Dewdrop spider, Tumbling flower and Whirligig beetles. A velvet spider has been named after Lou Reed and scientists have called a prehistoric crocodile Lemmysuchus obtusidens, after Motörhead frontman Lemmy.

I was intrigued by the ways scientists choose names for their discoveries and thought it would make a nice prompt. So today I would like you to write a new poem about how you named something or someone: a child, a pet, a plant - whatever it is you have given a name, tell us about how it came about.

Join in by clicking on Mister Linky and filling in your name and url – not forgetting to tick the small ‘data’ box. And please remember to read and comment on other toads’ poems.


Thursday, March 21, 2019

Artistic Interpretations with Margaret - Vintage Treasures - Paintings


Welcome to Artistic Interpretations.   I have recently enjoyed strolling through antique stores.  I enjoy the process, shifting piles, going through postcards, wondering about the history of certain items.  Quilts, Dishes, Paintings, Desks, Decorative items, books... I could wander through some of the stores for hours.  My husband went with me once - said he could have blown through the place in 30 minutes.  We didn't leave for another 2 hours.

I offer you various paintings that attracted my attention.  Interpret the images any way you please.  I have a few more Alcohol Inks to share with you (that was the last challenge) but I will save them for another time.

You may select as many images as you wish, however, please pair each with an original poem.   Link up with Mr. Linky below and then visit the other poets and leave a comment if you can.  We all love the Garden for the awesome opportunity to share with others who enjoy poetry.  I look forward to your Artistic Interpretations!


















Tuesday, March 19, 2019

The Tuesday Platform: Let the path go on...

Earth in Pain Painting by Joe Kotas

Ghazal: The weeds may flourish, let the path go on

The weeds may flourish, let the path go on
Even if I am tired, let the caravan move on.

The sun and moon–our ancestors’ guides
Even if they extinguish, let the breeze move on.

O, ruler of the town, what sort of town is this?
The mosques may be closed, let the taverns run on.

Call it faith, or the craft of politics
The art of suicide you taught us well.

So many corpses, how will I shoulder them?
The virtue of bricks you preserved so well.

Bring the shovels, open earth’s layers
Where I am buried, let me know as well.

Khar-au-khas to uthein, raasta to chale, Kaifi Azmi (Translation from Azmikaifi.com)

Good day, poets! This is Anmol (alias HA) and I thought of introducing you all to a poet who may not be very known to you. One of the most prominent writers in Urdu, Kaifi Azmi is well renowned for bringing the nuances of Urdu poetry and literature to Indian cinema. He was a member of Progressive Writers' Association, of which other members included such great poets and writers of the subcontinent like Ismat Chughtai, Saadat Hasan Manto, Mulk Raj Anand, Premchand, and Faiz Ahmed Faiz, who still enthrall us with their creative and evocative subjects and themes. It's the birth centenary of Kaifi Azmi this year and thus, I think that there is no better time than this to have a conversation about the idea of socio-political narrative in creative arts.

Recently, I attended a talk by an Indian journalist I really admire, P. Sainath. On writing (primarily journalistic writing), he talked about how important it is for writers to immerse themselves into the great processes of their times. He talked about some such great processes of this century like climate change, big corporations, inequalities still persistent in our society, et al. He talked about engaging with these processes and bringing to foray the very lived human experiences and impacts in what you write. What do you think about the same? How important do you think it is for the creative and literary writers like poets and novelists to engage with such themes and subject matters?

For The Tuesday Platform, share one link to a poem, old or new, by adding it to the linking widget down below. Do not forget to visit others and share your thoughts about their linked poems with them. Have a wonderfully poetic week ahead!



Saturday, March 16, 2019

Weekend Mini-Challenge: Homographic Fun


Hola, dear Toads (and other word-loving creatures with deliciously charming smiles). Today, I invite you to play with homographs, or words which share the same spelling but have rather different meanings. Yes, Im referring to words like gay and just and park and “Engage thrusters, Mr. Zulu.” Sorry, my Star Trek reruns binging is starting to show *cough*.

For this weekend mini-challenge, write a new poem that includes one homograph (or more), and (1) use at least two of the homograph’s meanings in your poem (as in “her lips were too close to my mouth for me to close the door in her face without knocking out my teeth”); or (2) use the homograph in your poem in a way which allows two of its meanings to apply (as in “I wish to be close enough to her to kiss her lips without violating her sensibilities or the laws of physics”).

The cloud below includes a bunch of homographs to choose from. You can find more here.



