Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.

Operating superficially, the mind is random in its activity and stale in its insights and images. However, with practice and experience the mind is freed from the skull, and the fresh and new can appear as though for the first time. It

Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate

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.

Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.

Old dark sleepy pool... Quick unexpected frog Goes plop! Watersplash!

When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.