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    Autumnal Japan

    Maples ignite this hush of morning,crimson whispers frame Fuji’s sigh.Cloistered clouds bow to reflection—chant hymns of melting snow. This mountain keeps its counsel silent,a snow-capped temple above want.Below, the lake mirrors stillness—the way ripples cancel each other out. Villages breathe memory’s...

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    • You described sight and smell so vividly.

    • Captivatingly enthralled am I, Dear Dragonfly ⛩

      “What,” I ask, “could be a more elegant or appropriate greeting for a poem of “Autumnal Japan” than this ethereally gorgeous, cloud-crowned, enchanting image of Mount Fujiyama, framed by Fall’s gold ‘n auburn leaves, resting peacefully beyond its rolling foothills, blessed by land’s colourful and water’s silvery embracing glory?”

      Still, the picture, stunning as it is, serves only to dress the sheer essence of your own poetic brilliance, rendered so soul-touchingly, brilliantly laid metaphorical magick, and emotionally stimulating imagery, with nary an excessive, misplaced, or ambiguously flawed moment.

      “While I—pilgrim of hushed light—
      stand within permanent transience,
      where autumn burns not to end,
      but to illuminate surrender.” And, to your effulgent art, do I.

      You’ve touched my heart, stunned my senses, and made of me a warmly envious fan.
      Arigatō, Nanbāwan No Shijin (Thank you, Dear Lady-Poet)! ⁓ Richard🥋

    • Beautifully penned, S. Stunning imagery my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

  • Hey all… been away for a while. I just got back from a month abroad. I got to get away and spend time Japan. I visited several regions of Japan, spend entire days at Shinto and Buddhist temples. It was a must needed escape and chance to immerse in Japanese culture, art, cuisine and philosophy.

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    Cement of Lament

    In these cracks of old foundation,sorrow sets like mortar—slow, sure, unseen.Each grain of grief, a silent stone,fixing memory to what remains. Rain seeps through years of gray dust,marks the ambiguous wall.What once was pliant earthnow hardens into permanence. Footsteps echo on...

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    A Steep of Tea

    In the hush between palms,steam pens its moist scripture—a rising breath of verdant silence. The bowl warms both hands,like remembered embrace;each sip, a slow return to cloister. Tatami sighs beneath the robe’s rustle,bamboo whisk murmurs devotion—froth of impermanence, foamed time. Outside a...

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    • Beautifully penned, S. Lovely write my friend. Appreciate you.

      Damian

    • I love the whole ceremony of it. Preparing the tea.
      It’s another form of artistic expression in my opinion.
      We have a dojo where I work that was a gift from Japan.
      We have a koi pond too. Yes, the fish are from Japan too.

      It’s very peaceful. Even the pic!

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    Kiss of Silence

    In between words, only breath—unscripted, unspoken—this hush blushes nowas if overhearing itself aloud. Even the gale withdrawsfrom its own roaring,leaves a world slightly ajar,awaiting any consent in being. Two shadows eclipse each other,their touch trembles in restraint,where longing loosens languageand only...

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