Under the Bashō 2025
Poet's Personal Best Haiku
Editor: Don Baird
The author's listed in this section have each identified a single haiku from their body of self-penned work that they regard as their personal best and may be regarded as a prime example of their haiku mastery and guiding haiku aesthetic.
Each haiku included in this section is accompanied by the author's own commentary on the chosen haiku explaining what makes it stand out for them at this time as their personal best achievement as a writer of haiku.
It is realised that the way that they write haiku will change as they hone their skills and mature their art and thus we open the invitation again year after year to reflect their changing perspective.
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- Category: Personal Best
late winter
the moon speaks
owl to owl
Chrysanthemum 32
The Red Moon Anthology 2024
I chose this haiku because of the numerous times, when fishing late into the night, I had the privilege to eavesdrop on the conversation of owls. On this particular occasion there was a super moon so bright I could retie my lure without even bothering to use my headlamp. I listened as two owls spoke across a large cove until one had joined the other on my side. It was such a pleasure being there as two owls came together as mates, or so I assumed, as the moon slowly traversed the sky. Just me, the moon and the owls. I only wish everyone could have shared this moment of tranquility. Not to mention owls are my favorite bird. I consider myself lucky to have experienced this profound haiku moment.
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sunrise
red cardinal
in yellow leaves
This haiku represents my personal best as it reflects that moment when the rising fall sun highlights the red feathers of the cardinal against the yellow of fallen leaves with no extra words needed to capture this moment in time.
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day lilies
returned to earth
my first attempt
Mayfly, Issue 79
What makes this poem especially unique is the subtlety and nuance. While vulnerability is a consistent quality of my work, most of my confessional poems are punchy and overtly forward. This haiku is elegant, poignant, and in some ways hopeful. The daylily plant might thrive for several years, but its individual flowers only last one day. The choice to juxtapose my first suicide attempt with the dayliles comes from a place of resilience. I might have had numerous attempts, but I survived regardless. It’s also important, for the sake of nuance, that the word suicide is implied, but not directly stated. In years before, I would have been more direct instead of allowing readers to come to their own conclusion. I’ve managed to remain true to my edgy poetic voice while acutely honing haiku craft tools.
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bitten apple the sin is in the sourcing
Failed Haiku Volume 9, Issue 104
This haiku is my personal best because it carries, in just a few words, the full weight of several worlds I am trying to hold together: mythic, modern, and ethical. When I wrote it, I felt something click. The image sharpened, the layers aligned, and the poem delivered its punch without raising its voice.
The phrase “bitten apple” immediately invokes the biblical story of the Fall, the classic symbol of temptation and original sin. But in this haiku, I shift the moral centre. For me, the bite is no longer the transgression. Curiosity, desire, and the act of reaching are fundamental to being human. What troubles me more is what we choose not to see: the systems behind the things we consume, the structures that let us take without questioning their origins. That is why the haiku moves to “the sin is in the sourcing.” It is my way of flipping the Edenic narrative. The real sin lies behind the fruit, not in the tasting of it.
At the same time, the haiku intentionally gestures toward the Apple logo, and therefore toward the modern tech world that powers our lives. I wrote this with the knowledge of how deeply our devices rely on cobalt mined in Congo by children working in dangerous, exploitative conditions. That contrast between the clean, polished bite-mark of a luxury brand and the brutal extraction that enables it felt essential to capture. I wanted a poem that exposes this dissonance without moralising. Haiku must reveal, not preach.
There are other shadows in the poem too: the question of ethical consumption, the invisibility of labour, and the way capitalism creates a distance between pleasure and pain. I like that the haiku suggests all this without directly naming any of it. It trusts the reader to feel the fracture.
This is why I see it as my best work. It is concise yet expansive, rooted in image yet layered with meaning. It holds the Bible and Silicon Valley in the same breath. And in doing so, it reminds me what haiku can do at its sharpest, cut straight to the truth with a single, clean stroke.
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My Gradual decay image was not artificially degraded. This is how my negative naturally aged over the years.
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winter sun
the weight of a chickadee
in my palm
2025 Haiku Canada Betty Drevniok Awards
This verse brings together traditional aesthetic values, including toriawase, shasei, and karumi. Its governing insight is the shared quality of diminished presence: the faint energy of the winter sun and the nearly weightless touch of the chickadee. This structural parallel gives the pairing coherence.
The ku is built entirely from sense impressions—the sight and slight heft of the bird, the sensation of its moving feet, the cold air, the implied silence and snowy surroundings. This observational fidelity aligns closely with shasei, allowing the poem to register the moment without commentary or symbolic overreach.
Its karumi is expressed through objectivity, tonal restraint, and formal economy. The diction is plain, the pacing unhurried, and the perspective free of personal reflection, all of which keep the moment light rather than dramatic. The poem’s clarity depends on what it withholds as much as what it presents.
Taken together, these choices make the verse a quiet nod to classical practice—not imitative, but intentionally rooted in the older discipline of precise pairing, faithful observation, and an unforced, understated touch.
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hanging
in the art gallery
the perfect apple
Previously published at Fireflies’ Light, issue 32, October 2025
An example of a haiku which, although apparently simple and straightforward, touches on wider topics but does it in an apparently effortless way, with a light touch. It does what a modern English Language haiku is meant to do, with internal twists which I hope lead the reader to question and may prompt further thoughts about art, beauty, surrealism, or even philosophy. My best haiku try to get form, content and structure working together synergistically. Like René Magritte’s work, to which it alludes, this haiku is more interested in communicating the image than showing off clever technique. It mimics Magritte’s cool and detached style. Like a painting in a gallery, the haiku just is, as if it has always been there. To me it achieves what it set out to do and is therefore successful as a haiku.
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beneath each syllable a soft marrow of nothing
Password Issue 2.3, October 2025
It's a monoku of embodied language—syllables as bones sheltering the 'soft marrow of nothing'. It reveals the fragility of meaning, how a quiet emptiness sustains sound. The poem breathes between ontology and poetics, letting silence become a kind of presence....
This ku is my voice where i just am almost. It unites linguistic philosophy with emotional subtlety while stripping the language to a precise minimalism. It reveals more than it states, leaving a resonant after-silence. Its balance of conceptual tension and sensory delicacy makes it, for me, the most complete expression of my haiku way.
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monsoon . . .
chitchat spicing up
the chai
Haiku of the Month – August 2025, The Wee Sparrow Haiku Nook
I appreciate the brevity and juxtaposition in my haiku. Kigo from Ms. Greve’s India saijiki is the heartbeat of this haiku. In one word it conveys a gamut to the reader and invokes curiosity. Anticipation grows with the second line, leading to the aha moment! My haiku conveys the quintessence of monsoon. It provides an opportunity to connect to the simple pleasures of tea and conversation. I continue to enjoy the rigor and metre of writing in seventeen syllables but I have started writing free-form haiku since March 30, 2025. This haiku reflects my nascent versatility.
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a torrent of grief
some floodwaters
never recede
tsuri-dōrō Issue #30 Nov/Dec 2025
This poem resonates well with a wide and varied readership as evidenced by comments left on social media. For me, the poem encapsulates the theme of loss from catastrophe resulting from natural disaster which may be caused in part by human intervention. Storms of historic proportion wash away whole communities sometimes destroying ancestral grounds as well. In addition, human life may be taken. Survivors’ lives are forever changed. While the floodwaters eventually dry up, the river of tears may never stop
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a swan creating
ripples across the lake
monsoon vibes
The poem contains a seasonal scene plus a romantic undertone as swans are symbols of love.Monsoon as a season is also regarded as a season for invoking romantic feelings.I have used the word creating ripples instead of making ripples.
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A light autumn wind played on the dune edge as I set to work with my paints. The colours, coupled with the first scent of turning earth, drew me into an intimacy with the surroundings. . . Suddenly, a stick insect and the memory of a recent conversation.
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cobwebs
everything comes alive
in the land of memories
This haiku was born during the Milky Way season, when our sense of belonging to this galaxy is very vivid. The enchanting and beautiful nature of the Milky Way is a powerful backdrop for stories of love, dreams, and hope,.., for memories.
Haiku awakens memories, unleashes the imagination. Reader becomes a co-author and that is the magic. I think it worked here.
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buffeting wind
a child blowing bubbles
from her wounds
This haiku was specially commended in the Martin Lucas Haiku Award 2024 and appeared in Issue 78 of Presence Magazine in the UK. I wrote it after seeing the devastations in Gaza, Ukraine and the Sudan where children were so often the innocent victims of indiscriminate attacks. I think it captures the shock and horror of seeing these things on television and feeling helpless about it.
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finding my way
without you . . .
starlight
5th Star Haiku Contest Winner 2024, Katanogahara Monogatari Prize (at 40:49m)
I chose this poem because on a personal level, it captures how I felt losing a friend (the moon). At first, everything seemed bleak and dark, but gradually I became aware of other people (stars) and their friendship (new lights) to enjoy. I learned this haiku also captures something of the longing and yearly reunion of the star-crossed lovers of Tanabata, Japan’s Star Festival. That my little poem can speak to people and traditions so far from my own makes me unbelievably happy.
