Oh winter night!
Ajari, and a belly full of fish.
A blanket or two,
and some fish
will suffice.
Upping the ambient temperature,
would also be
very, very nice.

Sometimes
https://twitter.com/sr421/status/1557232259270311936
creativity
is like
a tsunami
meeting
a desolate shoreline
at 2 AM.
Sometimes time slips by.
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Sometimes it rewinds,
and collects unspent energy.
Either way, time is a resource,
a curse, a pathway
into willingness
stillness, and procrastination.
Either way,
Time is itself
and you are
just Time in the Making.
It’s happened before, yet how will it happen again?
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Perhaps it will be done before it has started?
Perhaps it’s done and finished?
Perhaps it’s finished and no-one will notice.
Thus is creation, its own reflection,
incomplete science jettisons us
straight into absurdity.
Spring is passing!
Matsuo Bashō, Narrow Road to the Deep North (Oku no hosomichi, 奥の細道)
Birds are singing, fish weeping
With tearful eyes.
Such wonderful introspective qualities in all of Bashō’s work, where spirituality meets the Earth, like lightning creating an arc of light over the horizon. Then there’s Issa (Cup of Tea), another Haiku poet that I love, for his material tends to speak for the voiceless, and transcends the earthly realm, being earthly nonetheless, and like Basho, Issa’s work contains a heavy amount of voidness and beauty.
Even with insects—
Kobayashi Issa [all the time I pray to Buddha]
some can sing,
some can’t.
And my favorite of all time:
On a branch
Kobayashi Issa [On a branch …]
floating downriver
a cricket, singing.
You’re ever so multilayered,
and complex in design.
Your breath is music,
as is your skin,
a beautiful canvas
resisting gravity,
and its
past trauma.
You are effervescent,
and thought provoking.
One with history,
and enlightening
trajectories in the making.
You are a child of the universe.
Born from the need,
for a better future and home,
for all sentient beings and distant cousins,
beyond Here/Now.
Yes, you are loved,
forever and always.
Just continue being
who you are,
and strive for the Light.
And
Life is a sequence of events,
as are thoughts.
One can be edited,
in real time, as
the other tends, to
fade quick and,
jump out of
step.
Eventually nothing makes sense,
to the observer,
the observed,
and so on.
We live in a dream.
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An open window,
and a fan on low.
Daylight fades,
crisping the air,
within these walls.