Poems Like Them Were Written by Haruki Murakami, by ChatGPT

A Poem Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

The city’s pulse beats,
As I walk the streets alone,
The world around me sleeps,
In a quiet, peaceful drone.

The neon lights flicker,
A kaleidoscope of hues,
A world of contradictions,
A kaleidoscope of views.

In the stillness of the night,
The world comes alive,
A symphony of sound and sight,
As my senses begin to thrive.

I walk on, lost in thought,
In a world of endless streams,
A world that’s never what it seems,
A place where anything is sought.

The world of us and for me,
A place of magic and mystery,
Where the ordinary becomes extraordinary,
And the world is never what it seems to be.

An Epic Poem Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In the land of dreams and shadows,
Where reality blurs with the unknown,
A hero rises from the shadows,
A warrior, on a mission of his own.

His name is whispered in the night,
A legend, born of myth and lore,
A champion, strong and bright,
He stands tall, forevermore.

Through the dark and treacherous lands,
He travels, his heart a burning flame,
A journey to seek the truth and understand,
The mystery of life, the very same.

Through the misty valleys and fields,
He battles beasts and fears unknown,
And with his sword and shield,
He fights on, to his destiny unknown.

But through the trials and the strife,
He remains steadfast and true,
For he knows the meaning of life,
And what he must do.

For in his heart, he holds the key,
To the secrets of this universe,
And with his courage and bravery,
He will find what he seeks, the truth of this curse.

And in the end, he will stand victorious,
A hero, a legend, a warrior true,
And his name will be etched in the annals of history,
For all eternity, to remember and renew.

For in the land of dreams and shadows,
Where reality blurs with the unknown,
A hero rises from the shadows,
A warrior, forever known.

A Lyric Poem Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In the stillness of the night,
The stars shine bright,
A gentle breeze rustles through the trees,
Whispering secrets, carried on the breeze.

And in this moment, I feel alive,
As if I’ve been reborn, somehow revived,
For in this stillness, I find my peace,
A quiet solace, a welcomed release.

My heart beats with the rhythm of the night,
As the moon casts its silvery light,
And in this moment, I am free,
A part of the universe, forever to be.

The world around me fades away,
As I lose myself in this moment, this place,
And in the stillness of the night,
I find my soul, and everything is right.

For in this moment, I am whole,
A part of something greater, a cosmic soul,
And as I gaze upon the stars above,
I know that I am loved.

So let the night go on forever,
For in this moment, I am together,
With the universe, with all that is,
And in this moment, I find my bliss.

A Ballad Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

There once was a man, so the story goes,
With a heart so heavy, burdened with woes,
He wandered the world, lost and alone,
Searching for something, something unknown.

He traveled the roads, through cities and towns,
Hoping to find, what couldn’t be found,
And though he journeyed far and wide,
His heart still ached, and he could not hide.

But then one day, he chanced upon a place,
A small, unassuming town with a friendly face,
And there he met a woman, so kind and true,
Whose heart was pure, like morning dew.

They walked together, through fields and streams,
And talked of life, and hopes, and dreams,
And in her eyes, he saw a light,
A beacon of hope, shining bright.

With her, he found a new sense of peace,
And his heart, so heavy, began to release,
For in her love, he found a home,
A place to rest, no longer to roam.

And so they stayed, in that little town,
Their love growing strong, never to drown,
And though life had its share of pain,
They faced it together, again and again.

For in each other, they found their soul,
And their love, it made them whole,
And though the world may spin and turn,
Their love, forever, will brightly burn.

A Sonnet Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

Amidst the misty air and gentle breeze
My thoughts drift towards a distant shore
Where love had bloomed like cherry trees
And left me longing forevermore

I wander through the quiet streets at night
In search of that elusive dream
A memory so vivid, yet out of sight
It seems as though it’s but a scheme

But still I press on with a heavy heart
And search the depths of my weary soul
For any trace of that long lost part
That once had made me feel whole

Oh, how I yearn to hold her once again
And feel her warmth like a summer rain.

