han shan 1 the home i choose is within towering cliffs
han shan 2 i worry about all who will read my poems
han shan 3 the road to cold mountain is difficult
han shan 4 if one should ever decide to seek refuge
han shan 5 my mind is lost to the autumn moon
han shan 6 these mountains are always cold
han shan 7 the moth browed lovely girl in town
han shan 8 i see a fine young man on horseback
han shan 9 i long wished to visit the eastern cliff
han shan 10 i sat before the cliff, i sat alone
han shan 11 give me a deep eddy pool
han shan 12 bring your best from the qin, and words
han shan 13 in olden times brothers shared five districts
han shan 14 a master of the brush and the sword
han shan 15 zhuang zi described his funeral
han shan 16 people ask for the way to cold mountain
han shan 17 hundred foot trees stretching to heaven
han shan 18 my horse and i ride slowly past the ruins
han shan 19 colorful parrots live in the western lands
han shan 20 inside jade hall beyond a curtain of pearls
han shan 21 my parents stayed busy, so do i
han shan 22 my hut nestles below green cliffs
han shan 23 the round of season is never ending
han shan 24 this new year ends, a year of sorrow
han shan 25 calligraphy free, unrestrained
han shan 26 many thousands of years have passed
han shan 27 a man who wishes to live on rose colored clouds
han shan 28 this young woman is from han tan province
han shan 29 you can propel you three winged war ships
han shan 30 you learned men choose to ignore me
han shan 31 a mountain man makes his roof with thatch
han shan 32 a man who starts out for cold mountain
han shan 33 as long as we allow the six extremes to limit us
han shan 34 up among the high rugged crags white clouds grow
han shan 35 the trail to cold mountain is faint, overgrown
han shan 36 what makes a young man grieve
han shan 37 some people say cares never leave you
han shan 38 two turtles were riding by on an ox cart
han shan 39 in april when silk worms have just begun to grow
han shan 40 there is one old lady who lives east of here
han shan 41 the rich tend to be overburdened with cares
han shan 42 i met a brilliant young man a while ago, a scholar
han shan 43 a white crane flies far carrying bitter flowers
han shan 44 i tend to live in a quiet secluded place
han shan 45 if you were dumb in your last incarnation
han shan 46 there once was a beautiful woman, lady lu
han shan 47 a young mistress of di yan, mistress zou
han shan 48 i live alone high up beneath ever higher cliffs
han shan 49 each thing you find in this world has a use
han shan 50 there is no person you can name who doesn’t die
han shan 51 a dark maned roan feeling a coral whip
han shan 52 young foolish men waste their days in drunkenness
han shan 53 once i found my place up on cold mountain
han shan 54 we gathered lotuses as we called back and forth
han shan 55 the willows darken into the mist of evening
han shan 56 when you have wine invite friends to help drink it
han shan 57 i once saw a likeable, brilliant young man
han shan 58 peach blooms come in their season, then are gone
han shan 59 i once met a girl when i was living in the east
han shan 60 a prosperous farmer had acres of mulberries
han shan 61 on my wanderings i have seen hundreds of dogs
han shan 62 straining its eyes the phoenix searches the horizon
han shan 63 in lo yang there are many young girls
han shan 64 in spring women tend to their looks
han shan 65 a group of young girls play in the fading light
han shan 66 if one should meet a ghost or spirit
han shan 67 the yellow river is eternal
han shan 68 aboard an old boat with rotten wood
han shan 69 if you remain silent and never speak
han shan 70 a hermit’s heart will grow weary
han shan 71 someone who lives in a mountain gorge
han shan 72 pigs eat the dead flesh of men
han shan 73 chaos was satisfied with seven
han shan 74 why are you still crying
han shan 75 wives get tired of weaving
han shan 76 they don’t walk the noble eight fold path
han shan 77 one kind of fool in abundant existence
han shan 78 a man who has been fathered by pride
han shan 79 i chose to live in an out of the way place
han shan 80 if you wish to grow large, increase the virtue of your being
han shan 81 i recited the three histories and learned little
han shan 82 spring water runs pure
han shan 83 i have an old coat that i wear
han shan 84 a whisk of white bristle, sandalwood handle
han shan 85 some seek pleasure in carnal knowledge
han shan 86 the world exists with many kinds of people
han shan 87 a rich man, a greedy man, piles up his wealth
han shan 88 ten thousand miles from my old home
han shan 89 the mind burns fire in its anger
han shan 90 all you would-be’s heads in the dark
han shan 91 a clouded mind leads straight to hateful destinies
han shan 92 heaven has no upward limits
han shan 93 different peoples populate the earth
han shan 94 a wise man is never greedy
han shan 95 arguing the price of a fish or a chop
han shan 96 if someone should look at cedar
han shan 97 why steam sand to make your supper
han shan 98 men pay attention to affairs of the world
han shan 99 scholars are often disappointed, impoverished
han shan 100 consider the opposites life and death
han shan 101 i remember back when i was still young
han shan 102 i retired to live at the edge of the forest
han shan 103 no one needs to point out the faults of others
han shan 104 when rich men meet in an elegant hall
han shan 105 somewhere there lives a brilliant man
han shan 106 hills and streams carpeted with blooms
han shan 107 poems of the immortals in my pile of scrolls
han shan 108 master shi was fortunate to have two sons
han shan 109 a pair of mandarin ducks roost for the night
han shan 110 some people boast of their accomplishments
han shan 111 in my younger days i carried both books and a hoe
han shan 112 there is no end to the change around us
han shan 113 my judgments as i write are not at all bad
han shan 114
