"watts" poems
Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:
Furuike ya
kawazu tobikomu
mizu no oto
-- Basho
Literal Translation
Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya,
ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into)
mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound)
The old pond--
a frog jumps in,
sound of water.
Translated by Robert Hass
Old pond...
a frog jumps in
water's sound.
Translated by William J. Higginson
An old silent pond...
A frog jumps into the pond,
splash! Silence again.
Translated by Harry Behn
There is the old pond!
Lo, into it jumps a frog:
hark, water's music!
Translated by John Bryan
The silent old pond
a mirror of ancient calm,
a frog-leaps-in splash.
Translated by Dion O'Donnol
old pond
frog leaping
splash
Translated by Cid Corman
Antic pond--
frantic frog jumps in--
gigantic sound.
Translated by Bernard Lionel Einbond
MAFIA HIT MAN POET: NOTE FOUND PINNED TO LAPEL
OF DROWNED VICTIM'S DOUBLE-BREASTED SUIT!!!
'Dere wasa dis frogg
Gone jumpa offa da logg
Now he inna bogg.'
-- Anonymous
Translated by George M. Young, Jr.
Old pond
leap -- splash
a frog.
Translated by Lucien Stryck
The old pond,
A frog jumps in:.
Plop!
Translated by Allan Watts
The old pond, yes, and
A frog is jumping into
The water, and splash.
Translated by G.S. Fraser
11.2k
I was shacked with a
24 year old girl from
New York City for
two weeks- about
the time of the garbage
strike out there, and
one night my 34 year
old woman arrived and
she said, "I want to see
my rival." she did
and then she said, "o,
you're a cute little thing!"
next I knew there was a
screech of wildcats-
such screaming and scratch-
ing, wounded animal moans,
blood and **** . .
I was drunk and in my
shorts. I tried to
seperate them and fell,
wrenched my knee. then
they were through the screen
door and down the walk
and out into the street.
squadcars full of cops
arrived. a police heli-
coptor circled overhead.
I stood in the bathroom
and grinned in the mirror.
it's not often at the age
of 55 that such splendid
things occur.
better than the Watts
riots.
the 34 year old
came back in. she had
****** all over her-
self and her clothing
was torn and she was
followed by 2 cops who
wanted to know why.
pulling up my shorts
I tried to explain.
9.4k
Your voice is embedded in brain
Like lyrics to a song
And every time you look at me
My body fills with electricity
Like a thousand watts
live in your eyes
I coyly smile
It's my disguise
Cause I'm not a flawless magazine model
Or pretty picture in a frame
I'm just a girl
Average and normal
With so so much to gain
So maybe it's my odessey, my journey, or my trek
To make my way towards you
Without the past breathing down my neck
In the end, either way
You light me up like a star
My own personal outlet
Whether I'm near or far
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 1:37 PM UTC
So many cool things to do
so many fun, and interesting things to do
so many intoxicating things to stimulate the senses
which, are always on march and parade
DOPAMINE
I stay chasing the next exciting thing
the spectacle, the stimulation, music, promise
but mostly I work my life away
and then I drink, after
Then the internet stimulates me: Facebook, YouTube, Twitter, Instagram
Goodreads, Reddit
the next fix,
always the next fix
not where I want to be
you can only be in one place
I think my mind wants to be, in all places at once
then, you get bored
******* bored
that's there again
Then minutes, moments, seconds move fast
out of your life
Alan Watts said, "thoughts are addictive," I know what he means
he's not speaking in riddles
A lot of times, it's just best not to think
Somewhere in complete isolation
with no one talking to you, or speaking to you
eventually the voices and thoughts go away
and you can cleanse yourself
Hopefully
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 9:21 PM UTC
I was doing
something
when a flash
smashed out
to every corner
of the room.
It came like
ominous bolts
of lightning
had leapt from
the light bulb
bursting inside,
as though
storms had been
brewing slowly
under a muzzle
of glass frame.
I regarded how
strange it was
to be fed up
to a thrum of
75 watts
in its lifetime,
to finally break
its broadcast.
