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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?

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
Fats
Fish
Fishes
Scrawny
Cat
Haiku
Love
Backyard
Backyards
Mice
Starving

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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
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All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
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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.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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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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Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
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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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If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
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