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Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

The Big Picture  

Groups of short poems.

  Centos   (Po Chu-I) 


1:   Small Matter

From the southwest a faint breeze comes—
never stop to think where it comes from.
Windows darkened, the whole room still:
using a small matter to illumine a big one,
to a lifetime sleeping in an empty room.


2:   Separate Ways

Outside the gate, a shop selling wine—
advancers and laggards go separate ways.
I'm not pressed for clothing or food
thus I can follow youthful inclinations.
Under purple wisteria, twilight bit by bit
	draws on.


3:   Autumn

I close my gate, let autumn grasses grow.
Peaches I planted are old trees now,
the sound of autumn wind in the branches.
The mind wants nothing more than satisfaction;
I come home to drink my cup of wine.


4:   Alone

Bleakly I make my way home alone,
a fine night is hard to come by.
North wind sharp as a sword—
I'm a boat bouncing on the waves,
all my life I've longed to roam the waters.


5:   Attendant

A green-robed attendant guards the palace gates;
shoes with pointy toes, a close-fitting gown,
never stop to think where it comes from:
windows darkened, the whole room still,
using a small matter to illumine a big one.


6:   Change

People and things day by day change and alter;
from time to time I hum it over,
how could I alone not falter and decline?
By the west eaves I rest from drafting edicts,
late autumn trees standing in the wind.


7:   Prolonged Sorrow

My mind I consign to emptiness.
Moonlight is good, good for solitary sitting;
owls hoot from pine and cassia branches.
Autumn moonlight on bed curtains,
peonies in the garden—springtime ache.


8:   Moonlight

I sleep alone facing the eaves,
wake to find moonlight over half the bed.
Form and shadow silently pose the question;
under the pines, a wine cup in the moonlight
—one who shares my heart has gone away.


9:   Dream

Once awake I knew it was a dream,
half the river cerulean, half the river red;
in a little room, quilts piled on, I'm not afraid.
Affairs of the dusty world are no more my concern,
in the bright moonlight, buckwheat blossoms
	like snow.


10:  Comfort

Beautiful spots have no fixed owner,
drip drip, rain on paulownia leaves;
windows darkened, the whole room still:
springtime about to end in the emperor's city—
once comfortable, you forget about comfortable.





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