#2487 -- in Kyoto, as always, longing for Kyoto

 

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in Kyoto, as always, longing for Kyoto

 

now sight first and last of all bridges

    tucked in a garden few are to see

now you’re back – at journey’s end and beginning

 

the wilding hedges and the grasses rank

little bridges out of time, cattails and sedges

this waiting the leaves to turn

 

syllabic footwork for a shout

where figures of the past pour forth

and will tomorrow too

 

a twist and a toss – pompoms on poles

scattered applause, call that matsuri

to every side a bow

 

children in bright caps at the palace

and all other ages pass by

a room of tigers and a room of cranes

 

the cherry blossom room, the gold chrysanthemum lintel

a courtier’s gravel crunch, palanquin on call

the name of a tree for which one weeps

 

doors behind gates behind

a sky processional shows through

but just now open, here at heaven’s whim  

 

the emperor is dreaming

as will a cloud we must not wake

clouds waiting permission to rain

#2486 -- between paper walls

 

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between paper walls

my strange house in Arashiyama

 

gentle with this dark of hard angles

 

you can get lost in here

 

little submarine house

with the haunted bath

that drains, refills itself

 

that’s all there is of the dream now

 

stairs are somewhere else

but only if you look

 

a little imp moves the teacups round

 

it’s always when you’re not looking

there’s a rational explanation

 

old bells are ringing out there

 

the walls are far mountains

 

they like a little offering of crumb

 

you take all of the necessary steps

to remind yourself you’re not here

 

and sleep!

I can remember it

sleep is where we were

#2485 -- a temple garden after rain

 

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a temple garden after rain

 

and half the leaves half turned

now lit

 

weather under me now

 

so make my devotion

 

dragon drool over the sacred puddle

flowers fresh assigned

 

there’s stillness of a great bell

 

maple tremble

strew of wet stone

 

witness the calm of cloud for procession

 

butterfly for cliché

just over the tiles of the roof

 

its all the valley’s river run

 

some would say therapy

some would keep stum 

 

if ever where

to be found by a poem

this must be the place

#2484 -- Koozenji -- the pond and the daylit lantern

 

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Koozenji

Kiso Fukushima

 

the pond and the daylit lantern

shadow and rill

 

light touch of breeze

tree shaped to fit

moss for the socks

 

all sorts of stones laid for a way

 

someone is shouting away in the hills

a thousand years ago

 

on with the river

 

a little bamboo fence

between us and the past

and the view

leaves at the time of turning

such as all time is

#2483 -- cloudless, drumming

 

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cloudless, drumming

 

all the trees get drunk

in toe socks stand

 

with a bamboo flute to tune

 

we have to hold them up

 

here’s unison

make a face

as if it were the sun

 

dancing up down with the mountains

 

deep diffident bow

 

streets are drunk

all join in

rise, tap, point up

 

as far as we are inland here

a conch to conjure the sea

 

make an earthquake cymbal crash

that’s just to have arrived

 

no need to imagine the heavenly bodies

just wait out the light of the day

 

#2482 -- how does a castle vanish?

 

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how does a castle vanish?

Kiso Fukushima

 

three years ago they put up the sign to say

three years ago a bear was seen

 

steam rises from the wild stream

so this must be the place

 

railway town – mountain steps of old sleepers

 

traffic slows for a bridge, for the lights

 

how does a castle vanish?

 

it’s beyond the falls

 

Ontake Kodo

used to be one hundred days of indoctrination –  

the cold water training –

before you were let up

 

roars like a road, this river

that must be where we got the idea

 

someone stopped here before

it was their own superstition

it was make it up as you go

 

a stone fox then

what’s it got in its mouth?

… choking risk

 

how does a castle just vanish?

 

here’s the schoolboy with bells

on his way home

 

in three years time

come the bears

we can wait

 

here’s the red turning edge of the leaf

that’s how the season’s called

 

 

 

#2481 -- leftover clouds

 

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leftover clouds

 

of a storm

of another day yet

 

still as a map

 

some see through to blue

some depart

 

there’s fade and fray

there’s breath of fresh

 

revival thereof

and a bright beam too

 

each not what it was

nor will it be

 

but such as your bird admires for shade

 

community of cloud, one could say

each to a sky its own – a solo

 

and here was such a mind

to show the way we go

 

with never a thought of rain