A Sonnet about Society, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In this society we call our own,
There lies a truth that is rarely shown,
A place where people hide their fears,
And try to drown out their silent tears.

The streets are full of endless noise,
Of people rushing, without a choice,
Their eyes averted, their hearts closed,
As they march to the beat of society’s woes.

Yet amidst this chaos, a glimmer of light,
A few brave souls, who refuse to take flight,
They stand tall, and speak their truth,
Defying society’s rigid rules.

Though they may be few, their light shines bright,
A beacon of hope in a world so contrite.

A Sonnet about City, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In this city’s streets where the people flow,
The neon lights twinkle and come aglow.
The city breathes with a pulse all its own,
As the night descends, it’s alive and shown.

Amidst the towering buildings, we find
A sense of chaos and a peace of mind.
The city’s rhythm is a ceaseless beat,
A melody that’s heard beneath our feet.

The hustle and bustle, never-ending,
A pace that’s relentless and unending.
In this city, we find our solace,
Amidst the noise, we find our balance.

The city’s streets are both bright and dark,
A reflection of the society’s heart.
But amidst it all, a beauty shines through,
A city that’s forever young and new.

A Sonnet about A Love, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In a world of dreams, love remains unseen,
A mystery that haunts us all the while,
Like a fleeting thought that slips the mind clean,
Or a shadow that leaves us to compile.

Some search in books, some in strangers they meet,
Yet love is a riddle, a game we can’t beat,
It comes and goes, leaves us lost in the street,
Our hearts in pieces, our souls incomplete.

But love can be found in the simplest things,
A touch, a smile, a shared cup of tea,
A moment of silence that gently brings,
Two souls together, lost and now set free.

In the midst of chaos, love still prevails,
A beacon of hope that never fails.

A Sonnet about A Girl, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In the depths of my restless heart,
Lies a memory so sweet and pure,
Of a girl who was once a part,
Of a world I once thought secure.

Her eyes were like stars in the night,
Her voice like a gentle breeze,
And in her presence, all felt right,
As if the world had found its ease.

But like a fleeting summer’s day,
She came and went with a passing breeze,
Leaving me with a heart in dismay,
And a soul that could not find its ease.

Still, I hold on to that memory dear,
And in my heart, she’ll always be near.

A Sonnet about Music, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In the stillness of night, a melody
Finds its way to my heart and stirs my soul
Like a spell, it captures my memory
And takes me to a world beyond control

It starts with a simple and sweet refrain
And then it builds up to a grand climax
Like a storm that rages through my brain
It brings me joy, sorrow, and everything in between

Each note is like a brushstroke on a canvas
Painting a picture of a different hue
The music takes me on a wild adventure
And shows me sights that I never knew

In the end, when the music fades away
Its memory will live on forever and a day

A Sonnet about Jazz, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

Amidst the city’s hum, the Jazz awakes
Its melody, a free and fluid stream
That flows through streets and alleys, makes
The restless soul surrender to its dream

Each note, a step in the unending dance
A rhythm that knows no boundaries nor chains
It whispers tales of love and life, romance
And paints the world in vibrant hues and strains

The saxophone’s sweet voice, a lover’s call
A trumpet’s cry, a heartbreak’s solemn song
The drums, a beat that holds the city’s thrall
A bassline, a foundation steady and strong

And in the night, when the Jazz is on display
The city comes alive, in a brilliant, soulful way.

A Sonnet about the Beatles, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In the mellow light of an autumn day,
I put on a record, and pressed play,
A sound that drifted back from yesterday,
With the Beatles, my soul began to sway.

Their songs are like a time machine,
Taking me back to the days I’ve been,
When the world was younger, so it seems,
And all was love, and all was dreams.

Their melodies like a warm embrace,
Their lyrics, a reflection of the human race,
From “Hey Jude” to “Let It Be”,
The Beatles’ music, forever free.

So let me close my eyes, and drift away,
To a world where the Beatles still play,
Where love and peace still have their way,
In the magic of the Beatles’ sway.