the home i choose is within towering cliffs
i follow the birds not the tracks of men
you ask what do i have for a courtyard
i sit on dark rocks in a mist of white clouds
i pay attention to each year as it passes
the seasons are regular, one then the next
all you officials with your bronze objects
engraved with names and all of them empty
murphy knowing where he comes from and where he’s going
i worry about all who will read my poems
i wish them to guard their purity of heart
let their greed become modesty
their flattery be leavened with honesty
i write to have them end their evil karma
they should learn to trust their true nature
inhabit the buddha body they own
and to do it before they lose their chance
murphy seizing the day he’s been given
the road to cold mountain is difficult
there are no tracks of a horse or a cart
the streams are all the essence of streams
it’s hard to remember which ridge is ahead
a thousand different plants weep with dew
the pines sigh one to another the same songs
but, there, where the trail disappears
the form asks the shadow for direction
murphy determined to get away by himself
if one should ever decide to seek refuge
cold mountain is a place of safety
now a faint wind wafts through the pines
the nearer one comes the gentler the sound
a grey haired man sits beneath the trees
softly chanting, remembering the daoist texts
ten years he sat unwilling to return
until he forgot the way he came
murphy sitting in silence like a true tsalagi
my mind is lost to the autumn moon
a clear, bright, plump pool of jade
nothing i’ve ever seen can compare
i am content and will say no more
murphy aphasic when it pleases him to be
these mountains are always cold
not just now but every year
crowds of ridges inhale the snow
sunless forests exhale the mist
nothing grows until near the solstice
leaves fall before autumn begins
a lost traveler stays lost forever
unable to gain bearings under cloudy skies
murphy remembering moss grows on the southern bark of the trees
the moth browed lovely girl in town
how she makes her pendants chime
teasing her bird, looking at flowers
playing her lute in the light of the full moon
her songs echo in my head for months
in town everyone watches her every step
surely she will not last this way for much longer
a beautiful hibiscus contracts in the cold
murphy giving in to his young man’s eyes
i see a fine young man on horseback
he waves his whip toward the willows
never imagining the death of his wind
he has yet to build his boat, his ladder to the sky
lovely now the blossoming flowers
then they all wither and fade
sugar lumps and the essence of butter
nothing to you when you’re dead
murphy imagining himself toothless
i long wished to visit the eastern cliff
it seems forever before today
i found the vine to grab hold, and climbed
half way up swallowed by mist and wind
the trail i found, narrow, too narrow for things
clothes an encumbrance, moss too slick for shoes
i stopped beneath a cinnamon tree
to sleep with clouds as pillows
murphy casting his lot with both hands
i sat before the cliff, i sat alone
the moon shone forth and lit the sky
within the trees a thousand shapes appeared
beyond my lantern’s feeble sight
the spirit is clear when it is free
an empty cave the mystery
a finger pointing is not the moon
the moon beyond the mind
murphy questioning his conclusions
give me a deep eddy pool
release from the dust and the noise
the path there new trampled grass
clouds above the only neighbor
the birds sing, so i will sing
with no one asking me questions
a time for growth for this gnarly tree
a time today, and then tomorrow
murphy safe, snuggly, and warm
bring your best from the qin, and words
wealth and power are stale and useless
ride not the gold carriage, listen to your wife
a good son needs only a cover for his cart
wind can blow over the threshing floor
water can spill from a hatchery pool
imagine in your mind the tailor bird
defenseless, alone, on a single branch
murphy learning early to limit his goals
in olden times brothers shared five districts
fathers and sons shared three states
to learn to fly with the wild ducks then
you reached for the hare in the moon
now, find a magic melon in your dreams
steal a sacred orange from the palace
go far away from your native land
swim with the fish in the stream
murphy chanting secret things
a master of the brush and the sword
once met with two pre-eminent lords
his advice was ignored in the east
his bravery was ignored in the west
skilled with the brush and the sword
adroit with the sword and the brush
then he became too old to serve
what more is there to say
murphy too educated for his own good
zhuang zi described his funeral
let heaven and earth serve as my coffin
whenever i reach the end of my way
all i need is a rough shroud
you should let my body feed flies
don’t bother to ask the cranes to mourn
when one starves on shou yang mountain
an honest life needs only an honest death
murphy the enemy of protocol
people ask for the way to cold mountain
but there are no roads to cold mountain
in the summer there the ice doesn’t melt
the morning fog too dense to find one’s way
you ask how did i get to here
our minds are simply not the same
if they were at all comparable
you and i would both be here
murphy walking a lonely path
hundred foot trees stretching to heaven
nothing but lumber sawn into boards
felled for building but left unused, behind
hidden in a lonely valley
its heart stays true, strong through the years
though its bark weathers day after day
if someone knew its inner strength
it could still hold up a stable
murphy a tool to be used wisely
my horse and i ride slowly past the ruins
ruins aggravate a traveler’s heart
the fallen parapets, high and low
the forgotten graves, great and small
the tumultuous shadow of a tumbleweed
the steady soughing of the largest pines
what i mourn the most are the bones
unnamed in the scrolls of the immortals