I look to a
tungsten tongue,
see the ember
flick into the dark
and say,
I lost my religion.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 6:46 PM UTC
This Love Song seemed like a safe place to unpack my ****
But a safe place is where Lyrics go to die.
And this is Not a Song.
and it starts like this. all the time.
II
i fella sleep in a widdle boat and told a seagull that i was having a dream
about talking to seagulls and he was astonished to have the pleasure of meeting a boat
that had the good sense to plug the hole with a poet…. because they never wake up
and they do so with extreme prejudice. that simply screams Resident.
In Fact!
He’d never even seen a boat. So there’s THAT. I offered Seagull “ The Cool -Side of The Pillow. “
So I could sit upright for a moment and jot this down. He was like “ What’s a pillow? “
And I had no idea what it was that brushed against my legs
but It was There. then It was Gone. when i stopped using the metaphor.
I was treading a fathom
of pixie dust and transgender proto-gods, all cuddling in a huddle of metaphysics
as adorable as a radioactive abrupt
stop.
III
Ah yes… someone was cooking bacon… and bacon is sleep’s kryptonite. so the dream was a wrap.
and i had a bird’s nest woven from the silk of my discarded cocoon. codename: Chrysalis.
and my mouth was dry. a stubborn dry that follows a deluge of phantasmagoria
on a Futon that is a God to cat hair. My Futon is Oblique and Omnipotent.
Apparently.
Uber Mecca for Cat Hair. I fell asleep on that.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
*How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day
From every opening flow'r!
How skillfully she builds her cell!
How neat she spreads the wax!
And labours hard to store it well
With the sweet food she makes.
In works of labour or of skill,
I would be busy, too;
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
In books, or work, or healthy play,
Let my first years be passed,
That I might give for ev'ry day,
Some good account at last.*
~Isaac Watts 1674-1748~
Nov 1, 2012
Nov 1, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Security guard sitting alone
bank holiday, the nights soon gone,
he sits & waits to hear the phone
but nobody, thinks, he's on his own
Son & daughter far away
growing up, while he's growing grey,
soon to decide which way to go
their love hidden, unable to show
The last few years haven't been sweet,
Raynham, Vancouver, Sidney St,
roots torn up, hearts torn out
no wonder the only answer
is a shout
One day soon, my little Rose may forgive,
and let her loved ones begin to live,
instead of living the American Dream
as the second Miss Watts,
she'll gleam or scream
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
i don't deserve the stars
in your eyes and the electricity in
your smiles. you are a
thousand watts, composed with
all the atoms that make
up me; you are the rays of sun in
my silver linings; and me?
i'm just the moon, caught in between
an eclipse of life and death.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
I've always been cold until I visited the Far East and you pranced into my life like a wild gazelle in the grasslands. I've always been cold until you laid your head on my chest while you fell asleep and the aroma of your cocoa brown hair intoxicated me to the point of snores and the most pleasant dreams I've ever had. I've always been cold until you wrapped your arm around my stomach and I could feel your veins circulating on the contours of my abdomen. I've always been cold until you looked at me with your macchiato eyes and my state of matter went from solid to liquid as I tried to construct myself back together like an artist sculpting an ice statue outside in the middle of May in Mexico. I've always been cold until your kiss electrified my lips like an underwater eel and I felt 12,000 watts circulate my body bringing to attention every cell that flows within my valves. I've always been cold like an iceberg near the Antarctic and nothing's ever changed that. Nothing except for you. Thank you for being my fireplace in the middle of an ice cold winter. Thank you for being my heat.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 2:26 AM UTC
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
People lock their doors driving through my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Dogs are the kings in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Harlots bargain with panderers in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Felons avoid the police by hiding in schools, in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Eye contact is discouraged, in my pretty pretty city.
in my city, my pretty pretty city,
Walking alone can be the biggest mistake you ever made, in my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
but in my city, my pretty pretty city,
the sea sends you salty, sandy kisses, in my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
and in my city, my pretty pretty city,
the railroad tracks take you to Zion from my pretty pretty city.
Oh-
in my city, my pretty pretty city
i have left behind my blood and promises to return.
