Buson, no16.



Two water-lilies

shining serenely


raindrop-dimpled pool.


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Buson, No15



Butterfly asleep

folded soft on

temple bell…

then bronze gong rang.


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Buson, No14



My two plum trees are

so gracious…

see, they flower

one now, one later.



Buson, no13



At Takiguchi

voices calling

for a light…

darkening spring rain.


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Buson, no12



From the mountain temple

a sound of a bell struck fumblingly

vanishes in the mist.


Buson, no11



Sometimes the farmer

trots out to see

his scarecrow…

slowly he walks back.





sweet spring shower…

enough to wet

the tiny shells

on the little beach





on the shining roof

the boy’s abandoned

string ball

soaking up the spring rain


Buson, No8



Dancing: the fox treads

among the pale


in garden moonlight






Winter woodcutter….

when your axe cuts

home I scent

unexpected spring.





I can snore in peace…

the new year

won’t confront me

till tomorrow noon





a sudden squall

and the bird by the water

is turning white.





the angler –

his dreadful intensity

in the evening rain!





treading on the tail

of a copper pheasant

the setting sun of spring.


Buson, no2



the beginning of autumn;

what is the fortune-teller

looking so surprised at?


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Buson, no1



longing for the grass

at the bottom of the pool

those fireflies.