murphy watching the passing parade go by
colorful parrots live in the western lands
hunters catch them in nets to bring them here
willow women tease them all day long
in the palace somewhere, behind curtains
they live in a golden cage while vibrant
but when their feathers fade they are locked away
they are not like wild geese and swans
free to fly away and disappear into the clouds
murphy ever the vagabond and not settling down
inside jade hall, beyond a curtain of pearls
there lives a graceful young maiden
her beauty rivals that of the immortals
her skin as delicate as a ripened peach
spring mists will rise in the east
autumn winds will blow from the west
when thirty years have passed us by
she will look like chewed sugar cane
murphy preferring the company of older women
my parents stayed busy, so do i
i want only the land that i have
my wife click-clacks her loom
our baby burbles and gurgles away
i clasp my hands, watch the flowers dance
prop my chin, listen to the twitter of birds
who comes around to share my joy
woodcutters often stop by to chat
murphy satisfied with less
my hut nestles below green cliffs
i don’t bother to cut weeds any more
new tendrils of vines spin down on me
the ancient rocks stand tall and straight
monkeys chatter, eat the wild fruit
egrets stalk, spear an occasional fish
i chant softly to myself beneath the trees
remembering sacred books of the immortals
murphy still working on his karma
the round of seasons never ends
a year ends just as another begins
ten thousand things come, then go
the nine heavens above immutable
the east grows bright. the west comes dark
flowers blossom fade, blossom fade
only those men who travel to the yellow springs
leave us alone and never return
murphy greeting the sun at dawn
this new year ends, a year of sorrow
spring brings again, this world afresh
mountain flowers, laughing green water
swaying cliff trees, dancing blue mist
bees, butterflies, bring on a happiness
the birds, the fish, flaunt their healthy color
the sharing of joy with such companions
who can ever sleep past the dawn
murphy glad for returning warmth
calligraphy free, unrestrained
physique, graceful and strong
the body, beautiful and unique
the dead, ghosts with no names
this is as has been, and will always be
what else can a man do save accept
join me up here inside the clouds
i’ll teach you magic mushroom songs
murphy running free though out of breath
many thousands of years have passed
since i first came to cold mountain
understanding my fate i fled to the woods
to live, and be free to study nature
no one visits me here on the cliffs
i am forever hidden by the clouds
soft grass, serves as my mattress
dark blue sky, quilt enough
boulder, serves as my pillow
heaven and earth, crumble and change
murphy an isolate, alone
a man who wishes to live on rose colored clouds
will need to look further than comfort for a home
all seasons are dead once they’re behind you
the summer the same as spring, winter, and fall
a dark stream is deep and will always run
winds sighing through towering pines lining its banks
anyone sitting in such a place for half a day
will forget an entire lifetime’s heap of sorrows
murphy finding a new voice
this young woman is from han tan province
her singing has the bell like tone found there
make use of the refuge of her body
listen to her, for her songs go on forever
you’re drunk, sir, don’t talk of leaving
stay til the morning brings its light
you will sleep very well here, sir
her embroidered quilt covers a silver bed
murphy leaving his carbon trail
you can propel you three winged war ships
ride proud your thousand mile chargers
you will never reach here to my home
i call this place the essence of the wild
my cave is high up on a distant ridge
clouds and thunder fill most my days
i am not as wise as master confucius
i really have nothing i can call teaching
murphy recumbent and at ease
you learned men choose to ignore me
i ignore you back, you ignorant fools
i am neither a wise man nor foolish
and i am old and will soon disappear
tonight though i choose to sing to the moon
when morning comes i will dance with the clouds
how can i still myself, my mouth and my hands
how sit up straight with such a mop of hair
murphy never ever, ever arguing
a mountain man makes his roof with thatch
no carts or horses pass by his gate
the calmness of his forest fills with birdsong
his stream is wide and teems with fish
he and his son know where to pick wild fruit
he and his wife hoe the ground between the rocks
what does he keep in his home
a shelf filled with nothing but books
murphy packing his library one more time
a man who starts out for cold mountain
travels a road that will never end
up long rivers treacherous with rocks
up slow streams, wide, choked with grass
it’s not rain that slickens the mosses
it’s not the wind that brings moans to pines
whoever can get past the tangles of this world
he can come sit with me, up here in the clouds
murphy reseating his compass to hold steady course
as long as we allow the six extremes to limit us
we cannot discuss the nine knots with meaning
talented men absent themselves in the wilderness
the unskilled live behind rough hewn doors
here the cliffs are shadowed even til noon
the valleys dim even on cloudless days
here you’ll find young men, sons of elders
and none of them own any regalia
murphy unshaven, grubby, content
up among the high rugged crags white clouds grow
and green water rushes down in dark rolling waves
i sit and listen to a fisherman singing as he works
over and over, his oars keeping time for his song
verse follows verse, and i try not to listen
a sorrowful feeling overwhelms me
who says sparrows don’t sprout dangerous horns
how else could they pierce my protective walls
murphy finding reason a bit lacking for his purpose
the trail to cold mountain is faint, overgrown
banks of the cold stream are choked with plants
birds add a pleasing twittering song
