#blossoms
The dawn awakes in silver light,
And paints the lake with colors bright;
White blossoms lean from branches high,
To greet the sun that climbs the sky—
A gentle world, serene and bright.
The winding path invites delight,
While shadows fade before the light;
Soft breezes stir and wander by,
The dawn awakes.
The hills emerge from fading night,
And every bloom shines pure and white;
The water mirrors earth and sky,
As waking birds begin to fly—
A hymn of peace, a sacred sight:
The dawn awakes.
4d ago
May 31, 2026 at 4:44 AM UTC
The falling petals
don’t need no caring for.
Leave them
until next spring.
They emerge again
from above;
and fall again
when it’s time.
I can’t remember their exact faces,
so I go from tree to tree,
sniff sniff
like my dog Chuchu.
Apr 19
Apr 19, 2026 at 2:02 PM UTC
The snow is here, the world is laughing, The world in white, in everything. The farmer’s hands reach towards the heavens, To thank the Lord for all the givens.
In his eyes, the snow is a golden farm, Where every flake is worth a wealth of gold. He sees it in the yellow seeds of figs, And in the ears of wheat that wait in cold.
The children are jumping together, They laugh as they gather the snow, Working with all of their might, To make a big snowman of white.
Oh my God, watch the trees in white, As beautiful and shy as brides. Who is the groom and where is he now? Is he the snowman? No, the clouds are the groom.
A shopkeeper watches from his window, He laughs with his heart and whispers low; At first, he sees the snow as money and silver, Then he sees it as gold, a treasure to deliver.
But then he thinks of the Bible and Quran, That snow is more than any earthly thing. It is the life—not only for people, but for all creatures, Even for the stones, snow is the gold for gold itself.
It sees all souls with equal rank and power, For snow, a king and a poor man are the same. The snow is white, and when it falls, A blanket of peace, it covers all.
If one says spring is more beautiful, I think they blind their eyes to winter's light For winter is the mother of the seasons, And the snow is the mother of blossoms.
Oh now, lovely snow, come and shine, To bring deep peace and love to all the world.
— Hamid Hassanshahinejad © 2025
Dec 20, 2025
Dec 20, 2025 at 9:50 AM UTC
A long life is the
good fortune of many years --
of cherry blossoms.
Nov 2, 2025
Nov 2, 2025 at 2:34 AM UTC
Petals fall through time
Their soft color disappear
With a world of grey
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 2:26 PM UTC
The almond blossoms:
everyone comes here to watch!
Cars! And radios!
Aug 5, 2025
Aug 5, 2025 at 4:20 AM UTC
We were walking, the painter and I,
Across the plain and towards the hill.
The moon had waxed into her glory
Causing the zephyrs to sigh.
We rested awhile at the foot of the rise
Nestled in a comfortable silence.
The night moved on languid feet
Passion hidden under a serene guise.
We took the path on the dark leeward
My golden quill our only light.
The painter promised a spectacle
And anticipation fueled my climb
Cherry Blossoms swirled in the wind,
As we stood on silver bathed ground.
A man stood at the edge of the hill,
His hands on the railing, waiting.
Under the tree he stood.
The flowers hiding the wrinkles
Of his suit and his skin.
His gaze fixed upon the moon.
My friend and I sat against a boulder
And waited with him.
The wind whispered with the flowers
And the Sakura tree sang to the night.
The song was impossible,
Yet hear it we did.
Violins and keys, flutes and harps -
A haunting tune of longing.
And as the song rose,
A woman stood beside the man;
A bride clad in a moonlight gown,
Her veil of starshine trailing behind.
The man took her hand,
And the woman drew closer.
And groom and bride,
They danced among the flowers.
Wrinkles were smoothened
Trembling hands strengthened
Faltering feet trode sure
And wilting heart bloomed anew.
Happiness perfused the air.
Cruelly brief the phenomenon would be -
So the man knew, and chose to forget.
He held on to the past and danced.
We sat there, intruders and fools,
Too ashamed to look on,
Too enthralled to look away,
Until sleep hid them from our eyes.
The melody rains with the petals,
Tears dance with the smiles.
The waltz of the weary hearts
Lasts as long as the moon.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 8:38 AM UTC
The explosion of ivory dogwood blossoms
sweetly assaults the eye.
The bird of the day is the mourning dove.
With their sweet relentless pecking.
I let out a sigh.
A hawk's in town today.
Why most birds have stayed away.
The perfume off spring rain arouses my soul.
Wet buds sweetly festering,
as another day I grow old.
