“The Wandering Kami: The fighting poet”

The beginning of the wandering  kami the fighting poet

In Japan

In the small village of Seki, nestled amidst the tranquil landscapes of Kamakura, lived a family of skilled blacksmiths known for their artistry in crafting the revered katana. Among them was a young lad named Nicoya, 18  years of age, whose heart yearned for a different path.

Adorned in a meticulously crafted Japanese bun, Nicoya’s ebony locks cascaded gracefully, framing his countenance. Clad in a resplendent white and red Yukata, its vibrant hues accentuating his every move, he exuded an air of mystique and allure. His strong chin, chiseled by the hands of fate, complemented his delicate cheeks, creating a captivating juxtaposition of strength and tenderness.

Never far from his side, a katana, a masterpiece of steel and artistry, whispered tales of battles fought and victories won. Its gleaming blade, honed to perfection, reflected the flickering candlelight, casting an alluring glow upon Nicoya’s visage. Those who beheld him were captivated by the tantalizing mystery that surrounded him.

But it was his eyes that held the true enchantment. Like orbs of precious Jade, they shimmered with an emerald intensity, drawing others into their depths. Within their depths, a flame burned bright, radiating passion and fervor, igniting desires both fierce and tender.

And as the fires of the forge shaped his physique, Nicoya’s muscles, like sculpted marble, testified to his dedication and strength. Each strike upon the iron, every beat of his heart, infused him with a sensuality that transcended mere physicality. His presence stirred the senses, leaving a trail of longing in his wake.

In the realm of romance and seduction, Nicoya’s allure was undeniable. His every gesture carried an air of elegance and confidence, captivating hearts with a single glance. The poetry that flowed from his lips, with words as delicate as cherry blossoms and as passionate as a summer’s embrace, bewitched those who were fortunate enough to hear them.

Thus, amidst the ancient traditions and ethereal beauty of Kamakura’s Kamakura period, Nicoya’s very essence exuded an intoxicating blend of romance and sensuality. He embodied a tantalizing rhapsody of strength, intellect, and grace, captivating all who dared to venture into his beguiling realm.

Nicoya  dedicated himself to the art of katana-making. However, his true passion lay in the realm of poetry, a flame that burned brightly within his soul. Alas, his father, steeped in tradition, forbade him from pursuing such ventures, dismissing poetry as a frivolous pursuit.

Yet, the spirit of Nicoya was not easily quelled. In moments of escape, he would venture to the hills and waterfalls, seeking solace in nature’s embrace. There, amidst the cascading waters, he would weave his thoughts into delicate verses, painting pictures with words.

One fateful day, as Nicoya’s ink danced upon the parchment by the waterfall’s edge, his eyes beheld a sight that stirred his very being. A maiden of ethereal beauty, with brown golden skin and black Rose-cut hair, moved gracefully, enraptured by the flowing streams. Inspired by her enchanting presence, he crafted a small poem, capturing the essence of her dance and the beauty of the moment.

Poem 1 the time the waterfall stood still

As water gracefully flows, it dances upon her skin,

The scent of cherry blossoms delicately sprinkles in,

A waterfall descends, a symphony of grace,

Time stands still, captivated by her radiant embrace.

The sounds of the jungle hush, as if in awe,

Beholding her beauty, an enchanting tableau,

Silenced by her presence, nature’s own art,

A moment frozen in time, etched within the heart.

But like a wisp of smoke, the enchanting girl disappeared, leaving Nicoya with naught but his poem to remember her by. Reluctantly, he bid a silent farewell to the waterfall and made his way back home, his heart heavy with unfulfilled dreams.

In the style of changing seasons, Nicoya’s path diverged in the village of Seki. His father’s wishes weighed upon him, tugging him toward the forge, while his poetic aspirations called out from the depths of his soul. A choice, delicate as cherry blossoms in the breeze, awaited him.

And in the realm of philosophy, Nicoya’s journey encapsulated the essence of Nichiren, the pursuit of an ideal that transcends societal expectations. Like the cherry tree that blooms defiantly amidst adversity, he sought to forge his own destiny, melding the strength of the katana with the power of poetry, for both art forms wielded the magic to touch hearts and shape minds.

Though the tale of Nicoya’s encounter with the mysterious girl may have ended abruptly, its echoes reverberated within his spirit. For he knew that no matter the path he chose, the beauty he witnessed and the verses he penned would forever dance within his heart, guiding him towards a destiny uniquely his own.

Poem 2   my  work

As Nicoya diligently toiled at his workbench, tending to the fire’s embrace,

He guided his younger brother, teaching him the art of metal’s graceful bend and shape.

Their rhythmic hammering and clanging created a symphony, enchanting to the ear,

A dance of music and passion, echoing through the workshop with a resounding cheer.

The crackling flames, like whispered secrets, wove tales upon the air,

Casting flickering shadows, painting ethereal scenes with utmost care.

The gleaming katanas and armor, their polished surfaces aglow,

Radiated a quiet strength, a testament to craftsmanship’s sacred flow.

The wind, a gentle maestro, hummed a soothing melody,

While crickets joined in harmony, their chorus a sweet remedy.

With each swing and strike, dust swirled, like ephemeral dreams taking flight,

As Nicoya’s nimble steps danced upon the floor, a mesmerizing sight.

In this sanctuary of creation, his father’s hands honed the steel,

Transforming raw material into a masterpiece, with love and zeal.

A symphony of sparks and steel, a sonnet of fire and sweat,

In this world of craftsmanship, the soul’s yearning was truly met.