i hear nothing of the sounds people make
wind often lashes my face as i walk along
furious snow threatens to bury my body
day after day, no sun, no sun
year after year, no spring, no spring
murphy isolated in the outback and loving it
what makes a young man grieve
unless his hair begins to turn white
other than that he should have no worries
but he grieves to see the fatal day grow nigh
so he goes to stay on tai shan
or leaves to guard pei man
how can i bear to hear such words
these words alone pain an old man
murphy an elder at last, at last
some people say cares never leave you
i never thought this could be true
but yesterday i drove off a thought
and today once more it entangles me
weeks, months go by, cares weighing me down
a new year means only a new crop of cares
who would ever look under this big hat i wear
to see exactly who is plagued by old cares
murphy tossing and turning midway through the night
two turtles were riding by on an ox cart
when a small drama occurred on the road
a scorpion happened to be passed by
though he begged desperately for a ride
refusing him violated the worth of good will
but letting him aboard would have slowed them down
then it happened, too quick to even see
though the turtles meant well, they still got stung
murphy taking his adages as they happen along
in april when silk worms have just begun to grow
young women often go to gather flowers
and end up chasing butterflies by the wall
throwing pebbles at frogs in the pond
they drop ripe plums into their thin silk sleeves
skewer bamboo shoots with hairpins of gold
you may argue there’s a better use of their time
all i know is that it is better than mine
murphy sipping guinness in the dimness of the bar
there is one old lady who lives east of here
a few years ago she came into some money
before this happened she used to be poorer than me
sadly now she tends to mock my poverty
she laughs and says that i am way behind
i laugh right back that she is too far ahead
it seems we both can’t stop laughing
she in the east and me out here in the west
murphy guffawing at the thought of hardship
the rich tend to be overburdened with cares
they find it difficult to agree to most things
their granaries filled with rice turning red with age
but they still won’t loan out even a measly peck
their dreams confused by their need for guile
they never buy any silk but they pick the best
no wonder that when their final day comes round
the only mourners truly concerned are the flies
murphy proud of his sanitation department tee shirt
i met a brilliant young man a while ago, a scholar
well educated, even learn’ed, he had no peer
his effort in the examinations echoed throughout the land
his regulated verse beyond the reach of all the others
his judgments the equal of the best of the past
why would he ever trudge along in another man’s dust
now rich and honored he chases wealth and beauty
never becoming involved with broken tiles or melting ice
murphy satisfied with his pedestrian ways
a white crane flies far carrying bitter flowers
his destination a thousand miles with no rest
he is bound for the lofty peaks of peng lai
with the flowers as his only provision
just before he arrives his feathers break off
far from the gathering flock he heaves a sigh
although he returns to his old family’s nest
his wife and children will recognize him not
murphy an elderly exile, still brooding
i tend to live in a quiet secluded place
but then sometimes i travel to guo jing
i go there to see the estimable big-stick
or to visit with the spiritual pick-up
but when i return to cold cliff, i go alone
it’s unspoken but everyone knows why i do
the stream of karma springs not from passion
my passion has run its course, my time is now
murphy approaching the end of the trail
if you were dumb in your last incarnation
you won’t become enlightened in this life time
and if today you find yourself desperately poor
it all goes back to what you did before, in other lives
listen well, if you don’t reform in this life you now have
your next life will be the same old drudgery
on either shore there is no ready ferry
but one day you may cross the great divide
murphy knowing the nothingness that is after death
there once was a beautiful woman, lady lu
in those olden times she was called never-sad
she loved to ride within a grandeur of garden
or be rowed through a lotus pad pond
she set down her knees on a green bear rug
her robe was an exquisite blue phoenix
but it worried her that in less than a hundred years
her life would end, she couldn’t have it all
murphy uncertain how he feels when killing for food
a young mistress of di yan, mistress zou
and another young mistress du from han dan
the two of them born together, the same age
shared an extraordinarily beautiful countenance
yesterday they went to attend a tea
both were poorly dressed and were shown to the back
because they had worn old, frayed skirts
their cake was dry, left over for the help
murphy still fretting about the ways of privilege
i live alone high up beneath ever higher cliffs
swirling clouds crowd round day after day
i sit inside my hut, it is often quite dim
and within my mind i detect no noise
once in a dream i passed through a golden gate
then as i crossed a stone bridge my spirit returned
i had left behind what had weighed me down
my water dipper swings on a branch and makes a noise
murphy keeping time by the sun
each thing you find in this world has a use
and each of these uses is linked to a place
take a thing from its place it loses its purpose
it becomes deficient and useless
a round hole is wrong if for a square handle
things beyond their purpose have no use
one would never use a race horse to catch a rat
when the job is better done by a crippled cat
murphy old, decrepit, but here, still of use
there is no person you can name who doesn’t die
eventually death comes, does not discriminate
i remember a man who was both stout and tall