Oh-
my city, in my pretty pretty city,
hearts break, while others mend,
tears fall, while smiles are conceived,
hate roams, while lovers love,
fear attacks, while fortitude prevails,
Oh-
my city, my pretty pretty city,
that's where i belong.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
*(Blackened tissue beside debris of bleachd cocktail
Power pundit in cubicle
A ship in shadow-pieces passing by, unnoticed*
smoking water.. now costs getting kickd out ur xafe
Your blood lies in a high-account and all the stampz areMelting
Crawling in a desert, accusations shave the top off my black land
Did failing the test lead to a power-packed punch in strands
No time for treagedies clogging up the freeway
Twenty watts up the waterfall and your ride is here
Befits a ceremonial decapping
Catch ur vogue latte on the way out
Come aboard by jet and then expect a red carpet, soaked dry from the spoils of erstwehile-smugglers
Let em bleed green notes till the moths all come round the flame
Wait for it… the flame grows hugher… and int it all…………poof!
That was easy.
Don’t chuckle out loud when expletives slidie down your back
Like champagne off the shoulder of your ne-xt planet’s ride
Duck in time cos the butters hard and the toast is dry
Four friends over six decades carry grudges heavey enough to pump oil to lakes
And the unexpected happens.. the one they didn’t watch, wwent missing
All eyes on the little one.. no, you didn’t catch them all.
You became immunes to the skills you advert-tarted and sqeueamish set in
you didn’t know casn host violence in a putrid-robe?
One finger pointing out, makes at least three in.. to the pointer
How can one planet swallow so wide a dichotomy in plasticky degrees?
It’s too wide this time to make that jump – we will ingest what weve been giving all along
And some end up well-funded while others simply dwell.. as frogs in a well.
sun can climb in sometimes, but for half an hour
their fingers are small for the mine, keep small the issue
don’t cry when it rains in expectorata
I think frogs can swim.
*when do I ever learn that..
I am simply a frog in a well
near craxks )*
21feb
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:49 AM UTC
“One of the truest, one of the few.
Your essence is pure, no need to subvert.
Nothing but goodness, joy and happiness exude from your core.
It may be said of many, but your smile has watts that illuminate the truth, lighting up a room as only you, Elizabeth Young, can do.
That hair so lush, like it breathes on its own, to catch but a whiff is to know that I belong.
Belong in that embrace, welcomed into your orbit, the feeling so special, so genuine, so joyous, that I’ll never forget it.
That heart, your great big heart, encompassing every room, but never wanting the spotlight to shine down on you.
Your gift as a giver, showering love with aplomb,
yet always looking out for others, mindful of those with less,
makes you a special human who always wants the best.
Your laugh like no other, a kinship have we,
sometimes those seeking silence, don’t appreciate the unique harmonies between you and me. 😂
Your essence is a gift that I will forever cherish, I am blessed to call you my friend, to love you is an honor.
You’re the other half of my sunshine and that can never be taken away.
Your radiance is immortal, your legacy unmatched,
Yesterday, today and forever you will always shine bright and show me the way.”
Todd Carter
7/29/2022
Aug 7, 2022
Aug 7, 2022 at 11:59 AM UTC
Norwegian summer night.
She opens her guest room window and
Balcony door to
Give the scent of warm pine and
Sunstroked willow a free tour of her
Apartment on a welcome breeze.
I mute the TV, as she enters her bedroom
Leaving me shirtless in shorts on her
Sofa, headphones nearly plugged into
My laptop when she requests a tuck-in,
Knowing that granting me the remains of
Her Saturday night sixpack means
She's going to bed alone.
I kiss her forehead goodnight. She steals
A bonus hug, wanting it to
Last until morning though it's
Futile. I bury my face in warm, soft
Neck. She
Releases hesitantly. Smiles.
She has bed. I have Johnny Cash and Chet
Baker, Alan Watts and Allen Ginsberg,
Beer, time, and a window of solitude.
"Silent" and "listen" are spelled with
The same letters.
My impairment is that I am a man.
I love her. And the aloneness that
A man can only obtain when
Even the loneliness has left him.
