#buson

[spaceguylewis]

Avadgust 2025 7/31 | Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter.

[chefs-other-corner]

Chat…hear me out… KPDH Hunger games

I SEE IT NOW! RUMI IS KATNISS! MIRA AS THE ONG GUY (forgot his name im so sorry) AND ZOEY AS PETTA YESSSS YESSSS

YESSSSS

DONT YOU SEE IT NOW! GWI MA AS UHH PRESIDENT SNOW YEAH YESSSS YESSSS

And then Zoey, Rumi and Mira all kiss

[besidebloomingirises]

From Kyoto's cerulean water born– irises in bloom

-Buson

[marchenshoujo]

Buson’s trying so hard to be good, but he’s still a terrible person and instinctively resolves any and all conflict with violence. It’s a trainwreck.

(Some context: he took Kris to an Refreshing Trio / Alola DrinKyun-themed cafe. :3 She doesn't know who Marina is or that she resembles her, she just thinks Buson's a nice uncle! His idea of atoning was “let her give me orders and I’ll carry them out unquestioningly,” so she had him go with her to the cafe because she was too shy to go alone.)

[godzilla-reads]

Haiku Day has arrived 🥳

[inkyuki]

Inksatsu día 3.- Carro

y con esto esta el día 3!! carro y que mejor que nuestro querido Buson!! ya eh dibujado a Speedor, Jetras y BearRV pero de los engine principales me faltaba Buson así que aproveche para dibujarlo en esta oportunidad XD espero les guste x3

[haikuandmore]

Not even water birds can be seen, the cold  crossing the bay. Ngay chim biển cũng không thấy trời lạnh  băng qua vịnh. · A cold moon; feeling the small pebbles  at the soles of my boots. Vầng trăng lạnh cảm nhận những hòn cuội nhỏ dưới gót ủng của tôi. - Yosa Buson

English Translation: W S Wilson Art: Anno Mitsumasa

[carpentrix]

The moon is presumed mute—its silence is the silence of death. But when it does speak, it speaks in the language of shadows. You speak this language, too. It was your first language, our shared first language, the language of the dark. When you can’t scream in nightmares, it is the moon caught in your throat, a bright white rolling marble that garbles the voice, makes it choked and animal. Moonlight smells like chalkboard, like snowcloud, like a rock in the dirt. You can skin it with a glimpse, lay its pelt down by the hearth, and wrap yourself in its furred light. No weapons, no blood. A glimpse as it shifts in time; what a thing to witness, the full moon’s monthly resurrection.

The Hunter’s Moon is up, and “The Moon in Full” series continues at the Paris Review.