March 2026
Longboat Key, Sarasota
Days before the eaglets take flight, perched on a branch, taking it all in. The Branching phase last 9 to 10 weeks. After taking flight, the eaglets will be gone by May.
Eaglets,
waiting their turn
— beware, it’s a wild world
Winter’s not over. Not yet. But somewhere the crocus are blooming and the snow has gathered on the leaves of the daffodil and the narcissus, bending them down. Someone once told me that is how one knows Spring is soon coming.
初雪や
水仙の葉のたわ
むまで
Hatsuyuki ya
suisen no ha no tawa
mu made
First snow, last snow, let me know — with AI, is anybody thinking for one’s self? My English rendering of Matsuo Basho’s haiku that keeps the figurative meaning if not literally so.
first snow, new year—
just enough so its bending
the daffodil leaves— Matsuo Basho, 1686
Yes,, it is true that in Japanese, the word 水仙 (すいせん, suisen) can mean both daffodil and narcissus. I confess, I too am not sure of the difference and whether it matters.
初雪や / 水仙の葉のたわ / むまで
Early March 2026
Longboat Key, Sarasota
An eagle nest
high in a tree
on the lee side of the island
overlooking Sarasota Bay.
Two eaglets,
nearly grown,
almost ready to fly.
An Audubon lady
watches the chicks,
camera clicking away.
The parents are off feeding.
Soon one eagle returns
to keep watch.
Soon the day will come
when they teach them
to fish.
Such good parents.
.
Eagle —
keep watching.
Your chicks have not flown.
.
An eagle
keeps a sharp eye out,
wary of the world.
.
How is it
that birds get along
and we can’t?
.
Note
The birds I saw are Bald Eagle chicks. Along the bay they usually fledge (take their first flight) around March or early April, so my timing is spot on. After they fly, the parents still bring them fish for a few weeks while they learn to fish for themselves.
Then they are off on their own.
March 2026
Longboat Key, Sarasota
Mostly six syllable haiku.
A morning walk along the beach on Longboat Key in Sarasota, Florida, a gentle breeze, what it means to be all alone in a city 56,000 people.
Through the portal,
On the Beach
— Nevil Shute
Alice’s Looking Glass
“If I had a world
of my own,
everything
would be nonsense.
Nothing would be
what it is,
because everything
would be what it isn’t.
And contrary wise,
what is,
it wouldn’t be.
And what it wouldn’t be,
it would.
You see?”
Pretty shells.
The shore.
For free
.
If the ocean and the shore had a political theory, would it be Dao Dejing?
More political theory:
Gather, collect, conform.
We are prisoners, confined to the structures we create. Michel Foucault
Broken shelves,
Broken hearts,
Broken dreams.
.
What is a rebel, but a man who says no-Albert Camu. We shall return to this thought
All politics is local, says tip O’Neill. Federalism takes into account, the large in the small, the rural in the urban. This helps to avoid the tyranny of the majority.
The waves,
The foam,
Repeat.
.
In terms of texture, clam shells come in three varieties: spiky, ribbed, and smooth The color is very from white to black my favorite is the silvery iridescent shell that looks like pearl. Because these are so fragile, they are all almost always broken. Does part of their beauty lie in the fact that they uncommon? 
The birds,
Flapping,
Their wings
.
Seagulls,
Sandpiper,
And fools
.
How to describe a sand pepper:
Long beaks,
Long legs,
Small heads
.
Blue ocean,
so vast,
No wind
.
 me,
On the beach,
Alone 
Back through the portal.
“What is a rebel? A man who says no.” Camus
Or a man on the beach with no shoes 
It’s complicated
Fog lifts and settles again.
Patiently, one waits
.
Better yet,
One hopes
Matsuo Basho, Free verse on Basho themes
January 2026
I spend a winter day hunkered down. I draw a picture of Mt. Fuji on a piece of paper. I compose a poem. The cold wind sings a song of sorrow. A rat finds the ice is bitter. My tea is cold. I listen to a distant bell on the hour. Across the river lies Edo. The snow falls on the bridge that is newly built. People hurry home. An insect sings his final song in the winter garden. The moon fades as I watch. A muffled voice, a sweet song within the palanquin passing on the way to the mountain castle. Where are the warriors in shining armor. The cold of winter, this winter night. A life of peace. Goodnight.
mono no aware, 物の哀れ, the pathos of small things.
Here is a Basho haiku I have not previously come across.
京に飽きて
この木枯や
冬住ひ
Kyō ni akite / kono kogarashi ya / fuyuzumaiI tire of city life,
I long to hear the cold wind whisper —
I retreat to my winter cottage.
.
Tired of this city,
I hear the cold wind calling,
I seek my cottage
— Matsuo Basho, Kyoto, 1691
Composed in the autumn of 1691. Either the cold wind whispers or it calls Basho back to Edo and his humble cottage. It would be his last trip home to Edo. What was home to Basho. First, Ueno where he was born, then the castle where he served his master. Then to Kyoto to study. Then Edo. Then the road itself, as a wandering poet. like Saiygo…
Yamanashi explains: It has been two years since Basho and Sora completed the journey, Oku no Hosomichi (1689). Preparing the book to be, Matsuo Basho has grown tired of Kyoto. He wishes to return to Edo… I long for a rural life where I can hear the cold wind whisper. Or, more likely, when I hear the cold wind call, I long to return.
A greeting poem to the samurai, Suganuma Gon’emon (haiku name, Kōgetsu).
京に飽きて, Kyōni akite, literally, at (に) Kyoto (京), I am bored.
You can also read Gabi Greve’s slightly different translation and explanation.
“Winter is coming.” It’s all over the news. It’s January, I wonder what to do in the midst of a storm. Let’s stock up on a few winter haiku by Matsuo Basho.
Winter is coming
Oh, there is snow on the way,
The weatherman says
A monkey caught unawares by the snow and the sleet.
初しぐれ . 猿も小蓑を . ほしげ也
hatsu shigure . saru mo komino o hoshige nariThe first time it snows
even a monkey know what he wants
— a little straw coat.
Out for a ride, after a blizzard, I want to go home but I’m stuck to my seat.
冬の日や. 馬上に氷る . 影法師
uyu no hi ya . bashō ni kōru . kagebōshiIt’s a wintry day
I sit on a horse, frozen,
along with my shadow.
Just when we think, winter’s over …
初雪や . 水仙の葉の . たわむまで
hatsuyuki ya . suisen no ha no . tawamuThe season’s first snow
dumped on a daffodil leaf
— bending, it bows.
To most children, the snow is pretty, to some it’s sad.
霜を着て . 風を敷き寝の . 捨子哉
shimo o kite . kaze o shiki-ne no . sutego kanaAll covered in frost,
laying down in the wind, asleep —
an abandoned child.
The snow is pretty
Some children make snow angels,
As some fall asleep
A cold wind blows, it snows and snows. Winter, 1690, Genroku, 3rd year. Matsuo Basho had completed the long journey, that would one day become known as Oku no Hosomichi, but he had not yet returned to Edo. The end is near.
Ah, the bitter winter wind,
my face, my swollen cheeks
are painful
こがらしや . 頬腫痛む . 人の顔
Kogarashi ya . hoobare itamu . hito no kao
— Matsuo Basho, Winter 1690
The order of the haiku was reversed to make sense. Hito no kao, the human face. Hoobare itamu, swollen cheeks are painful. Some pundits suggest that there was a mumps epidemic. I suggest, as anyone would know, who walks in the bitter wind, the cheeks were simply red and puffy.
“Haiku is a form of Zen.” — R. H. Blyth
Let’s not be wordy,
Precise, concise, shades of truth
Wisdom with few wordsAh — a verbal act
by defying convention
gets right to the pointA 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.
New Year’s Eve,
from dusk til dawn,
Sake anyone?
— Bashō no yōna, 2025
Eat drink and be merry, but there is hell to pay for a little buzz.
Like floating flowers
My sake is white,
My rice is black
花にうき世我が酒白く飯黒し
hana ni ukiyo waga sake shiroku meshi kuroshi
.
Cherry blossoms falling
Sneaking sips of sake
Behind a fan
扇にて酒くむ陰や散る桜
ōgi nite sake kumu kage ya chiru sakura
.
After drinking the sake
The bottle becomes
A flower vase
呑明て花生となる二升樽
nomi akete hana-ike ni sen nishoodaru
.
May swallows dance
but let not mud drop
in my sake cup
盃に泥な落しそ舞ふ燕
盃に泥な落しそ 村ツバメ
sakazuki ni doro na otoshi so muratsubame
.
when I drink sake
no longer can I sleep
this snowy night
酒飲めばいとど寝られぬ夜の雪
sake nomeba itodo nerarenu yoru no yuki
— Matsuo Basho, sake haiku
I confess to liking the last haiku the best. Or maybe it is just that it resonates with me.
The more we drink, the less we sleep
nomeba itodo nerarenu
sake, the more one drinks, the less one sleeps
matsuo-basho-haiku 