良き悪しき思ひ出こもるプラットフオーム刷新に悪しをはらふか
good and bad memories
being contained
in my platform ...
its renovation may keep
off evil
©2019Rika Inami 稲美 里佳
2019年1月31日木曜日
Tanka... Platform プラットフォーム
良き悪しき思ひ出こもるプラットフオーム刷新に悪しをはらふか
good and bad memories
being contained
in my platform ...
its renovation may keep
off evil
©2019Rika Inami 稲美 里佳
2019年1月29日火曜日
Tanka ... Snow Sanctuary 雪の聖壇
いや高く雪降り積みて天ちかく雪除（よ）する場の聖壇の如
the higher
snow falling and piling
the closer
a snow dumping place to the celestial
like a sanctuary
©2019Rika Inami
-----------------------------------------------------------
From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
-----------------------------
Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
Tanka ... Snow Sanctuary 雪の聖壇
いや高く雪降り積みて天ちかく雪除（よ）する場の聖壇の如
the higher
snow falling and piling
the closer
a snow dumping place to the celestial
like a sanctuary
©2019Rika Inami
-----------------------------------------------------------
From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
From Mr. Alberto Palomo
The following is Eduardo Galeano's poem.
*
The Nobodies Fleas dream of buying a dog and the nobodies dream of getting out from under their poverty, that some magic day suddenly good fortune will rain upon them that it will downpour bucket-fulls of good luck. But good luck doesn’t rain today or tomorrow or ever, not even a little drizzle falls from the sky. No matter how much the nobodies cry for it and even when their left hand itches or they get up on the right foot, or when they start the year getting a new broom. The nobodies: the sons of no one, the owners of nothing. The nobodies: treated as no one, running after the carrot, dying their lives, fucked, double-fucked. Who are not, even when they are. Who don’t speak languages, but rather dialects. Who don’t follow religions, but rather superstitions. Who don’t do art, but rather crafts. Who don’t practice culture, but rather folklore. Who are not human, but rather human resources. Who have no face but have arms, who have no name, but rather a number. Who don’t appear in the universal history books, but rather in the police pages of the local press. The nobodies, the ones who are worth less than the bullet that kills them. Eduardo Galeano
-----------------------------
Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
Divine melodious
seasons
some harsh some mellow
inside the simplicity beauty lies
inside magic into One
©Miriam Strauss
--------------------------------
聖壇の如く積りし雪高く天まであると思う雪除け
©Ryuuji Suwa
※
聖壇のごと除雪車積みし雪高く天まであるか今日も降りきて (里佳)
2019年1月27日日曜日
Banka 挽歌
For Poet Ms. Rachel Sutcliffe
御句より命の長さ我は知る優れし詩魂永遠(とわ)に輝け
from your haiku
I perceived
your life-length
respectfully dedicate
"May an excellent poet’s spirit shine forever"
※
写真は岩手県雫石にある小岩井農場のイルミネーションの銀河鉄道です。
About the photographs,
the train in the photos is Milky Way Railroad for the deceased spirit.
I took them at Koiwai Farm, Shizukuishi, Iwate, Japan.
魂は宇宙に飛びて命ありあの句あの詩永遠に輝く
©Ryuuji Suwa
Banka 挽歌
For Poet Ms. Rachel Sutcliffe
御句より命の長さ我は知る優れし詩魂永遠(とわ)に輝け
from your haiku
I perceived
your life-length
respectfully dedicate
"May an excellent poet’s spirit shine forever"
※
写真は岩手県雫石にある小岩井農場のイルミネーションの銀河鉄道です。
About the photographs,
the train in the photos is Milky Way Railroad for the deceased spirit.
I took them at Koiwai Farm, Shizukuishi, Iwate, Japan.
魂は宇宙に飛びて命ありあの句あの詩永遠に輝く
©Ryuuji Suwa
Tanka...Illumination イルミネーション
イルミネーションの照らす道 あまたの人ら踏みしだき光を享けむ
illuminations light
up the way
many ones have trodden
on the way
and may have been lightened
※I took the photos at Koiwai Farm, Shizukuishi, Iwate, Japan.
写真は岩手県雫石にある小岩井農場で撮りました。
©2019 Rika Inami 稲美 里佳
------------------------
blade of grass ... winter rain almost silent
©Samuel Lott
----------------------------
Broken shoes... .. Steps of a Soul...loaded...with ... a Heavy baggage... Days became Nights....Dawns ....Dusks... Steps...that tell about us....and how we " Walk "..in this Universe... Life....lived as an Oasis...between..." the real World " and dreams... Broken shoes... Why I am not already there ? Why all the paths I take... don´t take me there ? Why all nights...I keep walking....? To find at Dawn...that....I just has made a short walk... Broken shoes... In this " cage"....of my soul... as my life is shortened.....my Heart asks you...not to forget me... Please....let the apples to fall......and.. Leave me a place in your Pillow..... Because... I will be there... with …My Broken Shoes... .. ©3thoreau Alberto Palomo 2019 Writing Copyright © All Rights Reserved
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