now he is nothing but a pile of dust
the world underground never sees the dawn
nor has it plants which sprout in the spring
all those who travel to this sorrow filled place
listen to the wind of the pines express their grief
murphy a few steps slower than he once was
a dark maned roan feeling a coral whip
goes racing down the broad roads of lo yang
astride him a young man full of ego
who never suspects the ravages of age
but there will surely come a time of white hair
when the ruddy cheeks of health will fade away
look to the graves out in the pei mang hills
there is the miraculous, fabled isle of peng lai
murphy having purchased only a one-way ticket
young foolish men waste their days in drunkenness
the years pass by without a hint of progress
and once they’re buried beneath the weeds
they never again see the fresh morning light
their flesh and bones rot away, disappear
their souls dim, eventually fading away
losing their once formidable voices
and their restorative ability to chant the sutras
murphy thanking the earth for her gifts while still able
once i found my place up on cold mountain
i stayed there for thirty full years
recently i went back home to visit family and friends
but most had left for the yellow springs
now i am slowly fading like a dying candle
running downhill like the water in the stream
now i am face to face with my shadow
both eyes brimming with tears
murphy owning up to his fate
we gathered lotuses as we called back and forth
riding the lovely transparent water in our small boats
enjoying ourselves, heedless of the growing dusk
though we did take note of the rising wind
the mandarin ducks rode easy on the larger swells
while the choppiness disturbed the mallards as they rocked
we stopped to watch, resting on our oars
letting our thoughts ride the undulating waves
murphy always ready to do what’s necessary
the willows darken into the mist of evening
their flowers blown in the wind like drifting snow
how sad to be a man with no one to marry
how terrible the waste of a woman without a husband
each, alone, put on opposite shores of the milky way
when will the herd boy and weaving maid stay together
write this phrase on the moon viewing tower
no loving nest for swallows allowed in this place
murphy reading the myths of his cherokee heritage
when you have wine invite friends to help drink it
when you have meat share it with your neighbors
all of us are destined to end up in the yellow springs
we need to live while we are still have a breath
a jade belt is nothing, a transient glory
gold hair pins aren’t charms to answer our questions
old man zhang and old lady zheng
haven’t written back to us to tell us their news
murphy regretting not asking more questions of his father
i once saw a likeable, brilliant young man
strong and handsome, quite the physical specimen
not yet thirty springs and autumns behind him
his talents could be numbered in the hundreds
he could lead the brave with their golden bridles
he could command men who ate off dishes of jade
there is only one thing that he couldn’t do
he couldn’t confer an eternal fire on anyone
murphy accepting a limit to his ambitions
peach blooms come in their season, then are gone
but wind, rain, and moon are forever
search for a man of han these days
could one of them still be alive
day after day petals drift down
year after year we move on with our lives
where we raise the dust today
was once a boundless ocean
murphy knowing water wears down by persistence
i once met a girl when i was living in the east
she had barely reached her eighteenth year
men streamed in from the west to propose to her
finally one was chosen and they were wed
they roasted a sheep along with other delectables
a veritable frenzy of wantonness and slaughter followed
they smiled and drank and laughed with joy
one day they will reap their judgment in tears
murphy distrusting the thought of happy endings
a prosperous farmer had acres of mulberries
and a stable chock full of buffalo calves
yet, fully understanding how things always change
his weak mind shattered, finally gave in to his fears
his imagined future had it all wasting away
all his family gone, alone on their own
with paper for pants, roof tiles for breech clouts
dying of hunger and cold at their ends
murphy going with the flow, and not drowning
on my wanderings i have seen hundreds of dogs
and all of them have been mangy, scruffy
they lie about wherever they please
getting up to move about randomly
but if anyone should toss a bone on the ground
then watch them growl and fight each other
as long as there are no bones for contention
a pack of dogs share their common fate
murphy preferring the company of feral animals
straining its eyes the phoenix searches the horizon
its vision occluded by clouds in all four directions
owls and crows are fed and relaxed in their nests
only the phoenix is anxious, ravenous with hunger
far below the finest of steeds graze on rocky ground
and even a lame donkey has been allowed in court
but up in the high heavens the phoenix cannot hear
the tailorbird singing, splashing in a clear water pool
murphy wafting sage with his eagle feather
in lo yang there are many young girls
on nice spring days they flaunt their charms
many pick flowers along the roadside
to pin high in carefully brushed hair
high in their hair the flowers intertwine
they hear someone speak and all turn to see
all looking elsewhere for a more gentle love
perhaps thinking of their husbands at home
murphy long past the arena of young love
in spring women tend to their looks
walking together along south street
looking at flowers they think of advancing years
behind the trees they shelter from the wind
then a young man happens along
riding a white horse with a golden bridle
why do they persist in flirting so long
surely their husbands must know why
murphy assuming his women are as free as he
a group of young girls play in the fading light
