Haiku and Tanka

The Original Sin: Rhyming Haiku! Haiku should never rhyme: it’s a crime! ―Michael R. Burch The herons stand, sentry-like, at attention ... rigid observers of some unknown command. ―Michael R. Burch Late fall; all the golden leaves turn black underfoot: soot ―Michael R. Burch Dry leaf flung awry: bright butterfly, goodbye! ―Michael R. Burch A snake in the grass lies, hissing "Trespass!" ―Michael R. Burch Honeysuckle blesses my knuckle with affectionate dew ―Michael R. Burch My nose nuzzles honeysuckle’s sweet nothings ―Michael R. Burch The day’s eyes were blue until you appeared and they wept at your beauty. ―Michael R. Burch The moon in decline like my lover’s heart lies far beyond mine ―Michael R. Burch My mother’s eyes acknowledging my imperfection: dejection ―Michael R. Burch The sun sets the moon fails to rise we avoid each other’s eyes ―Michael R. Burch brief leaf flung awry ~ bright butterfly, goodbye! ―Michael R. Burch leaf flutters in flight ~ bright, O and endeavoring butterfly, goodbye! ―Michael R. Burch The girl with the pallid lips lipsticks into something more comfortable ―Michael R. Burch I am a traveler going nowhere, but my how the gawking bystanders stare! ―Michael R. Burch Here's a poem that's composed of haiku-like stanzas: Haiku Sequence: The Seasons by Michael R. Burch Lift up your head dandelion, hear spring roar! How will you tidy your hair this near summer? Leave to each still night your lightest affliction, dandruff. Soon you will free yourself: one shake of your white mane. Now there are worlds into which you appear and disappear seemingly at will but invariably blown wildly, then still. Gasp at the bright chill glower of winter. Icicles splinter; sleep still an hour, till, resurrected in power, you lift up your head, dandelion. Hear spring roar! Unrhymed Original Haiku and Tanka by Michael R. Burch These are original haiku and tanka written by Michael R. Burch, along with haiku-like and tanka-like poems inspired by the forms but not necessarily abiding by all the rules. Dark-bosomed clouds pregnant with heavy thunder ... the water breaks ―Michael R. Burch one pillow ... our dreams merge ―Michael R. Burch Iffy Coronavirus Haiku yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #1 by Michael R. Burch plagued by the Plague i plague the goldfish with my verse yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #2 by Michael R. Burch sunflowers hang their heads embarrassed by their coronas I wrote this poem after having a sunflower arrangement delivered to my mother, who is in an assisted living center and can’t have visitors due to the coronavirus pandemic. I have been informed the poem breaks haiku rules about personification, etc. Homework (yet another iffy coronavirus haiku #3) by Michael R. Burch Dim bulb overhead, my silent companion: still imitating the noonday sun? New World Order (last in a series and perhaps a species) by Michael R. Burch The days of the dandelions dawn ... soon man will be gone: fertilizer. Variations on Fall Farewells like falling leaves, so many sad goodbyes. ―Michael R. Burch Falling leaves brittle hearts whisper farewells ―Michael R. Burch Autumn leaves soft farewells falling ... falling ... falling ... ―Michael R. Burch Autumn leaves Fall’s farewells Whispered goodbyes ―Michael R. Burch Variations on the Seasons by Michael R. Burch Mother earth prepares her nurseries: spring greening The trees become modest, coy behind fans * Wobbly fawns have become the fleetest athletes: summer * Dry leaves scuttle like crabs: autumn * The sky shivers: snowfall each translucent flake lighter than eiderdown the entire town entombed but not in gloom, bedazzled. Variations on Night Night, ice and darkness conspire against human warmth ―Michael R. Burch Night and the Stars conspire against me: Immensity ―Michael R. Burch in the ice-cold cathedral prayer candles ablaze flicker warmthlessly ―Michael R. Burch Variations on the Arts by Michael R. Burch Paint peeling: the novel's novelty wears off ... The autumn marigold's former glory: allegory. Human arias? The nightingale frowns, perplexed. Tone deaf! Where do cynics finally retire? Satire. All the world’s a stage unless it’s a cage. To write an epigram, cram. If you lack wit, scram. Haiku should never rhyme: it’s a crime! Video dumped the boob tube for YouTube. Anyone can rap: just write rhythmic crap! Variations on Lingerie by Michael R. Burch Were you just a delusion? The black negligee you left now merest illusion. The clothesline quivers, ripe with unmentionables. The clothesline quivers: wind, or ghosts? Variations on Love and Wisdom by Michael R. Burch Wise old owls stare myopically at the moon, hooting as the hart escapes. Myopic moon-hooting owls hoot as the hart escapes The myopic owl, moon-intent, scowls; my rabbit heart thunders ... Peace, wise fowl! Original Tanka All the wild energies of electric youth captured in the monochromes of an ancient photobooth like zigzagging lightning. ―Michael R. Burch The plums were sweet, icy and delicious. To eat them all was perhaps malicious. But I vastly prefer your kisses! ―Michael R. Burch A child waving ... The train groans slowly away ... Loneliness ... Somewhere in the distance gusts scatter the stray unharvested hay ... ―Michael R. Burch How vaguely I knew you however I held you close ... your heart’s muffled thunder, your breath the wind― rising and dying. ―Michael R. Burch Miscellanea Childless by Michael R. Burch How can she bear her grief? Mightier than Atlas, she shoulders the weight of one fallen star. sheer green stockings queer green beer St. Patrick's Day! ―Michael R. Burch cicadas chirping everywhere singing to beat the band― surround sound ―Michael R. Burch Regal, upright, clad in royal purple: Zinnia ―Michael R. Burch Love is a surreal sweetness in a world where trampled grapes become wine. ―Michael R. Burch although meant for market a pail full of strawberries invites indulgence ―Michael R. Burch late November; skeptics scoff but the geese no longer migrate ―Michael R. Burch as the butterfly hunts nectar the generous iris continues to bloom ―Michael R. Burch Haiku Translations of the Oriental Masters Grasses wilt: the braking locomotive grinds to a halt ― Yamaguchi Seishi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, fallen camellias, if I were you, I'd leap into the torrent! ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first soft snow: leaves of the awed jonquil bow low ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Come, investigate loneliness! a solitary leaf clings to the Kiri tree ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Lightning shatters the darkness― the night heron's shriek ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch One apple, alone in the abandoned orchard reddens for winter ― Patrick Blanche, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is by a French poet; it illustrates how the poetry of Oriental masters like Basho has influenced poets around the world. I remove my beautiful kimono: its varied braids surround and entwine my body ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This day of chrysanthemums I shake and comb my wet hair, as their petals shed rain ― Hisajo Sugita, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This sheer kimono— how the moon peers through to my naked skin! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch These festive flowery robes— though quickly undressed, how their colored cords still continue to cling! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Chrysanthemum petals reveal their pale curves shyly to the moon. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Loneliness — reading the Bible as the rain deflowers cherry blossoms. —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How deep this valley, how elevated the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch How lowly this valley, how lofty the butterfly's flight! —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Echoes from the hills— the mountain cuckoo sings as it will, trill upon trill —Hisajo Sugita (1890-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch This darkening autumn: my neighbor, how does he continue? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Let us arrange these lovely flowers in the bowl since there's no rice ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An ancient pond, the frog leaps: the silver plop and gurgle of water ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The butterfly perfuming its wings fans the orchid ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pausing between clouds the moon rests in the eyes of its beholders ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first chill rain: poor monkey, you too could use a woven cape of straw ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This snowy morning: cries of the crow I despise (ah, but so beautiful!) ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Like a heavy fragrance snow-flakes settle: lilies on the rocks ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The cheerful-chirping cricket contends gray autumn's gay, contemptuous of frost ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Whistle on, twilight whippoorwill, solemn evangelist of loneliness ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkening, the voices of the wild ducks: my mysterious companions! ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Will we meet again? Here at your flowering grave: two white butterflies ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Fever-felled mid-path my dreams resurrect, to trek into a hollow land ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Too ill to travel, now only my autumn dreams survey these withering fields ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch; this has been called Basho's death poem These brown summer grasses? The only remains of "invincible" warriors... ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Graven images of long-departed gods, dry spiritless leaves: companions of the temple porch ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch See: whose surviving sons visit the ancestral graves white-bearded, with trembling canes? ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch An empty road lonelier than abandonment: this autumn evening ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring has come: the nameless hill lies shrouded in mist ― Matsuo Basho, loose translation by Michael R. Burch This world? Moonlit dew flicked from a crane's bill. —Eihei Dogen Kigen (1200-1253) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Seventy-one? How long can a dewdrop last? —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading grass-blades die before dawn; may an untimely wind not hasten their departure! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dewdrops beading blades of grass have so little time to shine before dawn; let the autumn wind not rush too quickly through the field! —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outside my window the plums, blossoming, within their curled buds, contain the spring; the moon is reflected in the cup-like whorls of the lovely flowers I gather and twirl. —Eihei Dogen Kigen, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The Oldest Haiku These are my translations of some of the oldest Japanese waka, which evolved into poetic forms such as tanka, renga and haiku over time. My translations are excerpts from the Kojiki (the "Record of Ancient Matters"), a book composed around 711-712 A.D. by the historian and poet Ō no Yasumaro. The Kojiki relates Japan’s mythological beginnings and the history of its imperial line. Like Virgil's Aeneid, the Kojiki seeks to legitimize rulers by recounting their roots. These are lines from one of the oldest Japanese poems, found in the oldest Japanese book: While you decline to cry, high on the mountainside a single stalk of plumegrass wilts. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another excerpt, with a humorous twist, from the Kojiki: Hush, cawing crows; what rackets you make! Heaven's indignant messengers, you remind me of wordsmiths! ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch Here's another, this one a poem of love and longing: Onyx, this gem-black night. Downcast, I await your return like the rising sun, unrivaled in splendor. ― Ō no Yasumaro (circa 711), loose translation by Michael R. Burch More Haiku by Various Poets Right at my feet! When did you arrive here, snail? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Our world of dew is a world of dew indeed; and yet, and yet... ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, brilliant moon can it be true that even you must rush off, like us, tardy? ― Kobayashi Issa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Standing unsteadily, I am the scarecrow’s skinny surrogate ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Autumn wind ... She always wanted to pluck the reddest roses ―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Issa wrote the haiku above after the death of his daughter Sato with the note: “Sato, girl, 35th day, at the grave.” The childless woman, how tenderly she caresses homeless dolls ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Clinging to the plum tree: one blossom's worth of warmth —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch One leaf falls, enlightenment! Another leaf falls, swept away by the wind ... —Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This has been called Ransetsu’s “death poem.” In The Classic Tradition of Haiku, Faubion Bowers says in a footnote to this haiku: “Just as ‘blossom’, when not modified, means ‘cherry flower’ in haiku, ‘one leaf’ is code for ‘kiri’. Kiri ... is the Pawlonia ... The leaves drop throughout the year. They shrivel, turn yellow, and yield to gravity. Their falling symbolizes loneliness and connotes the past. The large purple flowers ... are deeply associated with haiku because the three prongs hold 5, 7 and 5 buds ... ‘Totsu’ is an exclamation supposedly uttered when a Zen student achieves enlightenment. The sound also imitates the dry crackle the pawlonia leaf makes as it scratches the ground upon falling.” Disdaining grass, the firefly nibbles nettles— this is who I am. —Takarai Kikaku (1661-1707), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A simple man, content to breakfast with the morning glories— this is who I am. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is Basho’s response to the Takarai Kikaku haiku above The morning glories, alas, also turned out not to embrace me —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The morning glories bloom, mending chinks in the old fence —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Morning glories, however poorly painted, still engage us —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I too have been accused of morning glory gazing ... —original haiku by by Michael R. Burch Taming the rage of an unrelenting sun— autumn breeze. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sun sets, relentlessly red, yet autumn’s in the wind. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn deepens, a butterfly sips chrysanthemum dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As autumn draws near, so too our hearts in this small tea room. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing happened! Yesterday simply vanished like the blowfish soup. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The surging sea crests around Sado ... and above her? An ocean of stars. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Revered figure! I bow low to the rabbit-eared Iris. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Come, butterfly, it’s late and we’ve a long way to go! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Nothing in the cry of the cicadas suggests they know they soon must die. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I wish I could wash this perishing earth in its shimmering dew. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dabbed with morning dew and splashed with mud, the melon looks wonderfully cool. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Cold white azalea— a lone nun in her thatched straw hut. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Glimpsed on this high mountain trail, delighting my heart— wild violets —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The bee emerging from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses flies off heavily, sated —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A crow has settled on a naked branch— autumn nightfall —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Except for a woodpecker tapping at a post, the house is silent. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch That dying cricket, how he goes on about his life! —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Like a glorious shrine— on these green, budding leaves, the sun’s intense radiance. —Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Yosa Buson haiku translations A kite floats at the same place in the sky where yesterday it floated... ― Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch On the temple’s great bronze gong a butterfly snoozes. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Hard to describe: this light sensation of being pinched by a butterfly! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Not to worry spiders, I clean house ... sparingly. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Among the fallen leaves, an elderly frog. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In an ancient well fish leap for mosquitoes, a dark sound. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Flowers with thorns remind me of my hometown ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Reaching the white chrysanthemum the scissors hesitate ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Picking autumn plums my wrinkled hands once again grow fragrant ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A silk robe, casually discarded, exudes fragrance into the darkening evening ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Whose delicate clothes still decorate the clothesline? Late autumn wind. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch An evening breeze: water lapping the heron’s legs. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch gills puffing, a hooked fish: the patient ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The stirred morning air ruffles the hair of a caterpillar. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Intruder! This white plum tree was once outside our fence! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Tender grass forgetful of its roots the willow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I believe the poem above can be taken as commentary on ungrateful children. It reminds me of Robert Hayden's "Those Winter Sundays."―MRB Since I'm left here alone, I'll make friends with the moon. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The hood-wearer in his self-created darkness misses the harvest moon ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White blossoms of the pear tree― a young woman reading his moonlit letter ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The pear tree flowers whitely: a young woman reading his letter by moonlight ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On adjacent branches the plum tree blossoms bloom petal by petal―love! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A misty spring moon ... I entice a woman to pay it our respects ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Courtesans purchasing kimonos: plum trees blossoming ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The spring sea rocks all day long: rising and falling, ebbing and flowing ... ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the whale dives its tail gets taller! ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While tilling the field the motionless cloud vanished. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Even lonelier than last year: this autumn evening. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My thoughts return to my Mother and Father: late autumn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Late autumn: my thoughts return to my Mother and Father ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This roaring winter wind: the cataract grates on its rocks. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch While snow lingers in creases and recesses: flowers of the plum ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Plowing, not a single bird sings in the mountain's shadow ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the lingering heat of an abandoned cowbarn only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The red plum's fallen petals seem to ignite horse dung. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dawn! The brilliant sun illuminates sardine heads. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The abandoned willow shines between bright rains ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Dew-damp grass: the setting sun’s tears ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The dew-damp grass weeps silently in the setting sun ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch White plum blossoms― though the hour grows late, a glimpse of dawn ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The poem above is believed to be Buson's jisei (death poem) and he is said to have died before dawn. Lately the nights dawn plum-blossom white. ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a second interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). In the deepening night I saw by the light of the white plum blossoms ―Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch This is a third interpretation of Buson's jisei (death poem). Our life here on earth: to what shall we compare it? Perhaps to a rowboat departing at daybreak, leaving no trace of us in its wake? —Takaha Shugyo or Yosa Buson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I thought I felt a dewdrop plop on me as I lay in bed! ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch We cannot see the moon and yet the waves still rise ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The first morning of autumn: the mirror I investigate reflects my father’s face ― Shiki Masaoka, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Wild geese pass leaving the emptiness of heaven revealed ― Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Inside the cracked shell of a walnut: one empty room. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Bring me an icicle sparkling with the stars of the deep north —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Seen from the skyscraper the trees' fresh greenery: parsley sprigs —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Are the geese flying south? The candle continues to flicker ... —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Still clad in its clown's costume— the dead ladybird. —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch A single tree, a heart carved into its trunk, blossoms prematurely —Takaha Shugyo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Silently observing the bottomless mountain lake: water lilies ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Cranes flapping ceaselessly test the sky's upper limits ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Falling snowflakes' glitter tinsels the sea ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Blizzards here on earth, blizzards of stars in the sky ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Completely encircled in emerald: the glittering swamp! ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The new calendar!: as if tomorrow is assured... ― Inahata Teiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Ah butterfly, what dreams do you ply with your beautiful wings? ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because morning glories hold my well-bucket hostage I go begging for water ― Fukuda Chiyo-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring stirs the clouds in the sky's teabowl ― Kikusha-ni, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tonight I saw how the peony crumples in the fire's embers ― Katoh Shuhson, loose translation by Michael R. Burch It fills me with anger, this moon; it fills me and makes me whole ― Takeshita Shizunojo, loose translation by Michael R. Burch War stood at the end of the hall in the long shadows ― Watanabe Hakusen, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Because he is slow to wrath, I tackle him, then wring his neck in the long grass ― Shimazu Ryoh, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Pale mountain sky: cherry petals play as they tumble earthward ― Kusama Tokihiko, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The frozen moon, the frozen lake: two oval mirrors reflecting each other. ― Hashimoto Takako, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The bitter winter wind ends here with the frozen sea ― Ikenishi Gonsui, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, bitter winter wind, why bellow so when there's no leaves to fell? ― Natsume Sôseki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Winter waves roil their own shadows ― Tominaga Fûsei, loose translation by Michael R. Burch No sky, no land: just snow eternally falling... ― Kajiwara Hashin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Along with spring leaves my child's teeth take root, blossom ― Nakamura Kusatao, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Stillness: a single chestnut leaf glides on brilliant water ― Ryuin, loose translation by Michael R. Burch As thunder recedes a lone tree stands illuminated in sunlight: applauded by cicadas ― Masaoka Shiki, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The snake slipped away but his eyes, having held mine, still stare in the grass ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Girls gather sprouts of rice: reflections of the water flicker on the backs of their hats ― Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Murmurs follow the hay cart this blossoming summer day ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The wet nurse paused to consider a bucket of sea urchins then walked away ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch May I be with my mother wearing her summer kimono by the morning window ― Ippekiro Nakatsuka (1887-1946), loose translation by Michael R. Burch The hands of a woman exist to remove the insides of the spring cuttlefish ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch The moon hovering above the snow-capped mountains rained down hailstones ― Sekitei Hara, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Oh, dreamlike winter butterfly: a puff of white snow cresting mountains ― Kakio Tomizawa, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Spring snow cascades over fences in white waves ― Suju Takano, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Tanka and Waka translations: If fields of autumn flowers can shed their blossoms, shameless, why can’t I also frolic here — as fearless, and as blameless? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Submit to you — is that what you advise? The way the ripples do whenever ill winds arise? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Watching wan moonlight illuminate trees, my heart also brims, overflowing with autumn. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I had thought to pluck the flower of forgetfulness only to find it already blossoming in his heart. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch That which men call "love" — is it not merely the chain preventing our escape from this world of pain? —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Once-colorful flowers faded, while in my drab cell life’s impulse also abated as the long rains fell. —Ono no Komachi, loose translation by Michael R. Burch I set off at the shore of the seaside of Tago, where I saw the high, illuminated peak of Fuji―white, aglow― through flakes of drifting downy snow. ― Akahito Yamabe, loose translation by Michael R. Burch Haiku Translations As the monks sip their morning tea, chrysanthemums quietly blossom. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The fragrance of plum blossoms on a foggy path: the sun rising. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The sea darkens ... yet still faintly white the wild duck protests. —Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Pear tree blossoms whitened by moonlight: a young woman reading a letter. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Outlined in the moonlight ... who is that standing among the pear trees? —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Your coolness: the sound of the bell departing the bell. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As the moon flies west the flowers' shadows creep eastward. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch By such pale moonlight even the wisteria's fragrance seems distant. —Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Leaves like crows’ shadows flirt with a lonely moon. Kaga no Chiyo, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let me die covered with flowers and never again wake to this earthly dream! —Ochi Etsujin, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch To reveal how your heart flowers, sway like the summer grove. —Tagami Kikusha-Ni, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In the thicket's shade a solitary woman sings the rice-planting song. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Unaware of these degenerate times, cherry blossoms abound! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch These silent summer nights even the stars seem to whisper. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The enormous firefly weaves its way, this way and that, as it passes by. Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Composed like the Thinker, he sits contemplating the mountains: the sagacious frog! Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch A fallen blossom returning to its bough? No, a butterfly! Arakida Moritake, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Illuminated by the harvest moon smoke is caught creeping across the water ... Hattori Ransetsu, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Fanning its tail flamboyantly with every excuse of a breeze, the peacock! Masaoki Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Waves row through the mists of the endless sea. Masaoki Shiki, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I hurl a firefly into the darkness and sense the enormity of night. —Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch As girls gather rice sprouts reflections of the rain ripple on the backs of their hats. —Kyoshi Takahama, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch NEW ORIGINAL HAIKU ADDED 7-25-2025 Such a frigid winter day, our words also icy —Michael R. Burch Her love, sheer and queer as gossamer, did not adhere... —Michael R. Burch I dream of love as bankers dream of repossessing Ferraris. —Michael R. Burch, after Anais Vionet The hummingbird fans an iris: myriad acts of kindness go unnoticed. —Michael R. Burch Sun sinking into the sea who taught you how to swim? —Michael R. Burch Yet another leaf assumes its autumnal splendor then falls. —Michael R. Burch Fireflies thinking to illuminate the darkness: poets. —Michael R. Burch Stars conspire astral mischief but only the silent moon witnesses. —Michael R. Burch Chickadees squabbling, denying each others’ rights: another unholy war. —Michael R. Burch Licentious breezes whisper intimations to quivering leaves: nightfall. —Michael R. Burch Late autumn: fleeting words increasingly missing syllables. —Michael R. Burch Life insists on pruning its gaudiest wildflowers. —Michael R. Burch Her lips extravagant embers smoldering beneath my kiss. —Michael R. Burch The bees have returned along with the rebellious butterflies: Spring! —Michael R. Burch Sudden snowfall: all traces of you erased. —Michael R. Burch A leaf falls —disaster!— until it flaps its wings. —Michael R. Burch At the end of a long day my pillow gently embraces me. —Michael R. Burch The tyrant’s statue: dubious accolades, doves deposit denials. —Michael R. Burch Silence is golden especially to the younger when you’re olden. —Michael R. Burch Baby blues? My checkbook boo-hoo-hoos. They keep outgrowing their shoes! —Michael R. Burch They’ll pick up and move on, Soon forgetting I’m gone. —Michael R. Burch Deer still sporting their winter coats? Spring’s delinquent! —Michael R. Burch The most likely cause of gauze is dandelion “ahs!” because they shed applause. —Michael R. Burch The pregnant mother’s belly swells in concert with the fulling moon. —Michael R. Burch Live among the blossoms while you can; grow straight and tall and fairer than them all... Oh, never fall! —Michael R. Burch, "Exhortation" So many snowflakes whirling a-swirl: confusion —Michael R. Burch Starlight evening: the universe twinkles its mysteries... —Michael R. Burch Another New Year... the fireworks, followed by real explosions —Michael R. Burch Venus, flirting with the Moon and Mars? Fickle gods! —Michael R. Burch should the sky fall, let my last breath praise Your existence —Michael R. Burch It ever was night, yet in the darkness I found you, shining, bright. —Michael R. Burch a last leaf clinging to life declines to fall... —Michael R. Burch the Universe, dazzled by her beauty, swoons. —“Eclipse” by Michael R. Burch Anxiety surrounds me like an immense night void of stars. —Michael R. Burch Loneliness engulfs me like an immense night void of stars. —Michael R. Burch Crow perched quizzically on scarecrow: natural comedian! —Michael R. Burch Autumn leaves swirling: dreams aloft & imperiled —Michael R. Burch struggle to fit into cramped too-small shoes: tiny haiku —Michael R. Burch your easy smile brightens the day natural as wildflowers —Michael R. Burch a single silver leaf on the old oak tree: autumn moon —Michael R. Burch The Ultimate Haiku Against God by Michael R. Burch Because you made a world where nothing matters, our hearts lie in tatters. Keywords/Tags: haiku, tanka, oriental, masters, translation, Japanese, nature, seasons, Basho, Buson, Issa, waka, tanka, mrbhaiku

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