A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
MATSUO BASHOA weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
MATSUO BASHONothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
MATSUO BASHOOn a bare branch a crow is perched – autumn evening.
MATSUO BASHOFresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old – / These fields and mountains!
MATSUO BASHOFor this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
MATSUO BASHODo not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
MATSUO BASHOSummer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers’ imperial dreams.
MATSUO BASHOSpring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
MATSUO BASHOLearn how to listen as things speak for themselves.
MATSUO BASHODon’t imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
MATSUO BASHOWhen your consciousness has become ripe in true zazen-pure like clear water, like a serene mountain lake, not moved by any wind-then anything may serve as a medium for realization.
MATSUO BASHOSeek not the paths of the ancients; Seek that which the ancients sought.
MATSUO BASHOFirst snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
MATSUO BASHOThe temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
MATSUO BASHOThere came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores
MATSUO BASHOI hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.
MATSUO BASHO