A Sonnet about Writing, Like It Was Written by Haruki Murakami

In solitude I sit, with pen in hand,
The blank page mocks my every thought and plan.
A writer’s life is wrought with toil and strain,
A journey into depths unknown, untamed.

But words, they are the keys to unlock doors,
The power to create, to move, to soar.
Like music, they can touch the soul and heart,
Evoke emotions that were buried, dark.

And so I write, with passion and with care,
Each word a note, each sentence like a prayer.
The page now filled with stories, dreams, and pain,
A glimpse into a world that’s not mundane.

For writing is the art of the brave and bold,
A journey that can’t be bought or sold.
It’s the love of words that keep us going strong,
A never-ending dance, a lifelong song.

(This text is a fiction generated by ChatGPT and is not written in fact or in reality.)

Boston Red Sox Poetry by ChatGPT

Boston Red Sox

The Boston Red Sox, a team of old,
Their stories, legends, and victories told.
They played in Fenway, a park of green,
With die-hard fans, a sight to be seen.

From the “Babe” to “Teddy Ballgame,”
Their history is filled with fame.
With “Yaz,” “Papi,” and “Pedey” too,
Their players have always come through.

From the curse of the Bambino,
To four World Series in a row,
They’ve proved they’re a team to be reckoned with,
Their talent and heart, an endless myth.

Their loyal fans, the “Nation” strong,
Sing “Sweet Caroline” all game long.
They cheer on their team with all their might,
And celebrate every victory in sight.

The Red Sox, a symbol of Boston pride,
Their legacy will always reside.
In the hearts of their fans, old and new,
Forever champions, the Red Sox true.

The 2016 Boston Red Sox 01

In 2016, the Boston Red Sox took the field,
With talent and passion, their spirits never yield.
A team of promise, a team of might,
Their fans, so excited, for what was in sight.

Their bats were hot, their hits, so strong,
Their pitching, so solid, they couldn’t go wrong.
David Ortiz, their hero, a legend to praise,
His presence on the field, a sight to amaze.

Mookie Betts, a star, a player to watch,
His talent, so special, his stats, a notch.
Xander Bogaerts, a shortstop with flare,
His fielding, his hitting, a moment to share.

Their journey to the playoffs, a path so clear,
Their fans, so hopeful, their spirits, so near.
Their battle with the Indians, a moment of truth,
A comeback for the ages, a story of youth.

Their journey to the top, a mission of pride,
Their victory over the Rangers, a moment so wide.
Their loss to the Indians, a moment so grand,
Their fans, forever grateful, for what was at hand.

The 2016 Boston Red Sox, a team to remember,
Their talent, their passion, forever to render.
A team that played with heart, never to fold,
Their legacy, forever, a story to be told.

The 2016 Boston Red Sox 02

In 2016, the Red Sox had a line-up so strong,
With hitters that could do no wrong,
From the top of the order, to the bottom of the list,
They were a force to be reckoned with, they couldn’t be missed.

At the top of the order was Dustin Pedroia,
A fiery leader, a true Red Sox soldier,
He could hit it for average, and he could hit it with power,
A player that would never wilt, a real game changer.

Then came the young and talented Mookie Betts,
A true five-tool player, one of the best,
He could hit for average, and he could hit for power,
With speed on the base paths, he was a base-stealing tower.

David Ortiz was the heart and soul of the team,
A clutch hitter, the ultimate Red Sox dream,
With his powerful swing, and his intimidating stare,
He struck fear into the hearts of the opposition, everywhere.

Hanley Ramirez was a man of many skills,
With his powerful bat, he’d hit the ball with thrilling thrills,
He could play first base, and he could also play left,
A versatile player, he was a true defensive theft.

And rounding out the line-up were the likes of Jackie Bradley Jr.,
Travis Shaw, and Xander Bogaerts, they were all baseball stars,
With power in their bats, and speed on their feet,
They were a line-up that couldn’t be beat.