May 13, 2025
May 13, 2025 at 6:03 PM UTC
The blood red vibrant buds on the trees ignite
in a chaotic emergence against the pale blue sky.
The infant spring sheen of the warm sun,
beckons my mind into a garden of oblivion.
Heavy thoughts are lost to the miniature whistles
of the happy house finch.
Breeze sweeps crumbs of dreams that were never clinched.
Penetrating the soul's rich soil
are fresh buds of ideas that have remained loyal.
Before blossoms burst, my black dirt voraciously thirsts.
And then joyous daffodils destroy winter's curse.
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 11:26 AM UTC
Cherry blossoms, soft and bright,
Dance in spring, a fleeting sight.
Some teach us, like whispers in the breeze,
Lessons in petals, carried with ease.
Others bloom, blessings in the sun,
Filling hearts, dispelling the fun.
As they arrive, they too must part,
Leaving fragrance, a mark on the heart.
Cherish each moment, both lesson and grace,
For life’s like blossoms, a beautiful chase.
In seasons' cycle, we learn to let go,
Embracing the beauty in ebb and flow.
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 5:15 PM UTC
Rose blossoms upon the Spring
Boughs and the Sunflower breeze
Like a Burlesque dancer
Takes off her Winter fur
Cool noon warmths
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 12:48 PM UTC
Petals of cherry blossoms
Within her misty exotic gaze
Sweet golden moon
Blushing tenderly ablaze
Beyond the rose junes
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 6:19 AM UTC
Cherry blossoms
Swaying in the honey breeze
Of her Exotic Beauty
Reynaldo Casison
Mar 6, 2025
Mar 6, 2025 at 12:44 AM UTC
Next spring I'll go back
to see the blossoms, search them --
where I've never been.
Jan 9, 2025
Jan 9, 2025 at 4:24 AM UTC
Orange blossoms, used in perfume-making
Blooming on orange trees is inviting.
They are symbols of purity.
Eternal love and security
Good fortune; they are promising
Buzzing in my ears, bees will spring.
Like a beautiful song they sing.
Flowers do bring serenity.
Orange Blossoms
Bridal bouquets are inspiring.
Its fragrance is so exciting.
Used in eau de cologne for surety
Commonly used without disparity
You can hear everybody talking.
Orange Blossoms
Aug 10, 2024
Aug 10, 2024 at 9:59 AM UTC
It is the season for new buds and blossoms,
For a Mirabelle plum tree that blooms
Attracting bees that hum like softly rolling thunder
What a bright, white and scented wonder!
Mar 3, 2024
Mar 3, 2024 at 6:57 AM UTC
These are my modern English translations of haiku about plum blossoms, plums and plum trees. In Japanese poetry the plum ("ume") is associated with the beginning of spring and good fortune; plum trees were often planted facing northeast to ward off bad luck. Plum blossoms are widely loved and appreciated by the Japanese people; they symbolize refinement, purity, nobility and the remembrance of love.
Picking autumn plums
my wrinkled hands
once again grow fragrant
― Yosa Buson, 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
On adjacent branches
the plum tree blossoms bloom
petal by petal―love!
― 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; this is believed to be Buson's death poem and he is said to have died before dawn
Lately the nights
dawn
plum-blossom white.
—Yosa Buson, loose translation/interpretation of his jisei (death poem) by Michael R. Burch
A shy maiden:
the loveliness of the lone plum
blossoming
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Longing for plum blossoms:
bowing before the deutzia,
weeping.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Moonlit plum tree,
tarry!
Spring will return soon.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The plum blossom’s fragrance
warms
winter’s frigid embrace.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
White plum blossoms:
have the cranes
gone undercover?
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Suddenly, the scent of plums
on a mountain path:
sunrise!
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Warm sun unfolds
the plum blossom’s scent:
a mountain path.
—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 plum in full bloom
must not be disturbed
by the wind.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The plum's fragrance:
the past
holds such pathos.
—Matsuo Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are you the butterfly
and I the dreaming heart
of Soshi?
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
kimi ya cho / ware ya shoshi no / yume gokoro
The poem above is a reference to a butterfly dream of Chuang Tzu, a Taoist sage and poet who was a major influence on Basho. Soshi is the Japanese rendering of the name Chuang Tzu. I believe what Basho may have meant is something closer to this:
Are you the butterfly
while I pursue dreams
of Soshi?
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Are you the butterfly
while in my dreams
I flit after Soshi?
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
It's not at all anxious to bloom,
the plum tree at my gate.
