Category: Bashō no yōna

One wonders

In January the says are becoming longer and the weather colder.

One wonders what Basho would have done if he’d lived 20 more years. For he was only 50 when he died and that is quite young. Would he have refined the haiku further, would he have broken more rules?

One in his fifties

Is just beginning

To figure things out

.

One in his sixties

Is getting

Nearer and nearer

.

Near and nearer

But never quite there

— asymptote

.

Those in their seventies

Have completely forgotten

What life is about …

.

One wonders

One wanders

Becoming completely lost

What is Haiku

snowy trail

“Haiku is a form of Zen.” — R. H. Blyth

Let’s not be wordy,
Precise, concise, shades of truth
Wisdom with few words

Ah — a verbal act
by defying convention
gets right to the point

A verbal act —
Frost, clinging to red roses —
Disappears like dew.

— Bashō no yōna, January 2026

Haiku draws on memory. It condenses and colors. It takes a scene and gives it meaning beyond its mere description. The last haiku was inspired by a red rose that still clung to a branch along Clear Creek in Golden, Colorado in December, 2025. I had just finished a three mile run up and back Clear Creek Trail. There was ice at the edge of the creek, but in the middle of the creek the water flowed smoothly and clear, like the name of the creek. The rose at the end of the run was like a medal, but one that would not last.

And, as my daughter say, you don’t always need to take a picture. Enjoy the moment. Remember it as a haiku and make it last.

Speaking of children. I was telling my son that one should write every day. Not only that but put it out for there where the world can take pot shots at it. Practice and feedback, it is how we get better. Contact, resistance, and repetition.

Practice and feedback
One gets better and better,
— a flint getting sharp.

At the Gym

Late in December at the gym, jogging around the track, trying to remember that one I was young.

I have outlived Matsuo Basho now for quite a few years. Eating well, lifting weights, writing poetry is my secret to success.

One is lifting weights

Grunting, barely holding on

Sadly, getting older

.

Those who are younger

Daily are getting stronger

And looking better

.

The weight of the world

Grows and grows all the time

Troubling one’s mind

.

Like Sisyphus one keeps at it. Like Basho one wanders from time to time.

Partially puzzled

Matsuo Basho statue

From the fractured haiku collection.
On the anniversary of Matsuo Bashō’s death,
November 28, 2025

partially puzzled,
and warily wondering
what Bashō would think…

The last line could be changed to say, “Would Bashō approve…” But sadly, he’s not here to say.

RIP: Matsuo Bashō, master of the haiku, who died surrounded by friends, November 28, 1694 (age 50 years), Osaka, Japan

Frogs in November

frog in a lily pond

In summer, Matsuo Basho’s frog is plopping in a pond, making all sorts of noise. Does the water speak? Let’s imagine Matsuo Basho’s frog in November when the pond is quiet.

Falling leaves drift down—
the old pond’s quiet and calm
the frog is sleeping
— Bashō no yōna, November 2025

Frogs overwinter underwater, buried in mud or resting on the pond bottom, if needed freezing their bodies solid.