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the night awning of a blink
The process of selecting this haiku was deeply reflective for me, being an opportunity to revisit my work, consider my current “personal best,” and explore the emotions and insights behind making that selection.
"The night awning" evokes the snap shot moment of the “blink”, when nocturnal beings such as owls, cats, bats, and frogs wink their eyes, creating an awning of darkness. It is also the flicker of a firefly’s bioluminescence as it signals for a mate, or the moment when drifting clouds veil the moon. In this haiku, my intention was to distill the essence of subtle night movements, those momentary, natural gestures that link the subtleties of light, motion and natural events.
My haiku journey began with traditional forms, but over time, with growing confidence and invaluable feedback, I adventured into monoku and more experimental writing forms. Years ago, while training with the Blind Acupuncture Society of Japan, I was introduced to Japanese aesthetics and the spirit of haiku, an experience that continues to inform my creative vision. As a musician composing ethnographic and avant-garde works, I strive to weave sensory depth into my current writing. In the night awning, I was particularly drawn to the quiet pulse of the blink, its invisible rhythm, and how it might be conveyed with simplicity and imagination.
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river of mists
paddling through clouds
of wattle
Enchanted Garden, Issue 11, April 2025
This poem reflects my deep connection to the Australian landscape, a strong theme in my haiku that is not always fully understood by international audiences. The Yarra River which wends through my hometown of Melbourne was called Birrarung (river of mists) by the Wurundjeri Woi-wurrung people. While often shrouded in swirling mist in winter, the river comes alive in early spring as bright yellow wattle—Australia’s national emblem—blossoms along the riverbanks, reflected glorious gold in the river’s slow-flowing brown water.
This haiku is filled with the colours and beauty of a place that is special to me, while also acknowledging the sacredness of the river to those who have hunted, camped and celebrated along its banks for tens of thousands of years.
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Rashomon –
awaiting the flash
of truth
I wrote this haiku on the occasion of the Japanese Film Week.
It received the second prize at the 5th International Haiku Competition of the Pula Film Festival, Cinema Valli.
The competition judges wrote the following about the haiku:
“Everyone who has seen Rashomon, the masterpiece by the renowned director Akira Kurosawa, understands what it's about. Truth serves as the guiding star of the entire film, captured in that quintessential Kurosawa shot, with rays of sunlight filtering through the treetops, shyly revealing itself, just like the truth. It is a truth that often cannot be grasped through mathematical parameters – one that we all, like the film's protagonists, experience in our own way. Yet, as a flash of insight, it arrives at the very end.”
This haiku is personally very meaningful to me, as through my long professional experience I have come to realise that truth reveals itself beyond words and the mind – as a flash.
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the buzz of bees
the buzz of people…
sakura
First prize, THE NINTH INTERNATIONAL HAIKU CONTEST CHERRY BLOSSOM 2025 (ENGLISH LANGUAGE SECTION)
Life's ephemeral beauty reveals that we are all one. We all become part of the nature we celebrate because we resonate in the same way.
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you and i
climbing Mt Fuji ...
next lifetime
The Haiku Foundation - Haiku Dialogue (Going for a Walk - on top of the world - commentary August 2024)
Ageing and coping with it turns into a vast reservoir of inspiration and thought. And this haiku is an illustration of it. Time comes when you realize that some of your plans and dreams will never come true. Either for age or the person who is part of them is no longer here. "Never more" is a verdict. You have to face it but. There's still a flickering hope in your heart: Maybe ... I think the haiku works well with possible interpretations and associations.
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refugee train
small hands starfished
against the glass
1st Place, Triveni Awards 2024
This poem arose out of my despair at witnessing the plight of the world’s displaced children, who are facing traumas not of their own making. Their voices unheard, they use “starfished” hands to silently plead for mercy as the train pulls them away from everything they have ever known. In this instance, I felt that “verbing” was a dynamic and fresh approach not only to convey the shape of hands, but to reference the locomotion techniques of starfish. The children are dissimilar, and yet akin, to starfish. Though unable to regenerate limbs blown off in war, they are ruthlessly uprooted and battered by forces beyond their control.
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wiped dust
risen by the winds
clouds of love
This haiku feels closest to my inner world. It says a lot with very little—about memory, love, and the quiet way emotions return when we least expect them. Its simplicity carries depth, and that balance is what I strive for in my haiku. Right now, this is the poem that best expresses my evolving voice.
