Ryōkan Taigu is known for composing poetry in two principal forms: kanshi, written in classical Chinese, and waka, the traditional 31‑syllable Japanese verse. These forms provided him with complementary vehicles for expression: kanshi allowed him to articulate his Zen Buddhist understanding within a learned, classical framework, while waka lent itself to more intimate, immediate reflections. Both modes, however, served a single contemplative life, shaped by monastic training and hermit simplicity. Rather than seeking literary ornament, he used these established forms to illuminate the texture of spiritual practice as it unfolds in ordinary experience.

The content of his kanshi often reflects Zen philosophy and a clear-eyed awareness of impermanence, emptiness, and non‑attachment, all conveyed through scenes drawn from nature and the rhythms of a mendicant’s life. His waka, by contrast, tend to express simpler, more personal feelings: solitude and companionship, the quiet joys and sorrows of daily life, and the beauty of the natural world that surrounded his hermitage. In both forms, the language remains plain and direct, almost conversational, yet capable of bearing profound insight without strain. Through this simplicity, the poems suggest that awakening is not apart from the world of children’s laughter, falling leaves, or a beggar’s bowl, but is revealed precisely in such unassuming moments.

A distinctive feature of Ryōkan’s verse is its gentle, compassionate tone, often tinged with humor and a kind of childlike spontaneity. Scenes of village life, playful encounters with children, and references to poverty and austerity are not presented as complaints, but as occasions for gratitude and wonder. The poems show how a life stripped of luxury can still be rich in meaning, because each small act—gathering firewood, walking through the village, sitting quietly—becomes transparent to a deeper reality. In this way, his kanshi and waka together form a poetic practice, where literary form and spiritual discipline converge in a single, continuous way of seeing.