The 2018 Boston Red Sox 01

In 2018, the Boston Red Sox,
Were a team that rocked, never to be boxed.
Their talent, their passion, a force to behold,
A team that played with heart, every story told.

Their bats were hot, their pitching so fine,
Their defense, flawless, a moment so divine.
Mookie Betts, their star, a player so great,
His talent on the field, a sight to elate.

JD Martinez, a new addition to the team,
His swing, so strong, like a dream.
Chris Sale, their ace, a pitcher with pride,
His strikeouts, his dominance, never to hide.

Their journey to the top, a path so clear,
From division champs to World Series near.
Their battle with the Yankees, a moment so grand,
A comeback for the ages, that took command.

Their victory over the Dodgers, a championship won,
Their celebration, a story to stun.
Their parade in Boston, a moment so true,
Their fans, forever grateful, for all that they do.

The 2018 Boston Red Sox, a team so great,
Their talent, their passion, a moment to celebrate.
A team that played with heart, never to fold,
Their legacy, forever, a story to be told.

The 2018 Boston Red Sox 02

In 2018, the Red Sox had a line-up so strong,
A group of hitters that could do no wrong,
From the top to the bottom, they could hit it all,
And they’d leave the opposition looking small.

At the top, was Mookie Betts, a dynamic force,
A leadoff man with power, a true batting source,
With speed on the basepaths, and a glove so slick,
He was the spark that made the Red Sox tick.

Next up was Andrew Benintendi, a young stud,
With a swing so smooth, he hit the ball like a thud,
He could hit it for average, and he could hit it far,
A player to watch, with a future so star.

Then came J.D. Martinez, a newcomer to town,
With a bat that was lethal, he’d never back down,
He could hit it to all fields, and he could hit it deep,
A true run producer, who’d make the opposition weep.

Behind him was Xander Bogaerts, a shortstop so fine,
With a swing so pure, he could hit the ball on a dime,
He could drive in runs, and he could play some D,
A player to rely on, when the team was in need.

And rounding out the line-up was a cast of greats,
With players like Moreland, Devers, and Pearce,
They could hit it far, and they could hit it clean,
A line-up to remember, a true baseball dream.

Fenway Park

Fenway Park, a place of dreams,
Where baseball magic reigns supreme.
The greenest grass, the oldest park,
A sight that leaves its mark.

The “Green Monster” stands tall and proud,
A wall that’s seen it all, oh so loud.
The “Pesky Pole,” a beacon of hope,
A place where miracles elope.

From “Sweet Caroline” to “Tessie,”
The sounds of Fenway, oh so messy.
The cheers, the boos, the jeers, the roars,
A symphony of passion, forever yours.

The smell of hot dogs, peanuts, and beer,
A nostalgia that lingers, oh so clear.
The vendors, the crowds, the atmosphere,
A home away from home, always near.

Fenway Park, a historic gem,
A symbol of Boston, its anthem.
A place where legends have been made,
A diamond that’ll never fade.

Ted Williams

Ted Williams, the Splendid Splinter,
A hitter with a swing to remember.
His stats and records, a baseball wonder,
A legend, his name forever.

With a bat in hand, he ruled the game,
His precision, his focus, always the same.
His eyes, they say, could see the ball,
Like no one else, he had it all.

He served his country in two great wars,
And returned to baseball, opening new doors.
He played with heart, grit, and pride,
His passion for the game, never to hide.

His love for fishing, well-known and true,
A hobby he enjoyed when the season was through.
He was a man of many talents and skills,
His presence on the field, a sight to thrill.

Ted Williams, a Boston icon,
His legacy, forever unbroken.
A hero to many, a legend to all,
His greatness, a story we’ll always recall.

Carl Yastrzemski

Carl Yastrzemski, a name so hard to spell,
But his talent on the field, everyone could tell.
A Red Sox legend, a true baseball great,
His legacy, forever sealed by fate.

He played with heart, grit, and pride,
A fierce competitor, never to hide.
With his glove, he’d make a diving catch,
With his bat, he’d hit a ball that’d be hard to fetch.

