A haiku I made today

What is happening

I don't know what's real now

Give me proper news

Coping via distraction never works...
Why is this maniac in charge again?

Thoughts while contemplating life during a short episode of autistic burnout.

This is a villanelle I wrote about how terrified I've been as I enter adulthood while my parents age. Its one of the most personal things I've ever written.

The Villanelle is my favourite form in poetry and the themes of this poem are what I explored in my first ever poem too.

That combination kimd of makes this my favourite poem ever. Despite this not being a very typical Sylvia Plath poem as it is much more personal than most of her works.

6

Lute and books should fill your life,
what can fame and money provide?
Abandon your carriage and follow the wisdom of your wife.
A humble cart is pulled by devoted children.
Wind blows over barley drying on the ground,
water floods from the pond stocked with fish.
I often think of wrens
that live peacefully on just one branch.

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Hanshan wiki

The Complete Cold Mountain: Poems of the Legendary Hermit Hanshan

Translation: Kazuaki Tanahashi and Peter Levitt

Part One: Original Poems, Circa Late Sixth to Early Seventh Century

Upon the hill, a tower stands, With iron roots deep in the lands, Its shadow creeps, it grows, it twists, A looming giant in the mists.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The hands that fed it, turned to stone, The whispers cold, a heavy throne.

Beneath the sky of ash and rain, The iron gates now seal the plain, The fields once green, the rivers wide, Lie chained beneath a tyrant's stride.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The heart that held the sacred spark, Lies shattered in the rising dark.

A crown of glass, a sword of gold, Promised warmth, yet left us cold. The echoes of a father’s cry, Now fill the air where spirits fly.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The father's hands, the tower's stone, One crushed beneath, the other grown.

But in the dark, a spark may rise, A hidden ember in disguise. Though towers fall and kings may burn, The flame will find its time to turn.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. Yet from the dust, a new fire’s glow, Shall burn where shadows dared to grow.

New to this, would love any and all feedback, particularly any critique. Thank you.

5

Go ahead! Make fun of the way to Cold Mountain,
where there’s not a trace of horse or cart.
It’s hard to remember valley switchbacks
below layer upon layer of so many peaks.
Dew weeps on a thousand kinds of grasses,
winds sing through the pine.
Lost now on my path,
Shadow, tell me, which way should I go?

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Hanshan wiki

The Complete Cold Mountain: Poems of the Legendary Hermit Hanshan

Translation: Kazuaki Tanahashi and Peter Levitt

Part One: Original Poems, Circa Late Sixth to Early Seventh Century

4

If you want to attain a peaceful life,
settle down at Cold Mountain.
Subtle breezes blow through mysterious pine.
Listen closely, the sound is really good.
Beneath it, someone with graying hair
reads the Yellow Emperor and Laozi without ceasing.
After ten years, I can never return—
I’ve even forgotten the way I came.

Prev | Next
1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Hanshan wiki

The Complete Cold Mountain: Poems of the Legendary Hermit Hanshan

Translation: Kazuaki Tanahashi and Peter Levitt

Part One: Original Poems, Circa Late Sixth to Early Seventh Century