a soft wind fills the road with their perfume
skirts embroidered with butterflies of gold
hair pinned with ducks carved from jade
maid servants dressed in red chiffon
eunuchs in bright purple brocade
watching is an old man who has lost his way
white temples, and a quickened trembly heart
murphy forgetting his place as he remembers
if one should meet a ghost or spirit
never ever succumb to panic
stand firm, do not attempt to submit
simply call out its name, it will leave
then summon the buddha with incense
bow down, find a monk to help you
if a mosquito should land on an ox of iron
where could it ever hope to sink its beak
murphy laughing at an old fool of a conjuror
the yellow river is eternal
ever flowing east without end
on and on and never running clear
while men live out their lives and die
how indeed can one ride up on the clouds
do you think you can grow a pair of wings
you would have to start when your hair was still black
ceaselessly changing whether moving or standing still
murphy understanding change is only natural
aboard an old boat with rotten wood
gathering bitter fruit from the tree of desire
swept out into the open sea
battered by unending, choppy waves
having only one day’s food
the shore far, far, far away
why should there be such distress
bringing bitterness as its wake
murphy learning yet again how quickly things go wrong
if you remain silent and never speak
who in the future will know what you think
if you hide and live in the woods and the swamps
who will know what wisdom you have concealed
robust health is the opposite of withering
cold wind and frost bring coughing ills
an ox used today plowing a rocky field
will never bring crops for the future’s yield
murphy never afraid to speak his piece
a hermit’s heart will grow weary
as he mourns the years that go
hunting for herbs and mushrooms
seeking ever vanishing eternal life
outside his home a clearing, clouds gone
a bright moon informs the forest
why not abandon all this and go home
but who can leave the cinnamon trees
murphy clinging to the old ways to his peril
someone who lives in a mountain gorge
has clouds for a robe with sunset tassels
he offers sweet plants to share with others
but his road is hard, his way is long
worn down by worrisome regrets
old, without success, filled with doubts
others consider him worthless, crippled
yet still he stands, unsupported, steadfast
murphy never becoming a burden to others
pigs eat the dead flesh of men
men savor the guts of dead pigs
pigs don’t mind the stink of men
men savor the aroma of roast pig
throw dead pigs in the river
bury men deep within the ground
if these two ever stop, each the other
lotuses will bloom in hot bowls of soup
murphy okay with the dog eat dog way of things
chaos was satisfied with seven
it neither ate nor pissed
but then began the drill
and there were nine holes
every day working, for clothes, for food
every year worried, for rent, for taxes
everyone fighting for every coin
everyone shouting run for your life
murphy finally getting the hang of things
why are you still crying
your tears glisten like pearls
death comes when it wants
and will surely come for us all
we are all poor and ignorant
blind to the karma we must face
carry that body to the graveyard
the six paths are not interesting now
murphy at the end of a fifty mile march, one step at a time
wives get tired of weaving
husbands too lazy to hoe
men amusing themselves with crossbows
women dancing and playing the lute
when bones are cold clothes are crucial
when stomachs go empty food is key
who cares for you then when you’re needy
crying in pain to the sky
murphy more ant than butterfly
they don’t walk the noble eight fold path
all professing to believe, but they lose their way
they chatter away in the temples of buddha
their hearts ever wanting, ever filled with envy
when in their homes they eat meat and fish
in public they chant the holy one’s name
if this is how they act when things are easy
how will they deal when things go wrong
murphy resolutely rising to meet his day
one kind of fool in abundant existence
is thick-headed, the donkey of fools
he may profess to a speech that is human
but all he has is the grunt of a pig
his foolishness can never be fathomed
his claims at their base are all false
whenever you see him approaching
ignore him , don’t look, walk away
murphy with a sensitive antenna for blather
a man who has been fathered by pride
grown greedy and know to be dishonest
lacks even the basics of perspective
eschewing the very idea of menial labor
he hates death and the bitterness of wrinkled age
he loves a life of ease and the sweetness of honey
he can’t forebear the eating of fresh fish
and never seems to tire of a surfeit of meat
murphy despising privilege and the meanness it brings
i chose to live in an out of the way place
the name dian dai says it all
howling gibbons, thick fog, cold stream
outside my door of reeds a view of the peak
i cut thatch to roof my hut of pine
i channeled the spring to make a pool
finally finished i can take my rest
i will pass my years here picking ferns
murphy secluded from the hurly burly at last
if you wish to grow large, increase the virtue of your being
that would be an estimable enlargement of self
if you wish to change, change your essential self
that would be a change for your betterment
able to grow in virtue, able to change in essence
that is the only road to travel to become an immortal
without such virtuous growth, without such beneficial change
you will never survive the ultimate trauma of death
murphy chipping the epitaph on his tombstone
i recited the three histories and learned little
i wasted my time reading the five classics
i’ve grown old unrolling yellowed scrolls
recording the usual names doing the usual things
hardship has been my continued ill fortune
my life is empty though filled with danger
and i can’t match the magic of trees by the river
every year they sport a new leafing of green
