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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Twins
Mates
Butterfly
Ballet
Twice
Air
Butterflies
Meet
Twin
White
Mate

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The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
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The fact that Saigyo composed a poem that begins, I shall be unhappy without loneliness, shows that he made loneliness his master.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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Before enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water. After enlightenment, chopping wood and carrying water.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
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Twilight whippoorwill... Whistle on, sweet deepener Of dark loneliness
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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Sabi is the color of haikai. It is different from tranquility. For example, if an old man dresses up in armor and helmet and goes to the battlefield, or in colorful brocade kimono, attending (his lord) at a banquet, [sabi] is like this old figure.
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Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music
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When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
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I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
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