Short Poems

The hunt is up,
The hunt is up,
And now it is almost day;
And he that's in bed with another man's wife,
It's time to get him away.

The cuckoo is singing;
Ye gods, be sure to listen.

“Fair is Alexis” I no sooner said
When every one his eyes that way convey'd.
My soul, as when some dog a bone we show
Who snatcheth it—lost we not Phædrus so?

Elsie Marley is grown so fine,
She won't get up to feed the swine.
But lies in bed till eight or nine.
——Lazy Elsie Marley.

Down in a deep dark ditch sat an old cow munching a bean-stalk.
Out of her mouth came forth strawberry, strawberry froth.

Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Got my man an' gone.

Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Come with fohty links of chain.

The Devil, having nothing else to do,
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.

Cap'n, I believe,
Cap'n, I believe,
Cap'n, I believe, believe, believe I'll die.

“Oh, no you ain't gonna die.
Come on with that motah!”

whoever reads my poems
must guard his purity of heart
his greed at once be modesty
flattery suddenly honesty
banish and be rid of evil karma
trust and accept his true nature
get his buddha body today
hurry as if these were orders

Peach blossoms are red, willow catkins white,
Shimmering in the sun and swaying in the wind;
Their shape emerges beyond the vermilion walls,
Their fragrance goes back to the blue hall.
Mirrored in the water, parasitic bamboos,
Lying across the hill, a half-dead paulownia tree;
The list of awardees announced, I realize the great bounty;
Grasping my writing tablet, I am chagrined by my paltry talent.