murphy a wage slave all his life
spring water runs pure
through its sluiceway of green
the moon brings whiteness
to light the way on cold mountain
here one can silence thought
here one’s spirit becomes clear
sit in the focused emptiness
sit fast as the world grows still
murphy the zen clown uproarious
i have an old coat that i wear
not sheer cotton, not twilled silk
do not ask for its color
it’s neither red nor purple
in summer it passes for a shirt
in winter a shawl against the cold
winter and summer always in use
all year long it’s what i wear
murphy favoring soft worn jeans
a whisk of white bristle, sandalwood handle
the scent it sheds lasts all day long
a soft effusion like a curling fog
drifting forever like a billowing cloud
the robes of summer need the whisk the most
raised high it can flick away the dust
and in a small room as men gather
it can direct each to his proper place
murphy swirling the smoke of sage with his eagle feather
some seek pleasure in carnal knowledge
blind to the ephemeral nature of love
others see a bubble burst, a mirage disappear
and confess to themselves how everything goes
but there is the real, the straight iron will of the knowing
the dao of the uncrooked heart stays true
dense, tall, bamboo standing proud in the snow
bespeaks the mind, not awkward, not vain
murphy following the meander of the creek
the world exists with many kinds of people
with their hundreds of plans for money and fame
their hearts filled with dreams of glory
pockets itching to be filled up with gold
minds busy, so busy with thinking
rushing about leaving trails of disturbance
their family gathers round
one yells and a hundred nod
but 70 years from now it will not be the same
ice will become water, roof tiles will break
all will die and all their cares be released
those who come after, which one will inherit
shape a ball of mud and drop it in water
watch it become the thoughtless mind
murphy eschewing the ephemeral
a rich man, a greedy man, piles up his wealth
like a she owl who dotes on her chicks
but chicks grow up and devour their mother
wealth will eventually swallow its owner
but spread wealth around and blessings will grow
store it away, hoard it, and calamity will come
no wealth means no envy invited, no disaster
stretch your wings, fly unburdened into the blue
murphy penniless and proud
ten thousand miles from my old home
i raised my sword against the tartans
if they got the upper hand, i was killed
if i lost that fighting edge, i died
throughout it all i detested my foe
and was grateful to prolong the life i had
the way i found to always win
was the trick of not overreaching
murphy satisfied with small victories one after the other
the mind burns fire in its anger
it burns on the hard wood of self
walk the path of the bodhisattva
restrain oneself, extinguish the flames
murphy tending the fire that brings the spirit
all you would-be’s heads in the dark
preferring demon caves without candles
i tell you again that you need to practice
but you remain stubborn. benighted
brushing off the words of cold mountain
swirling the mists of karma without purpose
until you are beheaded, clove in two
then you discover the body’s curse
murphy singular in his approach to destiny
a clouded mind leads straight to hateful destinies
to a place devoid of light, without a path
it will take eight hundred years of effort there
to make it through half the night of trials
anyone who is so foolish as this
awaits a fate too sad to speak of
i urge all of you before it is too late
make yourself aware of mind’s true inner self
murphy a bamboo stalk giving with the wind
heaven has no upward limits
earth has no bottom to find
living things exist in between
and are nurtured by both
all fight for food and shelter
all make plans to eat the other
difficult to make sense of it all
explain milk’s color to a blind man
murphy wondering why buddhists are vegetarian
different peoples populate the earth
beauty comes in different guises
old lady chia’s husband was weird
huang lao never found a wife
handsome is the word for the sons of wei
the maiden zhong li was hideous
if i knew she was to the west of me
i would always turn to move to the east
murphy accepting difference as a reality
a wise man is never greedy
a fool hoards his hearthfire
his fields encroach on others
the bamboo grove is all his
his arms tire from their grasping
yet he grits his teeth and goads his horse
but should he look a bit beyond the town gates
he would find many grave mounds among the pines
murphy assuring his destination is cremation
arguing the price of a fish or a chop
to carry home to feed the family
why kill the other lives we know
to feed ourselves, to thrive, survive
this is not the way to get to heaven
it’s a stone dragging down to hell
xu liu once advised to dig deep in the earth
you should know what that really means
murphy leaving word to be burned not buried
if someone should look at cedar
and then call it sandalwood
how could he ever find the dao
much less find a path to nirvana
foregoing gold and dealing only in straw
confuses the issue and blinds the seeker
it is extremely difficult to form a ball
if all you have is warm dry sand
murphy making sure he’s right before going ahead
why steam sand to make your supper
when you are thirsty, why start to dig a well
polish a brick as long and hard as you can
you can never smooth the surface to mirror
buddha says we are all born basically the same
we share the self same nature as human
think about it and then decide for yourself
the useless struggle with delusion is pointless
murphy abjuring any sort of fancy dress
men pay attention to affairs of the world
there is no detail they will fully ignore
they weigh carefully everything they see
they seek an advantage in what they do
they admit no wrong and are always defensive
they attack others to make themselves seem right
their flattering tongues beguile an open ear