He followed in the footsteps of Ted Williams,
And played with a passion that was never hidden.
His swing, so smooth, his stride, so strong,
A leader on the field, all season long.

He won the triple crown, a rare feat,
His name in the record books, forever to greet.
He played in Boston, his entire career,
A hero to fans, always so dear.

Carl Yastrzemski, a Boston treasure,
His greatness, an everlasting measure.
His number retired, his statue stands,
A reminder of a legend, a player so grand.

Wade Boggs

Wade Boggs, a man with a golden glove,
A hitter with a swing so smooth, like a dove.
A legend on the field, a Red Sox great,
His name forever etched in the baseball slate.

He played with heart, passion, and pride,
His talent, his skill, never to hide.
A five-time batting champ, a Hall of Famer,
His stats and records, an endless glamour.

He’d step up to the plate, with his routine intact,
And hit the ball with precision, like an artful act.
He’d field the ball with ease, his glove like a magnet,
A defensive wizard, his talent, never stagnant.

He played in Boston, New York, and Tampa Bay,
And left a lasting legacy, every step of the way.
A man with a love for chicken and beer,
A unique character, his presence, always near.

Wade Boggs, a name that’ll forever last,
His greatness on the field, a story of the past.
A player so special, a talent so rare,
His memory, forever cherished, everywhere.

David Ortiz

David Ortiz, a name that echoes loud,
A hitter with a swing, so strong and proud.
A Red Sox legend, a true baseball star,
His legacy, forever shining from afar.

His bat, a weapon, feared by all,
His clutch hits, a moment to recall.
From walk-offs to grand slams, he did it all,
His talent, his passion, never to stall.

He played with heart, grit, and emotion,
A leader on the field, his devotion, a motion.
His love for the game, a fire so bright,
A presence that inspired, day or night.

He brought three titles to the city of Boston,
A feat so great, it can’t be undone.
His name, forever etched in Red Sox lore,
A hero to fans, forevermore.

David Ortiz, a true baseball icon,
His legacy, forever, an ongoing con.
A man with a smile, a heart, so pure,
A player so special, his greatness, forever secure.

Andrew Benintendi in the Red Sox years

Andrew Benintendi, a name to behold,
A Red Sox outfielder, so fearless and bold.
His talent, his speed, a moment to see,
His presence on the field, a moment of glee.

His rookie year, a moment to praise,
His hits, his fielding, a moment to amaze.
His batting average, a stat so fine,
His potential, a moment to shine.

In the playoffs, a moment to be,
His clutch hits, a moment to see.
His catch in left field, a moment of grace,
A play that’ll forever stay in its place.

His passion for the game, a fire so bright,
His spirit, his heart, a moment of might.
A player so special, a talent so rare,
His legacy, forever, an ongoing flair.

Andrew Benintendi, a name to remember,
A Red Sox hero, forever to render.
His journey in Boston, a story so grand,
His future, a moment to stand.

Marcelo Mayer, the Future Legend

Marcelo Mayer, a name so new,
A Red Sox prospect, a talent so true.
His potential, his skill, a moment to see,
His presence on the field, a moment to be.

His bat, a weapon, so strong and pure,
His hits, so precise, a moment to endure.
His fielding, so flawless, a sight to behold,
His talent, so special, a story to be told.

A shortstop with grace, a player so fine,
His range, his arm, a moment to shine.
His passion for the game, a fire so bright,
His spirit, his heart, a moment of might.

In the minors, his journey has begun,
His future, so bright, a moment to stun.
A Red Sox legend, a future so grand,
His talent, his potential, forever to stand.

Marcelo Mayer, a name to watch,
A Red Sox future, a moment to notch.
His journey in Boston, a story to see,
His legacy, forever, a moment to be.

(The texts above are a fiction generated by ChatGPT and is not factual or written in reality. In addition, the content is not completely accurate.)

Translation | “Poems of the First Period” Songs of A Goat by Chuya Nakahara

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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