Short Poems

While day lasted,
the wind now and then
blew the bamboo leaves clean,
but it's died away now
and snow piles up on them

Where the bright moon comes up,
the sky has cleared,
though drifting clouds
linger far off
by the rim of the mountain

Weighed down with dew,
sprays of bush clover
bend to the ground,
their flowers in the wind that sways them
brighter-colored than ever

The warbler's voice
softly resounds,
and the sunlight,
veiled in haze,
gives no sign of fading

Agnellina orfanellina
Giace in cima alla collina,
Fredda, sola, senza madre,—
Senza madre, oimè!
Io sarotti e madre e padre,
Io sarò tua pastorella;
Non tremar, diletta agnella,
Io ci penso a te.

When devils bite
A damned parasite
Strikes at their throat & stings them home

For Lyra yet shall be the pole
And grass grow in the Capitol

The crowning hour when bodies vie with souls
And bifold essence rushes to its poles

For that a man is a mark
Shows not that he has done
What he is charged withal;
But that some flaw
The censurer knows not what
Has cracked his crystal vase

The Asmodaean feat be mine
To spin my sand heaps into twine.