―Kobayashi Issa, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The red plum's fallen petals
seem to ignite horse ****
―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
The white poppy
accepts the butterfly's broken wing
as a keepsake
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
shirageshi ni / hane mogu cho no / katami kana
As autumn deepens
a butterfly sips
chrysanthemum dew
—Basho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
aki o hete / cho mo nameru ya / kiku no tsuyu
The translation above is slated to be published by Emma Burleigh in her book "Earth Color."
A single leaf
of paulownia falling
reflects the sun.
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I caught a falling cherry petal;
but opening my fist ...
nothing
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
They call it a white peony
yet it contains
hints of red
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Evening shadows
grow thick
on the floating algae
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The snake slithered away
yet his eyes, having met mine,
remained
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The bamboo grove
is lit
by the yellow spring sunlight
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Chikurin ni/ Ki naru haruhi wo/ Aogikeri
On a hot summer night
dreams and reality
merge.
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mizika-yo ya/ Yume mo utsutsu mo / Onazi koto
The summer butterfly
has to look sharp
to make its getaway.
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Natsu no cho/ Manako surudoku/ Kakeri kishi
The autumn sky
is severed
by the big chinquapin tree.
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Akizora wo/ Futatsu ni tateri/ Shii-taiju
“Cawa-cawa!”
The winter crow
elocutes coarsely.
—Takahama Kyoshi, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Kawa kawa to/ Ookiku yuruku/ Samu-garasu
You rise with the sun,
mysteriously warm,
also scattering sunbeams.
—Michael R. Burch
As springs’ budding blossoms emerge
the raptors glide mercilessly.
—Michael R. Burch
I wrote this haiku-like poem above on 3-27-2023 after the Nashville Covenant school massacre.—Michael R. Burch
Incomprehensible
by Michael R. Burch
“Slain” — an impossible word to comprehend.
The male lion murders cubs,
licks his lips, devours them.
Her sky-high promises:
midday moon
—Michael R. Burch
The north wind’s refrain,
a southbound train ...
Invitation?
—Michael R. Burch
The north wind’s refrain,
the receding strain
of a southbound train ...
Invitation?
—Michael R. Burch
The moon blushed
then fled behind a cloud:
her stolen kiss.
—Michael R. Burch
Elderly sunflowers:
bees trimming their beards.
—Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: haiku, translation, Japanese, Japan, Oriental, plum, plums, plum blossom, plum blossoms, plum trees, spring, good luck, good fortune, love, purity, refinement, nobility
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 5:19 AM UTC
Beulah gave out
Blossoms this spring
As big as sunflower heads.
They entwined the branches
Like the ribbon enclosing an expectant shower gift.
It's fragrance was the extract
Of an unbottled aroma
That is the Magnolia tree.
I rooted her in the yard
Four years ago.
She is iridescent for a brief time
Past mid Spring.
She has many Springs to go
Above the green growth below;
Many seasons beneth
The blue Summer skies above;
During the Autums ahead,
When I am dead,
And colder than Winter snows
Below her;
She will be there.
Rooted with care.
May 18, 2023
May 18, 2023 at 8:14 PM UTC
And the sun glints through the plum trees.
My heart is pierced
in a moment of anticipation
and silence.
A sudden reflection of beauty, longing, and pain blurred my eyes.
A quick revisit
to an old memory of paradise.
Where I’ve been an enduring captive of a sorrowful rewind.
But I remained a seeker.
A seeker of the promises
of perseverance.
While I adore winter
as I see snow trinkets around.
I love and cherish
the herald of spring.
And as the pale pink plum blossoms bravely bloom
amidst the winter chill,
I will continue to seek
for fruitfulness.
Though I’m still a slave
of bitterness and grief,
I will try to celebrate my strength.
With plum blossoms as a reminder of a not-so-distant spring.
A time for hope, a moment of joy,
and a season of new beginning.
Blooming beautifully after overcoming difficulties.
Feb 19, 2023
Feb 19, 2023 at 12:14 AM UTC
Let the buds of kindness continue to blossom in your pure heart.
May 20, 2022
May 20, 2022 at 7:39 AM UTC
perspective shifts in all directions
a blur, out of focus from the earth
as spring blossoms in my throat
bloodied petals dried by the sun's rage
would it be my fault if i shielded my eyes?
away from his piercing glare
burning as he rises
ripping vines out of my mouth
tearing through my field of vision
until i close my eyes
and fade to black.
Jan 30, 2022
Jan 30, 2022 at 4:51 AM UTC