Evening of a spring day
A galvanised sheet eats a biscuit
Evening of a spring day is quiet
Ashes is thrown down that fade
A spring day’s evening is silent
Ah! There is a scarecrow… There is not
A horse barks… It does not also bark
Like the moonlight’s ciscosity
What is he subjected to? Evening of a spring day
A cathedral blushes like fire in the fields
Wagons’ wheels are out of oil
When I say on the historical now
Laugh and laugh, the sky and mountains
A galvanized sheet, It goes astray
Evening of a spring day by now
Without saying, It will walk
To oneself, In their venous blood vessel
Moon
This night, the moon becomes sadder and sadder
Look at the suspicion of the adoptive father.
Time sends silver waves into the desert
An old man’s ear glows with fluorescence.
Ah, a canal dam is forgotten
A tank’s rumble engraves in my heart
A tobacco from a rusty box
The moon smokes languidly.
Around it seven celestial nymphs
Do the dance of the toe head again, But
To the moon’s heart is soaked with humiliation
They do not give the soul pity.
The stars scatter in the distant sky!
The moon waits for her two hands
Circus
There were what times
_ And there was the brown war
There were what times
_ And the wind was blowing hard
There were what times
_ A banquet of this night and here
_ _ A banquet of this night and here
The circus hut of a high beam
_ There was a swing
The swing that you can’t look at
With its head upside down and its hands hanging
_ On the dirty cotton roof
Boom boom buooohm
White lamps around
_ Exhaled a little and a cheap ribbon
All the spectators were sardines
_ Would purr with oyster shells
Boom boom buooohm
_ _ The outside was all dark, dark of dark
_ _ The night was coming on little by little
_ _ With the nostalgia of parachute
_ _ Boom boom buooohm
A Spring Night
Quietly in a window frame
_ A sprig of flower, A pink flower.
It was received the moonlight and was faint
_ The surface of the earth of a garden was flies.
Ah, there is nothing there nothing there
_ Be his walk and laugh the trees.
These noises trouble
_ There’s no hope, that’s why, no confession too.
A modest carpenter alone,
_ In his dream, the footsteps of merchant soldiers sway gently.
In the window, refreshing and blurred
_ A beige silk dress
Vast piano tones would sound
_ There are no ancestors and relatives disappeared.
Somewhere a dog was buried,
_ It bloomed like saffron colour
_ _ On a spring night.
Morning Song
On the ceiling, Colour red appeared
_ Between a gap in a window, Leaks in the light.
Rustic, the memory of military music
_ Played, There is nothing.
Fledglings, I was not listening
_ In the sky today, The colour is undulating,
It held at a distance, From the hearts of the people
_ Gave a warning, There is nothing.
By the scent of resin, The morning is voluptuous
_ I have lost, Various dreams,
Rows of the forest, It would be sounded by the wind
They would spread out, On the flat and vast sky,
_ Following the bank, Disappeared
Beautiful, Various dreams.
Last Moment
A autumn sky is dull colour
Eyes of a black horse are shine
_ Lilly flowers drop by drying up
_ Ah, my mind reflects them
There is no God and singpost
Under the window, a lady passes away
_ There is white sky unclear
_ There is white sky cold
The side of the window, she washed her hair
And the arms are beautiful
_ The morning sunshine is wet
_ Tone of water does not drip
The towns are astir
Voices of children are astir too
_ However, what will the sprit be?
_ Will become thin, then become sky?
A Summer Night of the City
The moon in the sky like a medal,
Buildings in the streets like a organ,
Men tired by pastimes, are going home.
-Ikamune collar is bend-
The rip open out
Its mind is sorrow.
The head become a clod of clay,
It is going to sing lah lah only.
Things about buisiness and ancestors
They don’t forget about them,
A summer midnight in the city–
Drown with a dead gun powder
Street lights prick my eyes
I’m going to sing lah lah only.
A Day of the Autumn
Like a morning, men wake up lately
By the sound of the wind beating a door and cars,
Drown in the sea in which a siren blow.
Speaking in stands on summer night,
The conscience of architects is already nothing.
All of the things are the ancient history and
The colour of eyes of the far horizon of granites.
This morning all things are obedient to the flag of the consulate,
I know only a specter and palace and angel’s drum.
Being no attention to a hoarse voice of a mollusk,
With a purple shadow crouching down in a park, a baby put sand into his mouth.
_ _ (The sky blue platform and
_ _ Girls are excited and bad boys ridicule
_ _ I hate I hate!)
With my hands in the pockets
Through streets, reached the bay
Concede with the spirit of today
And I’ll seek a piece of cloth.
Dusk
On the surface of unclear din lake,
Lotus flowers getting close are swaying.
Leaves of the lotus, are bold,
Make sound sneakily only.
The sound makes my mind sway,
My eyes follow the little bright horizon…
I only look dark black mountains
-Lost things never come back.
What is the sad thing, here is the saddest thing
I smell the ascent of grassroots,
The soil of a field watches me with a stone.
-At last I don’t want to cultivate!
I quietly stand at dusk,
And somehow I remind the image of my father and I start to walk step by step only.
Wish of the Midnight
It’s, of bubbly culcium
Going to dry
Too fast–the voice of a girl is stubborn
Runny nose of the wife of a bag shop.
Eventide of God
Is rubbed mother.
Around branches bugs fly about,
Dance of a obsolate pierrot.
I can’t see hunting dogs their body hair waving,
A hunter carries his bend back over there.
The grassfield before the forest
_ Become a slope!
Margarete walks up a black beach
Whitle her veil is cutting into pieces.
Her body must dive into,
The sea as the father of stern God.
She on the hill
A spirit draw a mysterious stripes.
Her memory is a sorrow blancket of a writing studio
She must pass away right away.
A Rainy Night of the Winter
_ Because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling.
–The misery of white radish, was threw under the dask,
It was still better–
Light now because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling.
I sought the voice of a girl had passed away
aé ao aé ao, éo, aéo éo!
_ I was strolling in the rain
Whenever it disappeared, that milky white ice packs…
Light now because of the black winter night
A hard rain was falling,
The band of kimono of my mother
Was flews by rain water, and was broken,
Many pities of humans
Were only the colour of orange finally…
Homecoming
The pillar and the garden are dry
Today the whether is fine
_ _ A spiderweb under the rim
_ _ Is swinging like feeling helpless
On the mountain dead trees took a breath
Ah, today the whether is fine
_ _ Shadows of grasses on the road
_ _ Had childlike sadness
It is my old home
Also wind blew modestly
_ _ Sweep carelessly
_ _ Told by an old man’s low voice
Ah, Why do you come here and what to do……
Blowing wind told to me
A Terrifyring Dusk
Rolling up, the time of the wind also was melancholic
Grasses were not fluttered, I was not see,
Far ancient hayato etc.
Of a silver paper colour bamboo spier,
Along a beach, it continued.
_ _ I was relying on a mind of small fish.
Blowing wind didn’t temper, on the ground
Lying dead bodies–
The sky, rose to the podium.
Houses, were clever retainers,
Dirty teeth, by nicotine, were hidden.
The Song of Near Summer
Branches of the roadside trees deeply breathed,
The higher and higher sky, watched them.
The fragments of glasses on a burned burned ground,
A traveller was walking found it suddenly.
The end of a mountain, clear and clear,
Purified the mouthes of golden fishes and a girl.
That airplane flied to come,
I rubbed on tears of insects.
Wind sent a ribbon to the sky,
I thought I was going to tell about
The waves of the sea was declined in the past.
About a cavalry company and monving of upper legs,
The red shoes of a junior official,
A cycle was going to the road along the mountain without a rider
I thought I was going to tell about.
Sad Morning
A sound of river come to a mountain,
Light of spring, like a stone.
Water of Kakehi, told a story
It also looks like a grey hair old woman.
I sang the mouth like a mica,
Laid back, and I sang,
My heart was dry and became hoarse,
Above the rocks, tightrope walking.
Unknown fire, went to the sky!
Rain of sound, got soarked!
……………….
I clapped by various ways.
The Song of a Summer Day
The blue sky doesn’t move,
There is no even a piece of cloud.
_ By the silence of summer midday
_ Also a light of tar become pure.
There is something in the summer sky,
The something make me irritated.
_ Burned bold sunflowers
_ Bloom at the station of a country.
Like a mother bring up a child,
A whistle of a steam locomotive blows.
_ When it go through near a moumtain.
The locomotive is going through near the mountain,
The whistle blows like a mother.
_ When the very hot time of summer midday.
Evening Glow
Hills, put hands on their chests
Retreat.
Sunset, is the colour of affection
Gold colour.
There are grasses on the field,
Sing a rustic song
Trees on the mountain,
Old and frugal mind reminisents me.
On such an occasion my heart lost
A boy tread on
Shellfish meat.
On such an occasion solid,
What a modest resignation
Go away folding arms.
The Autumn of a Harbour Bazaar
To a stone cliff, morning sunshine burns
The autumn sky is exceedingly beautiful.
The other side harbour I can see,
Is an horn of snail
On the town people sweep their pipes.
Dolphins stretches themselves
The sky is separated.
Holiday of public servants—they wear padded dressing gowns.
“If I were born again……”
Seaman says.
“GANG GANG, flutter It……”
A raccoon old hag sings.
_ An autumn day of harbour bazaar,
_ Is a quiet craziness.
_ On the day I lost,
_ The chair of my life.
Sigh: For Tetsutaro Kawakami
A sigh will go to a night pond,
And would blink in the miasma.
The blink will being flowed with resentfulness, and clap a sound of bang.
Trees would be like lines of necks of his friends of academicians.
When the dawn will come, the window would open.
A farmer carrying a cart, would go to the town.
Sigh would become more deep,
It will must be become the sound of a cart ringing a hill.
Pains sticking out to the field from the edge of a mountain, would look after me.
It will be easily but it won’t smile, like a uncle.
Like a god take fishes, at the bottom of an atmosphere.
If the sky will cloudy, eyes of locusts, will be found in the sand.
A distant town, looks like a limestone.
The eye balls of Peter the Great, are shining in a cloud.
A Spring Memory
Trampled lotus flowers
_ The time to back home at dusk
At a strolling graveyard of Spring
_ _ I flapped it on the sand ground
One more time I view by regret
_ With I’m crapping my hands meticulously
I come to run on the road
_ _ (The sky getting dark is this!)
When I get back my home
_ Messing around peacefully
Is it the hill of a autumn day or smoke of a rice cooker
_ _ There is a thing dazzle me
_ _ _ Of a rich palace of the ancient time
_ _ _ _ Quadrille _ Swinging scarf
_ _ _ _ Quadrille _ Swinging scarf
_ _ _ It will be finished someday _ Quadrille!
An Autumn Night Sky
Oh dear, it was flourishing,
Everyone said strange things
However unsympathetic gracefulness
Ladies would gather.
_ _ The lower world was on an autumn night
But what was the flourishing of this celestial world.
On the very smooth floor,
A gold lantern was lit.
Small head, long sleeve,
There was no chair.
_ _ Nevertheless the lower world was on an autumn night
What the brightness of the celestial world was it.
Mildly blight the celestial world
The festival of the shadow of the far past,
Silent and silent flourishing
A banquet of a night of the celestial world.
_ _ I saw it from the lower world,
It ended when I was absent.
Hangover
In the morning, dull sunlight is shinning
_ A wind blows.
Thousand angels
_ Play basketball.
I’m closing my eyes,
_ It’s a sad drunkenness.
A stove is already unneeded
_ Got rust whitely.
In the morning, dull sunlight is shinning
_ A wind blows.
Thousand angels
_ Play basketball.
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