Silent as the whispering breeze, vibrant as the summer’s bloom,

This workshop stood as a testament, an artist’s sacred room.

Though unnamed, its essence inspired, like 

Poetic verse,

A symphony of labor and artistry, a tale of passion to rehearse.

In the bustling workshop of Nicoya, the air crackled with the heat of the forge, casting dancing shadows on the worn wooden floor. Flames roared within the hearth, their fiery tongues devouring logs of oak and birch, infusing the air with the intoxicating scent of metal, flames, and wood. The workshop, adorned with swords of all shapes and sizes, seemed like a shrine to the great Japanese swordsmen of the Kamakura period.

Nicoya, a master craftsman, stood before a sturdy wooden table strewn with an assortment of tools, each bearing the mark of countless creations. His skilled hands carefully worked on a magnificent sword, its blade gleaming with a polished sheen. With meticulous precision, he adorned the hilt with black wrapping, contrasting beautifully with the golden trim that adorned its edges. The blade itself was a masterpiece, etched with the intricate design of a majestic golden dragon, its scales shimmering in the flickering light of the forge.

As the final touches were being applied, Nicoya’s heart swelled with pride. This sword was more than a mere weapon; it was a symbol of victory and honor, earned by a valiant captain who had emerged triumphant from a glorious battle. Eager to share his creation with his father, Nicoya called out for him to come and witness the culmination of his craftsmanship.

His father, drawn by his son's summons, entered the workshop, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. The aging man’s eyes widened in awe as they fell upon the breathtaking sword. Nicoya, with a heart brimming with admiration and gratitude, gazed at his father and felt inspired to capture his essence in a poetic verse.

Poem my DAD

In the land of Japan, there stood a figure,

A man of metal, with a spirit so vigorous.

Isamu, the name that echoed with might,

At fifty-two, he bore the warrior’s light.

His stature soared, a noble five-foot-eleven,

With short gray hair, like clouds in heaven.

His build was strong, tied in knots, flowing free,

As if the winds themselves danced with glee.

Within his eyes, a touch of green would gleam,

A hint of nature’s grace, an enchanting beam.

His hands, rough and strong, from forge and flame,

Crafted swords of legend, destined for acclaim.

Adorned in a yucata, black with seams of gold,

A garb befitting a master, fearless and bold.

Upon his face, the battles etched their trace,

Yet wisdom and youth intertwined with grace.

A strict demeanor, with loyalty held dear,

To the land and Shogun, his heart held near.

Glorious armor and swords, his artistry would yield,

As his blades flew across the land, a mighty field.

A swordsman of legend, honored and renowned,

Many medals adorned his chest, battles he had crowned.

Nicoya’s father, a metal soul, strong and true,

In the forge of his spirit, greatness forever grew.

With the sights, sounds, and scents of the workshop enveloping them, Nicoya’s words flowed effortlessly, weaving a tapestry of imagery and emotion. The workshop, a haven of creativity and dedication, stood as a testament to Nicoya’s lifelong pursuit of craftsmanship and artistry. And within its walls, father and son stood united, bound by the shared love for their craft and the extraordinary bond that connected them.

Once Nicoya’s father locked eyes with his son, a surge of pride spread across his face. His warm smile and gleaming eyes conveyed a sense of admiration and accomplishment. “I will take this new  sword to the shoya tomorrow,” he announced with confidence, accepting the sword from Nicoya’s outstretched hands above his head. As he knelt down to receive it, a profound sense of appreciation filled his heart.

Nicoya’s father carefully inspected the sword, marveling at the craftsmanship his son had poured into it. His fingers traced the intricate patterns on the hilt, and he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride for his talented child.

With a final pat on Nicoya’s shoulder, he thanked him and watched as the young boy left for his small room adjacent to the forge.

Entering the forge, a sanctuary of creativity and craftsmanship, Nicoya’s father began his ritual of cleaning and preparing each tool with meticulous care. He tenderly wiped down the hammer, removing any traces of dirt or debris, ensuring its pristine condition for the next day’s work. The forge itself received special attention, as he gently scraped away the soot and residue, revealing its true beauty.

Moving with purpose, Nicoya’s father meticulously organized the workbenches, removing any stray dust or wood shavings that had accumulated during the day. He took extra time to wipe away the smudges and grime from every surface, leaving them glistening in the soft glow of the forge’s fire. Each tool found its designated place, neatly arranged and ready for the next day’s creations.

As he worked, a symphony of sounds filled the air, harmonizing with the rhythmic beating of his heart.

The clang of metal echoed through the chamber, blending with the crackling of the fire. The occasional hiss of water meeting hot iron added its own melody to the composition. In that moment, Nicoya’s father felt truly alive, one with the forge and the craft that had been passed down through generations.

His thoughts wandered to his children, his pride swelling like a raging river. He reveled in the fact that they shared his passion for creating masterpieces with their own hands. The thought of passing on his knowledge and skills to the next generation filled him with a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

Finally, as the day’s work came to a close, Nicoya’s father surveyed the forge with a deep sense of satisfaction. Every tool was in its proper place, the wood was stacked neatly for the next day’s projects, and the entire workspace radiated a sense of order and readiness. With a contented smile, he bid farewell to the forge, knowing that it would eagerly await his return.

As he retired to his own room, Nicoya’s father carried with him a profound sense of accomplishment. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for the opportunity to pursue his passion and share it with his children. With a heart full of pride, he closed his eyes, knowing that tomorrow would bring new challenges and opportunities to create something truly extraordinary in the forge that had become his sanctuary.