Photo (and Poetry) Blog

Heavy Summer Rain

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The grasses in the field have toppled,

and in places it seems that a large, now

absent, animal must have passed the night.

The hay will right itself if the day


turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully.

None of your blustering entrances

or exits, doors swinging wildly

on their hinges, or your huge unconscious

sighs when you read something sad,

like Henry Adams’s letters from Japan,

where he traveled after Clover died.


Everything blooming bows down in the rain:

white irises, red peonies; and the poppies

with their black and secret centers

lie shattered on the lawn.


by Jane Kenyon (1945 – 1995)


Haiku Tuesday: The Heat

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What heat! Both stones and trees

Glare on the eye.


by Mukai Kyorai (1651 – 1704)

Translation by Asataro Miyamori


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