black
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

Matsuo Basho

He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
MATSUO BASHO

Creation Life Master Poem Poet Time Writing
Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
MATSUO BASHO

Enough Hide Order See
At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
MATSUO BASHO

Pond Sound Water
Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
MATSUO BASHO

Knowledge Learning Leaving Nature Wisdom Yourself
A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
MATSUO BASHO

Memories Skeleton
The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
MATSUO BASHO

Animal Call Darkness Sea White Wild
Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice… Or backyard love?
MATSUO BASHO

Cat Love Starve
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
MATSUO BASHO

Flower Myself Sound Stop Temple
The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
MATSUO BASHO

Age Deep Destiny Forever Home Journey Life Moon Old Sun Time Travel
Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
MATSUO BASHO

Moon Myself Night Water
Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die.
MATSUO BASHO

Cry Death Flower
Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
MATSUO BASHO

Day Destination Home Journey
April’s air stirs in Willow-leaves, a butterfly Floats and balances.
MATSUO BASHO

Balance Butterfly Leaves
Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
MATSUO BASHO

Bone Cold Deep Fragrance Nature Perfume World
Poverty’s child – he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
MATSUO BASHO

Children Moon Poverty Start
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
MATSUO BASHO

Home Insect Rain Spring

Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.

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