Under the Bashō 2023
Haiku
Editor: Marilyn Ashbaugh (current)
Previous Editor: Kala Ramesh (2013 to August 2023)
rain filled puddles
next to the deserted hut
the sunsets
old pond
the moonwatcher collects
mosquito bites
barely spring
glistening dew
on a spider's web
starry night
the aurora lights up
a silent fjord
lingering mist
the snail loses its way
on the leaf
autumn begins
breaking the seal
of an apple jam
raga megh malhar traversing parched fields rain
jugnu night
at the edge of a swamp
an upturned sky
slanting rain
the old porch bench
half cleaned
quiet hymn —
flanked by power poles
the Yangtze River
spring darkness —
the songs of a creek
lost in woodland
displaced logs
from a colonial cabin
the sound of a creek
sapphire ice
begins to thaw . . .
the elder's story
climbing
the Seminary Hill forest
a Pacific Wren’s song
in the darkness
of a hollow tree
the owl’s dream
the red sun sets
between pale white sails
a turbulent sea
her tears . . .
the river ice melts
into a song
oak trees rising
from old church ruins —
voices in the wind
dripping icicle . . .
I step into
someone else’s dream
winter rain . . .
the hidden roots
of my family tree
burned cottonwood seeds from a past life
early morning
a homeless man recycles
our recyclables
begging bowl
the blind monk
grabs the thief's wrist
72 hours
beneath rubble
the voices grow silent
greeting
the early sun
neighbour's cat with me
shawl wrapped-
her mother's memory
on a winter noon
harvested field...
moon beams
spreading the shroud
screaming -
she finds her voice
at last
last train
trees stop racing
sleepless night
stars
leading me to dawn
melting snow
I can't open the door
wide enough