Don't worry, spiders,I keep housecasually.
Napping at middayI hear the song of rice plantersand feel ashamed of myself.
Pissing in the snowoutside my door--it makes a very straight hole.
The pheasant criesas if it just noticedthe mountain.
Writing shit about new snowfor the richis not art.
The man pulling radishespointed my waywith a radish.
A cuckoo singsto me, to the mountain, to me, to the mountain.
In spring raina pretty girl yawning.
All the time I pray to BuddhaI keep onkilling mosquitoes.
New Year's morning:the ducks on the pondquack and quack.
That wren--looking here, looking there.You lose something?
This moth saw brightnessin a woman's chamber--burnt to a crisp.
Face of the spring moon--about twelve years old,I'd say.
In this worldwe walk on the roof of hell,gazing at flowers.
Summer night--even the starsare whispering to each other.
His death poem: A bath when you're born, a bath when you die, how stupid.
The moon tonight--I even missher grumbling.
The crowwalks along thereas if it were tilling the field.
Napped half the day;no one punished me!
The toad! It looks likeit could belcha cloud.
With my fatherI would watch dawnover green fields.
Not knowingit's a tub they're inthe fish cooling at the gate.
Asked how old he was,the boy in the new kimonostretched out all five fingers.
What a strange thing!to be alivebeneath cherry blossoms.
That pretty girl--munching and rustlingthe wrapped-up rice cake.
These sea slugs,they just don't seemJapanese.
A huge frog and I,staring at each other,neither of us moves.
Children imitating cormorantsare even more wonderfulthan cormorants.
Under my housean inchwormmeasuring the joists.
Blossoms at night,and the faces of peoplemoved by music.
The snow is meltingand the village is floodedwith children.
Seenthrough a telescope:ten cents worth of fog.
No doubt about it,the mountain cuckoois a crybaby.
Even on the smallest islands,they are tilling the fields,skylarks singing.
At my daughter's grave, thirty daysafter her death: Windy fall-- these are the scarlet flowers she liked to pick.
It once happenedthat a child was spared punishmentthrough earnest solicitation.
Hey, sparrow!out of the way, Horse is coming.
Last time, I think,I'll brush the fliesfrom my father's face.
In the thicket's shadea woman by herselfsinging the rice-planting song.
Ducks bobbing on the water--are they also, tonight,hoping to get lucky?
Under the image of Buddhaall these spring flowersseem a little tiresome.
Even with insects--some can sing,some can't.
Not very anxiousto bloom,my plum tree.
In these latter-day,Degenerate times, Cherry-blossoms everywhere!
New Year's Day--everything is in blossom!I feel about average.
Having slept, the cat gets up,yawns, goes outto make love.
I'm going out,flies, so relax,make love.
Approaching my village: Don't know about the people, but all the scarecrows are crooked.
How muchare you enjoying yourself,tiger moth?
Visiting the graves,the old dogleads the way.