Please add the direct link to your poem to Mr. Linky. Visit other Toads. And have fun, fun, fun with words.

Thursday, March 14, 2019

Fireblossom Friday: Ask A Question

Good question!
Hello dear Toads and pond followers. Fireblossom here with another poetry challenge for you. 

Often I stop with this song on my mind:

Willie works as the garden man.
He plants trees. He burns leaves.
He makes money for himself.
Often I stop with his words on my mind--
Do spacemen pass dead souls on their way to the moon?


Which brings me to the idea for this challenge: write a poem which states a question. Oh, not a tired old chestnut like "Do you love me?" (I get that ALL the time. Honest!) Or "How much damage will carbon emissions do to the ecosystem?" Kind of hard to stay poetic with that, and besides, too much earnestness grates. (I was told that by Woody Guthrie. No kidding!) 

There's a novel--the inspiration for a famous movie, I'm told-- called "Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?" THAT's the kind of question I want from you, my dear slippery amphibians. 

So, let's review.

RIGHT: What if common crows started talking to me telepathically?

WRONG: What is the square root of 3,444?

REALLY WRONG: Does Johnny/Janey love me?

Okay, my hippity hoppity friends. Go forth and formulate an interesting and original question around which to construct a poem! Then link and become part of an intergalactic hive mind. Oh all right, no hive mind. (But you wouldn't have to ask if they love you.) Writers proceed! 

 

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

The Tuesday Platform


March Days Return With Their Covert Light

March days return with their covert light,
and huge fish swim through the sky,
vague earthly vapours progress in secret,
things slip to silence one by one.
Through fortuity, at this crisis of errant skies,
you reunite the lives of the sea to that of fire,
grey lurchings of the ship of winter
to the form that love carved in the guitar.
O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,
dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway,
to waken the blood in insomnia’s labyrinth,
so that the waves can complete themselves in the sky,
the sea forget its cargoes and rages,
and the world fall into darkness’s nets. 
 ~ Pablo Neruda

I have always wondered where Neruda got his inspiration from when it comes to writing poetry, and admire the way his words reach deep into the soul. What impresses me the most about this poem is its sense of mystery  — that the beloved is somehow a means to the transcendent as one puts his emotions into the bare code of language. The lines; "O love, O rose soaked by mermaids and spume,
dancing flame that climbs the invisible stairway," is nothing less than poetic brilliance as it describes the intensity with which one undergoes a life-changing experience.

Welcome to the Tuesday Platform, the weekly open stage for sharing poems in the Imaginary Garden. Please link up a poem, old or new, and spend some time this week visiting the offerings of our fellow writers.

SHARE * READ * COMMENT * ENJOY

Saturday, March 9, 2019

Just One Word: Gormless

Me again, Toads!

Just one word to inspire your poems this weekend:

gormless



Can't wait to read your brilliant verse! Don't be dull. :)

 

Thursday, March 7, 2019

Avant Gardener

Hello, Garden Dwellers!

Let’s take inspiration today from COURTNEY BARNETT.

I adore this woman’s music for so many reasons, chief among them that her lyrics are amazing and to me, often register as narrative poems.

This song in particular tells an epic story that’s a window into a tiny moment but with big observations such as “I’m not that good at breathing in” and “Life’s getting hard in here so I do some gardening/Anything to take my mind away from where it’s sposed to be.” I just adore it.

I chose this live version because of its garden quality but she has an official video for this song and there are other high-quality live versions to be found on YouTube, like this one for example. And many, many other great songs.

If you choose to spend some time with this prompt, I encourage you to listen a couple times and really hear what she is saying. I think it would be inappropriate to copy the entire lyrics on our site, but she has them on her website here, just scroll down a bit and you’ll find them.

I think this is the first song I heard from Courtney Barnett, and now I’m a total convert. Recently she made a record with Kurt Vile that is also completely awesome. Their song Over Everything kinda slays me.

Here is my challenge: Let’s use this song as inspiration to write our own narrative poems about small moments. Or as usual, this prompt is wide open so you can write us a poem inspired by Courtney Barnett, breathing problems, ambulances, being a clever songwriter from Australia, or anything else that comes to mind!