I can't feel my feet, unless she does what
She has learned to do;
Give me space. Space with the texture,
Colour and pattern of the
Blanket one tucks
Around
The legs of someone
In a wheelchair, gesturing by it:
*I love your
Every single
Circle.*
Jun 27, 2015
Jun 27, 2015 at 7:18 PM UTC
Hummingbird flutters in front of window
Quick, quick, take a pic!
I fumbled to turn on my iPhone
The home button is broken
So I have to restart every time I want to change to another app
I was too slow
And then it was gone
Here and gone
Just like this life
One fleeting moment to the next
It's a "do happening"
As Alan Watts said
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 6:47 PM UTC
Motto: „ they are all elsewhere/ examining things/ in new bedrooms/” – Charles Bukowski – Praying for rainy days
**** Bukowski
thinks that’s a supraestimated fake
for townsends of years
„ harder than The Riots of Watts”
and it’s not about *****
it’s too precoius and delicate
and it’s not about women
'couse the women *** with roses
or with the spine-birds
and still gets payed on the job
it’s all about poetry
it’s about that funny slaughterhouse
in wich we kick eachothers stupide ***
like some real lovers
and then we rearange our underwear
or what’s left of it
it’s all about a load of **** good to be throwned at the garbage
'couse – don't mention it – there is nothing heroical
and every ****** thing is a makeup
there is just a mouse shiverring in a corner
two ugly frogs are hugging all what is left of the sun
and above all
the monkey is trying hard to improvise a tired smile
**** Bukowski
I don't know a living soul with such a perseveration
to ****** his poems
like his money on horse-races
like his fat’n’ugly mexican ******
and still somehow to become his own hero
insane like this
born into this
and becouse he had lived to much like a dog
alone with the whole world
with it’s ******* **** beauty
in wich actualy nobudy finds his mate
in wich everything it’s just a canibalistic clown
and a childish cry
almoust painfully dead
from his own laughter
Mar 30, 2010
Mar 30, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
I survive off Energy,
not negative vibes,
but Positive watts
it sustains my life force,
and uplifts me
to the highest of heights
high above the ceiling,
venturing pass the stratosphere,
until i find myself conversing with celestial beings,
the feeling of feeling,
leaves me open
to all manners of interpretation ,
We are who We are,
when you become vulnerable,
Emotions run ramped explosive like
The Birth of A Dwarf Star ,
anything outside the realm of good intentions ,
I back track , and revert to that of a hermit turtle incased in my shell,
NO ONE ALLOWED !
In the sanctum
not until i can tell the outsider means me no harm
They just want
my charismatic company
& electric charm
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 7:49 AM UTC
I want to be the girl they sing about
I want to be the one that "gets around"
I'd like to be the doorknob turned
I'd like to be "she never learns"
Breaking boys' poor little hearts
Teach me how and I'll play the part
Instead of the one who falls for the guy
Left all alone in her bedroom to cry
Tired of being
Miss Always gets hurt
I want to leave them first
I want to to be
The One you can't trust
Leave them all in the dust
The One who "got away"
The One who never stays in one place
I want my own trophy shelf
I'd like to be
The Girl with notches on her belt
I want to be
**That *****
The One you fell in love with
The little red corvette
The poison
Your regret
The One who makes you feel sick
Who doesn't give a ****
The One who's keepin' score
Who never likes them more
The One all the girls hate
The Girl who plays mind games
The One who "has it all"
The Girl who watches them fall
The Spider
trapping you in a web
The Witch
placing curses, wishing you unwell
**I'm so furious
*if looks could ****
I'd watch your blood spill
The girls boys choose
while I continuously lose**
I want to play the tricks
while you obey my every whim
Instead of being me
Miss Always Lonely
The Girl who leaves you
broken hearted
with a dismiss kiss
and
could care less you two parted
Instead of Miss Last Pick
Instead of The 19 year old ******
Instead of The Girl they'd all just love to ****
Instead of "great ****
Instead of "nice ***
Instead of The One you want to lay
Instead "never a relationship"
Instead of "hey, hot girl, let's play"
Instead of the body
Instead of too smart
Instead of too talkative
and weird
Instead of the feminist
Instead "Miss Morals"
Instead of 'What a *****
Instead of a novelty
Instead of the rarity
Instead of past tense
When made fun of in elementary
and middle school
I used to wish and hope
I could be Miss Hot
Miss Thousand Watts
And now...
