■ 🕑 1. Poetry thread
│  Post poems you like, or poems you write!
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│  Pro tip: you can use subject/author fields for the poems, too.
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├─■ 🕑 2. To my teacher
│   An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
│   Overrun with rank weeks growing unchecked year after year;
│   There is no one left to tend the tomb,
│   And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.
│   Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,
│   Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River.
│   One morning I set off on my solitary journey
│   And the years passed between us in silence.
│   Now I have returned to find him at rest here;
│   How can I honor his departed spirit?
│   I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone
│   And offer a silent prayer.
│   The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill
│   And I'm enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines.
│   I try to pull myself away but cannot;
│   A flood of tears soaks my sleeves. 
│    
├─■ 🕑 3. My cracked wooden bowl
│   This treasure was discovered in a bamboo thicket --
│   I washed the bowl in a spring and then mended it.
│   After morning meditation, I take my gruel in it;
│   At night, it serves me soup or rice.
│   Cracked, worn, weather-beaten, and misshapen
│   But still of noble stock!
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│   Midsummer --
│   I walk about with my staff.
│   Old farmers spot me
│   And call me over for a drink.
│   We sit in the fields
│   using leaves for plates.
│   Pleasantly drunk and so happy
│   I drift off peacefully
│   Sprawled out on a paddy bank.
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│   How can I possibly sleep
│   This moonlit evening?
│   Come, my friends,
│   Let's sing and dance
│   All night long.
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│   Stretched out,
│   Tipsy,
│   Under the vast sky:
│   Splendid dreams
│   Beneath the cherry blossoms.
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│   Wild roses,
│   Plucked from fields
│   Full of croaking frogs:
│   Float them in  your wine
│   And enjoy every minute! 
│    
├─■ 🕑 4. Edifying Thoughts of a Tobacco Smoker
│ │  Whene'er I take my pipe and stuff it
│ │  And smoke to pass the time away
│ │  My thoughts, as I sit there and puff it,
│ │  Dwell on a picture sad and grey:
│ │  It teaches me that very like
│ │  Am I myself unto my pipe.
│ │  
│ │  Like me this pipe, so fragrant burning,
│ │  Is made of naught but earthen clay;
│ │  To earth I too shall be returning,
│ │  And cannot halt my slow decay.
│ │  My well used pipe, now cracked and broken,
│ │  Of mortal life is but a token.
│ │  
│ │  No stain, the pipe's hue yet doth darken;
│ │  It remains white. Thus do I know
│ │  That when to death's call I must harken
│ │  My body, too, all pale will grow.
│ │  To black beneath the sod 'twill turn,
│ │  Likewise the pipe, if oft it burn.
│ │  
│ │  Or when the pipe is fairly glowing,
│ │  Behold then instantaneously,
│ │  The smoke off into thin air going,
│ │  'Til naught but ash is left to see.
│ │  Man's fame likewise away will burn
│ │  And unto dust his body turn.
│ │  
│ │  How oft it happens when one's smoking,
│ │  The tamper's missing from its shelf,
│ │  And one goes with one's finger poking
│ │  Into the bowl and burns oneself.
│ │  If in the pipe such pain doth dwell
│ │  How hot must be the pains of Hell!
│ │  
│ │  Thus o'er my pipe in contemplation
│ │  Of such things - I can constantly
│ │  Indulge in fruitful meditation,
│ │  And so, puffing contentedly,
│ │  On land, at sea, at home, abroad,
│ │  I smoke my pipe and worship God. 
│ │   
│ └─■ 🕑 5. 
│     that was btw, J.S. Bach: So oft ich meine Tobakspfeife...
│      
├─■ 🕑 6. 
│   Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water.
│   The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken.
│   Although its light is wide and great,
│   The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide.
│   The whole moon and the entire sky
│   Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass.
│    
├─■ 🕑 7. 
│   Message removed
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├─■ 🕑 8. 
│ │  Message removed
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│ └─■ 🕑 9. 
│     Because you keep posting no-context onion links in the poetry thread, 
│     I've now banned all tor exit nodes from posting here. Burn in hell you 
│     pedo freak.
│      
├─■ 🕑 10. 
│   zzazzachu: >ginsberg
│   zzazzachu: crooooooooognge
│   zzazzachu: slam poetry tier shite
│   zzazzachu: life is shit, capitalism. sucking cock. the material world.
│   zzazzachu: - "The World" zzazzzachu
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│   zzazzachu: caravans, moving homes
│   zzazzachu: the hum of the diesel engine
│   zzazzachu: the sound of freedom
│   zzazzachu: I take a drag
│   zzazzachu: - "The FreeHum" zzazzachu
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│   zzazzachu: in summary, ginsberg is shit and anyone can write that fake deep garbage
│   zzazzachu: he's a total fraud
│    
├─■ 🕑 11. 
│   古   蛙   水  
│   池   飛   の  
│   や   込   音  
│        む      
│   
│   
│    
└─■ 🕑 12. 
    Message removed