yet behind their schemes lie most of the blame
so hot or cold i always judge for myself
why should a taster sell me his lips
murphy inner directed as always
scholars are often disappointed, impoverished
they learn the limits of hunger and the cold
though unemployed they love to write poems
but no one collects the words of a nobody
scribbling away the strength of their hearts
they must be prepared to save their sighs
and write them down on rice-flour cakes
for even mongrels won’t eat them then
murphy never quite able to clean his ink stained fingers
consider the opposites life and death
the image should be ice and water
water indeed freezes solid to ice
but ice melts back into water again
what dies must come back to life
what lives can never escape death
ice, water change back and forth
life, death, each follow the other
murphy the latest in a unending series of clowns
i remember back when i was still young
i was wont to go hunting near bing ling
officialdom was not what i wished for
and i didn’t think much of immortals
the white horse i rode ran like the wind
i loosed my falcon to swoop and kill hares
now i find myself homeless and alone
who takes pity on a helpless old man
murphy heedless of consequence, going his own way
i retired to live at the edge of the forest
deliberately choosing the life of a farmer
i was forthright in all my dealings
and eschewed flattery in my speech
i came to prefer unpolished jade
never adorned myself with jewels
i was never cut out to be part of a flock
not for me swimming with the other ducks
murphy preferring an interior dialogue to the opinions of others
no one needs to point out the faults of others
nor should one flaunt one’s assumed virtues
do not act until you are asked for advice
once you are ignored retire into silence
great risks come with amassing great rewards
deeply considered words are met by shallow minds
always think through what you might hear
remember that children must see for themselves
murphy reluctant to proffer mere opinions
when rich men meet in an elegant hall
the glow of the colorful lanterns is so bright
that any poor man who has not even a candle
might think to sit quietly off in a corner
instead he will always be chased away
back to his place, forgotten, off in the dark
but how could more eyes steal too much light
it is strange to begrudge one’s left over rays
murphy always ready to share what little booze he has
somewhere there lives a brilliant man
who spends his time poring over texts
his sword, his brush, his tongue are uniquely his
his six confucian arts place him above most others
his spirit has confidence that soars to the sky
his qualities stand out, transcend the multitude
but he is often blind to many simple truths
as he wastes his time chasing distinctions
murphy walking a simple circle to always return home
hills and streams carpeted with blooms
kingfisher colors neath rose tinted clouds
mountain mist wetting cotton headwrap
dew seeping through palm-bark coat
feet clad with long-walking shoes
hand holding a gnarled staff of oak
gazing anew past the dust of this world
the land of dreams can offer no better
murphy making the most of what he has to hand
poems of the immortals in my pile of scrolls
the wine of sages overflows my favorite jug
when i work the fields i watch the buffalo calves
i never wander far from the hut i live in
when cold dew soaks my thatched eaves
when moonlight shines in on my crockery sill
i sip a few cups of my fresh brewed wine
then hum softly a favorite verse or two
murphy accustomed to his own company
master shi was fortunate to have two sons
they both offered their arts to qi and qu
they both were skilled in arms and letters
they both left their home for their office
master meng inquired as to their secret
and had his sons follow their example
but they failed in qin and wei
mismatched buckteeth that could never chew
murphy fortunate in his children
a pair of mandarin ducks roost for the night
the hen content to be alongside her drake
both bringingt flowers for the other to eat
as they settle they take turns preening their mate
both flew off to play in the mist
returned to sleep together on the shore
content with the place they have found to live
not interested in fighting the phoenix of the lake
murphy never living alone for very long at a time
some people boast of their accomplishments
believing their talents to surpass confucius and zhou
but look closely at their eyes seeming in a trance
watch the abnormal stiffness of their bodies
lasso them with a rope and you will pull in vain
take an awl to punch a hole in their arm to no avail
they are embodiments of lord yang’s crane
it’s a pity to be so numb, to be so dumb
murphy never wearing starch in any of his clothes
in my younger days i carried both books and a hoe
that was when i lived with my older brothers
but somehow they thought i never did enough
even my wife thought i was merely a lesser man
eventually i left the world of red dust behind
to wander about and read what i could find
who will spare this mendicant a dipper of water
to save a poor fish stuck in a dryness of rut
murphy forging a well worn path
there is no end to the change around us
births and deaths will never cease
a bird body is a man on a lesser path
a dragon fish the pine on a lonely peak
in a world of chaos there comes a mountain
in peaceful times a horse is born
last time around the richest of men
this time though keeping order as a clerk
murphy disbelieving everything to establish self
my judgments as i write are not at all bad
but my physical presence prevents acceptance
the examiners strip off my outer rags
wash away the dirt and search me for sores
of course heaven’s will is the final determiner
so i will offer myself as a candidate again this year
a blind man shooting an arrow at a bird in flight
has at least a slim chance of scoring a hit
murphy in his uniform of unbuttoned shirt, tee shirt and jeans