LISTEN * BE INSPIRED * WRITE * SHARE

Tuesday, March 5, 2019

The Tuesday Platform: The Sound of Blues



There is something about blues that strums at the heartstrings and creates a tune of life with all its myriad notes and rhythms. I have been in love with the sound of blues since my teens when I would shut myself in my room for evenings and listen enraptured to the musical mastery of Billie Holiday, B.B. King, Nina Simone, Ray Charles, et al. One of the best poets who emulated the essence of blues in his work, I think, is Langston Hughes. His poetics resounded with music, politics, love, and dreams all at once in a symphony which sets in the soul like a beautiful blues song.

The Weary Blues

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
He did a lazy sway. . . .
He did a lazy sway. . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—
“Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
And put ma troubles on the shelf.”

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more—
“I got the Weary Blues
And I can’t be satisfied.
Got the Weary Blues
And can’t be satisfied—
I ain’t happy no mo’
And I wish that I had died.”
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that’s dead.

Langston Hughes, “The Weary Blues” from Collected Poems. Copyright © 1994 by The Estate of Langston Hughes.

Good day, poets! This is Anmol (alias HA) and I welcome you all to another wonderful week at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads. For The Tuesday Platform, share a link to a poem, old or new, in the linking widget down below. Let's enjoy the sound of blues as we read the many diverse poems and share our thoughtful words on each others' posts. I look forward to seeing you all on the trail!

Saturday, March 2, 2019

Art FLASH / 55

For this weekend's art collaboration, I am introducing Tomasz Zaczeniuk surreal artist and photographer from Poland. Tomasz has kindly given permission for us to use his amazing piece,The Temple, for our poetic inspiration.

A completely unreal vision from the Polish coastline. It took me a decent few hours to create this with around 20-25 layers.


The Temple by Tomasz Zaczeniuk
Used with permission
@fotowizjer

If you repost the image on your blog, please give attribution to Tomasz, using the following link:
https://www.instagram.com/fotowizjer/

Feel free to pay Tomasz a visit on Instagram or check out his website, FotoWizjer, where more of his amazing pieces are to be viewed, but not used for this prompt.

If you post your poem on Instagram, using Tomasz's image, please tag @fotowizjer and mention him as the collaborative artist in your post.

There are no restrictions placed on this challenge: Let the image speak to you and respond in a poetic or prose form of your choosing:
Literal! Figurative! Reflective! Narrative! Symbolic!

As an alternative, you may write a Flash 55 inspired by the photograph, or on a subject of your choice, in memory of Galen, who first imagined this challenge.



Thursday, February 28, 2019

Season Your Poetry Part II

I had such an outstanding response to Season Your Poetry that I decided to do Season Your Poetry Part II to continue the tradition of writing poetry in the Japanese tradition. Matsuo Basho invented the Haibun form during the Edo period while travelling on a journey - for enlightenment! He kept a daily travel journal (nikki) and thus a new poetry form was invented. One of my trips to Japan, I traveled the route of Basho.  Most amazing experience.  A Haibun consists of a brief prose portion with a haiku at the end of that portion. Hai means poetry and bun means prose. At the end, the haiku brings the whole of the prose together.

One of Basho's haiku: “Taken in my hand it would melt, my tears are so warm—this autumnal frost.” A most elegant metaphor for the death of Basho's mother. It acts as a stand for Basho's previous haibun. A reader could have a literal understanding of this metaphor as a haiku, but its full effect—its aware (ah-wah-ray) —is apparent only when one reads the prose of the haibun that precedes it. In the prose of the haibun, the reader clearly sees that Bashō used the word frost to describe holding his dead mother’s white hair,

The western haibun has evolved into a long, vividly described poetry form. I am preferring the original form, the more spare and compact writing. I would like you all to write a haibun for me. the haibun is not to be more than 100 words. The haibun below by Basho from the Narrow Road is only 88 words long. I often write haibun with only 44 words!    Basho's haibun:
     Days and months are travellers of eternity. So are the years that pass by. Those who steer a boat across the sea, or drive a horse over the earth till they succumb to the weight of years, spend every minute of their lives travelling. There are a great number of ancients, too, who died on the road. I myself have been tempted for a long time by the cloud-moving wind - filled with a strong desire to wander.
the summer grasses—
for many brave warriors
the aftermath of dreams
Basho
Here is one of my 44 word haibun as another example:
Haibun: Winter Ocean
Walking along the shore, snow begins. The sky is grey overhead and golden sand becomes white. Broken shells roll in the surf. I hold my face up to the sky to be kissed.
lazy snowflakes kiss the shore –
ocean kisses back –
winter romance blooms

Haibun is not flash fiction. It is an autobiographic writing or, a truthful accounting of something that has occurred in your life and directly affected you. Haibun like haiku are not named. However I have begun the practice of naming them for simplicity. I begin Haibun:----- title for the haibun. It is also a seasonal accounting - winter at the ocean, spring picnic under cherry blossoms, autumn canoeing down a river. Take us in the haibun where you are. Edit your words carefully - hold the moment of your haibun in your mind and feel it.  Remember: No more than 100 words! a brief paragraph ending with a haiku.  The haibun can be on any subject as long as it actually happened to you.