I have nothing else but...
I want to beautiful too...
not just an *** and *****
They don't want to talk
They just want to ****
So I blow them off
Only one boyfriend
where all I did was bend
and too many "I hardley know you"
drunken make outs
with too many doubts
Only One love
and he broke my heart...
The boyfriend
The love
were two different people
With the first I tried..
With the Second I cried
4 years of wasted time
They say I'm "too hard to figure out"
I'm "too hard to sleep with"
too much this
too much that
So maybe if I change
I can be Miss Perfect
In the end...
I just want to be loved...
everyone does.
May 18, 2010
May 18, 2010 at 4:56 AM UTC
As true as the Trinity
And Christ's divinity,
And as heavy as gravity,
My total depravity
Is undeniable.
But God created me justifiable,—
_Me_, who's more of a Don Knotts
Than an Isaac Watts.
Jun 9, 2022
Jun 9, 2022 at 11:44 PM UTC
[I’m not sure if you can]
call them “fantasies.”
I prefer “scatological reveries.”
Usually,
that small porthole of time
just before sleep comes—
that’s where I oversee my
little light bulb factory.
It churns out countless
watts of bright notions—
whose warm light
paints descriptions on still walls
& outlines what exactly it is
that I intend to do to you.
These temporary art forms
are incredibly specific—
down to the slightest detail.
**[For example:
the amount of pressure I’d apply
as I sink my fingernails
into the bare skin
of your back.]**
Some nights I go to bed
with my windows open
& I imagine so loudly—
I’m sure the neighbors can hear.
I hope [they have popcorn on hand.]
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 1:06 PM UTC
I once dated a ******
And I loaned him money.
I laughed out loud in church.
Well! I found it all so funny.
I bought a used Chevy van
Without the proper paperwork.
I tried to get my money back
And the guy called ME a ****
A friend told me I could buy ****
From a guy on the edge of Watts.
Eleven o’clock at night on his porch
Me, a stranger, waiting. Stupid ****
Once I knew another guy, not well.
He wanted some dope from me.
I agreed to sell it, then realized
The fellow worked for the FCC.
I let a gal move in with me
A hippie from Haight Ashbury.
She drank my ***** ate my food
Then stole all she could carry.
It was just the kind of thing,
The sixties games we played.
Free love, open heart and then
After all that, I didn’t get laid.
A guy was selling hot TVs
From my place of employ.
A fool and money, you know
Is all about a gullible boy.
And, since the crook was a gal
I fell for it, because naturally,
A nice lady would never, ever
Try to swindle the sweet young me.
A guy was plunking his guitar
With a sign that said he was blind.
I gave him my last buck and
Figured I was just being kind.
At five o’clock, he got up to go
And I thanked my lucky star
That I was not blind like he was
Then I saw him drive away in his car.
Doing stupid things does not mean
That a person it a certifiable idiot.
It can mean that we trust too much
Or that we’re greedy and don’t admit it.
We see a chance to get a profit
Or even to do something nice
Then get stupid, do what we know
Is contrary to all good advice.
Dec 19, 2015
Dec 19, 2015 at 9:10 PM UTC
Alas! And did my Saviour bleed? And did my Sov'reign die?
Would He devote that sacred head For such a worm as I?
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away (rolled away), It was there by faith
I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
Was it for crimes that I have done, He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unkown! And love beyond degree!
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away (rolled away), It was there by faith
I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
Well might the sun in darkness hide, And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker, died For man, the creatures's sin.
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away (rolled away), It was there by faith
I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
Thus might I hide my blushing face While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness, And melt mine eyes to tears.
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away (rolled away), It was there by faith
I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
But drops of grief can ne'er repay The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away, 'Tis all that I can do!
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light, And the
burden of my heart rolled away (rolled away), It was there by faith
I received my sight, And now I am happy all the day!
By: Isaac Watts 1674-1748
Jan 10, 2013
Jan 10, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC