Matsuo Basho Poems

The squid seller's call
mingles with the voice
of the cuckoo.
...

Moonlight slanting
through the bamboo grove;
a cuckoo crying.
...

The morning glory also
turns out
not to be my friend.
...

As they begin to rise again
Chrysanthemums faintly smell,
After the flooding rain
...

Wrapping the rice cakes,
with one hand
she fingers back her hair.
...

bush-clover flowers —
they sway but do not drop
their beads of dew
...

Teeth sensitive to the sand
in salad greens--
I'm getting old.
...

Winter garden,
the moon thinned to a thread,
insects singing.
...

Heat waves shimmering
one or two inches
above the dead grass.
...

Midfield,
attached to nothing,
the skylark singing.
...