I will be catching up with the poems written for my last prompt. I apologize for unexpected sickness. I hope you all enjoy this prompt as much as I enjoyed writing it!  Remember:  NO MORE THAN 100 WORDS!  Please travel among the other poets.  I know I will enjoy this journey!


Hiroshoge  Evening Bell at Mii Temple, from the series Eight Views of Omi Province  ca. 1835
A scene such as Basho would have experienced




Tuesday, February 26, 2019

The Tuesday Platform


While others sleep through the deepening shades of night, I watch as the dark slowly consumes the world like a graphite drawing, if only I could separate sorrow from the grey and fill light into the missing space.

I stumbled upon an incredibly poignant poem by Marilyn Hacker, and was touched by the emotion in her writing. Born in New York City on November 27, 1942 she was the only child of a working-class Jewish couple, each the first in their families to attend college. 

Having attained a B.A. in Romance Languages in 1964, Hacker moved on to work as a book dealer in London from whence her brilliance rewarded her with the first collection of poems, Presentation Piece, was published by the Viking Press in 1974.

Since then, Hacker has published many more collections, including A Stranger’s Mirror: New and Selected Poems 1994-2013 (W. W. Norton, 2015); Names (W. W. Norton, 2010); Desesperanto: Poems 1999-2002 (W. W. Norton, 2003); First Cities: Collected Early Poems 1960-1979 (W. W. Norton, 2003); and Squares and Courtyards (W. W. Norton, 2000).

About Hacker's work Poet Jan Heller Levi states; 

"I think of her magnificent virtuosity in the face of all the strictures to be silent, to name her fears and her desires, and in the process, to name ours. Let’s face it, no one writes about lust and lunch like Marilyn Hacker. No one can jump around in two, sometimes even three, languages and come up with poems that speak for those of us who sometimes barely think we can even communicate in one. And certainly no one has done more, particularly in the last decade of formalism, to demonstrate that form has nothing to do with formula. In villanelles, sestinas, and sonnets—not to mention a variety of forms whose names I can’t even pronounce—Marilyn Hacker can journey us on a single page through feelings as confusing as moral certainty to feelings as potentially empowering as unrequited passion." Read more here

Ghazal: The Dark Times

Marilyn Hacker, 1942

Tell us that line again, the thing about the dark times…
“When the dark times come, we will sing about the dark times.”

They’ll always be wrong about peace when they’re wrong about justice…
Were you wrong, were you right, insisting about the dark times?

The traditional fears, the habitual tropes of exclusion
Like ominous menhirs, close into their ring about the dark times.

Naysayers in sequins or tweeds, libertine or ascetic
Find a sensual frisson in what they’d call bling about the dark times.

Some of the young can project themselves into a Marshall Plan future
Where they laugh and link arms, reminiscing about the dark times.

From every spot-lit glitz tower with armed guards around it
Some huckster pronounces his fiats, self-sacralized king, about the dark times.

In a tent, in a queue, near barbed wire, in a shipping container,
Please remember ya akhy, we too know something about the dark times.

Sindbad’s roc, or Ganymede’s eagle, some bird of rapacious ill omen
From bleak skies descends, and wraps an enveloping wing about the dark times.

You come home from your meeting, your clinic, make coffee and look in the mirror
And ask yourself once more what you did to bring about the dark times.


I also found an exquisite song by Linkin Park which goes beautifully with the poem by Hacker.



Welcome to the Tuesday Platform, the weekly open stage for sharing poems in the Imaginary Garden. Please link up a poem, old or new, and spend some time this week visiting the offerings of our fellow writers.

SHARE * READ * COMMENT * ENJOY

Saturday, February 23, 2019

Season Your Poetry

Hello Toads. It has been quite a whirlwind with seasons and weather lately, hey? Three weeks ago we had subzero weather and snow here in the South. Then the Polar Vortex escaped its boundaries (a sure sign of climate change but we won't get into that now) and just about froze us into walking popsicles. Then two weeks of lovely springs weather, then cold again. And now my yard is blue with tiny blue violets. Cold weather sneaks in again this weekend. Ah...the end of winter. Or is it early spring? In Japan, they could the months of their seasons differently than we do in the west. At this point, we have: Early Spring - February 4 - March 5, Mid-spring - March 6 - April 4, and Late Spring - April 5 - May 5. the Japanese count their seasons as such: Spring:; February 4 - May 5, Summer: May 5 - August 7, Autumn: August 8 - November 6, and Winter: November 7 - February 3. See the difference? The season I am most concerned with now is Spring. I lived in Japan for a bit and became used to keeping the seasons in the way of the Japanese. I actually helped plant rice in the spring.

Cherry Blossoms and Fuji

The Japanese are all about honoring the seasons and nature. Their belief system, Shinto, holds that when a person dies, they may in that death become a part of nature - from the lowliest flea to the greatest mountain. Therefore, all of nature is to honored. The poetic form of Japan, created by Basho, is the haiku. The haiku is all about being in the moment, all about nature. There is a directory of over 50,000 kigo called a saijiki. A kigo is literally a name for a seasonal piece of a season. I am not going to ask you all to write a haiku. What I am going to do is to ask you for a brief (and I mean brief) poem about a kigo in spring. the form is your choice. The subject is your choice. Just make it about spring. Here is a list of spring kigo. This is from an extensive list of which many kigo have been deleted or apply only to Japan. I have translated the kigo from the Japanese.  Please pick one or several and write a poem or, even a haiku. Remember: haiku must use a kigo and a kireji (a cutting word), be in the moment (sort of like a photograph) and have three lines: 5-7-5 syllable count or, short-long-short lines. Please write no more than 10 lines. In the Japanese tradition make it brief, to the point, and without a lot of flowery description. It is all about the season. Please take the time to read all the poets who post here. I read all the poets every week because I enjoy reading and learning from your words. Who knows, you may learn something? smiles

Spring Kigo
  Season: spring months: late February, March, April, and May; beginning of spring, early           spring, departing spring, late spring, lengthening days, long day, mid-spring, spring dream, spring dusk, spring evening, spring melancholy, tranquility, vernal equinox.

Sky and Elements: balmy breeze, bright, haze or thin mist, first spring storm, hazy moon, March wind, melting snow, lingering snow, spring breeze, spring cloud, spring frost, spring moon, spring rain, spring rainbow, spring sunbeam, spring snow, slush, warm (warmth).
Landscape: flooded river/stream/brook, muddy/miry fields, muddy road, spring fields, spring hills, spring mountain, spring river, spring sea, spring tide, red tide.
Human Affairs: balloon, kite, shell gathering, planting or sowing (seeds), plowing or tilling fields, spring cleaning, swing, windmill, Boys Day, Dolls Festival, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Palm Sunday, Easter ( ~ bonnet/clothes, ~ eggs, coloring/hiding ~ eggs, ~lily, ~ parade, ~ rabbit/chicken/duckling), May Day ( ~ basket, ~ pole), 
Animals: abalone, bee, baby animals (nestlings, fledglings, calf, colt, kitten, puppy, fawn, lamb, etc.), butterfly, bush warbler, cats in love, crane, flying squirrel, frog, horse-fly, lizard, pheasant, robin, mud snail, soaring skylark, stork, swallow, tadpole, whitebait (a fish), hummingbird, nightingale, wild birds’ return (geese, etc.).


Plants: anemone, artichoke, asparagus sprouts, azalea, bracken, bramble, camellia, cherry blossoms, cherry tree, crocus, dandelion, leaf buds of trees and shrubs (almond, apple, apricot, maple, oak, pear, peach, pine, wisteria, etc.), forget-me-not, grass sprouts, hawthorn, hyacinth, lilac, lily of the valley, mustard, pansy, parsley, plum blossoms, plum tree, California poppy, primrose, seaweed or laver (nori), sweet pea, shepherd’s-purse, tulip, violet, willow, pussy willows or willow catkins.

A few spring haiku by Basho to get you in the mood. Note the brevity and the straightforward style.
spring is passing -
the birds cry and the fishes fill
with tears on their eyes

a cloudy day during the cherry blossom season -
whether the sound of bell at 
Ueno or Asakusa 

try to plant
as for a child -
A little cherry tree


頑張る がんばるor, Haijin gambaru! - Good luck and strive to do your best


Terraced Rice Field in Spring


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