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dark waiting rain clouds
the mourning dove’s pulsing call
kneads them like bread dough
My great-grandmother called mourning doves “rain crows,” because she believed that they predicted rain. But the one’s in my backyard could also be called “sun crows” or “wind crows” or “humidity crows” and so on, since they’re always uttering their cooOOoo-woo-woo-woooo’s, though perhaps they do so with more frequency when rain is on the way.
I can’t remember which came first in the writing of this haiku: that some clouds remind me of bread dough or that the dove’s pulsing call reminds me of the act of kneading dough. But when I discovered the combination of this image and verb, I felt delight and gratitude. And I was surprised. Kneading changes the dough by working air into it and by stretching the gluten strands so that the mass has structure and rises. When doves knead the rain clouds with their calls, they’re not only weather predictors but weather influencers.
How you feel about my haiku will probably be influenced by how you hear about the mourning dove’s call. As plaintive? Auspicious? Ominous? Comforting? A blend of those feelings? Something else?
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Scream of silence
In the empty corner
Of my room.
Замижи сега, 101 хаику / Shut your eyes now, 101 haiku, 2023
This was my first haiku - the one that opened the door. It taught me that silence can scream, and emptiness can be full. It`s where my journey began, and it still echoes within me.
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broken down backhoe
inside its rusting bucket
a butterfly wing
Modern Haiku, Vol. 50.2, summer 2019
Appeared in chapbook, what the sky holds, (buddha baby press, Windsor, CT, 2002)
I was walking through the parking lot of my favorite pizzeria and there was a dismantled backhoe. And there was an orange wing of a monarch butterfly. It eventually became one of the first haiku that I got published when I started submitting poetry professionally. It contains themes that have stayed in my poetry style, including the intertwine of the past and present, and a juxtaposition of nature and human civilization. The backhoe is not a living thing but has a “lifespan,” and a butterfly has such a short time on earth. The two contrasting images help my readers to contemplate their existence and appreciate the moments they have here and henceforth.
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deep in a forest
we pause to listen
to mushrooms
Akitsu Quarterly, Summer 2022
Perhaps what makes this ku likable is the reader probably expects us to listen to birdsong. Surprise! I took things in a different direction.
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Starry night—
the generations of women
who did needlework
First Place, 3rd John Bird Dreaming Award for Haiku, Australian Haiku Society, 2025
I wanted to compose haiku which will compare the sky stitched with stars and the generations of women who did needlework. Many working-class women sewed to earn a living. Privileged women stitched as a necessary accomplishment and to relieve themselves from boredom and isolation. This haiku poem reflects my nostalgia for crafts such as needlework that are being replaced by machine-made.
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over the bridge...
the fisherman`s rod
disturbs the moon
The Haiku Foundation - Haiku Dialogue, (Foreground Focus – Blur the Background, June 2023)
The haiku is inspired by a porcelain ornament from my godmother. It is a chinese fisherman with a rod and a little fish, but the rod is broken and the fish is separated from it… it is a very old ornament. All the bookshelves and the way the statue was sitting in front of the books created a fantastic image in my mind, the statue came to life, the books created an imaginary bridge and the broken fish was the moon… It didn't need much… just a spark.
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Nagasaki —
in her belly, the sound
of unopened mail
The bombings of Japan, a nation half starved, disturbs me to no end. I’ve pondered both bombings quite often. I feel the pain; I feel the separation of families, central and abroad. I labor over the moment thousands of people burnt away (instantly). No notice, no preparation — just gone!
What was left unsaid? Was there love on their tongues, hate in their heart? Were there unfinished conversations? Were meals prepared and waiting to be enjoyed?
Suddenly, where did hope go? Where did the last hug go? What happened to them this time when they said “good-bye for now” but turned out to be forever?
Blasted. Left empty. Debris. Dreams, debris; homes, debris; children and parents, debris. What would they say to each other if they all knew this was their last day on earth? This is gut felt. Even the sound of silence rang loud in the smoke. How much was left undone, now gone? It’s disturbing.
Clearly, these two bombings (Nagasaki and Hiroshima) deeply disturb me. This poem is my outcry to the world as the world attempts to reconcile the war to this day. It was written during one evening. Initially, I used the word “mind” where the word “belly” became the final choice. It was more than mind — it was “guttural.”
Award winning, it holds awards from Haiku Now (1st) and the Touchstone Award. At this point, it is published worldwide in many different venues including notable books.
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a smaller
slice of orange
Gaza sunset
The verse was written for The Haiku Foundation’s Monthly Kukai. The theme for March 2024 — orange.
After dinner one winter evening, my wife cut up a Cara Cara orange into slices smaller than she used to. Smaller sunsets, I thought.
My first draft —
a smaller
slice of orange
winter sunset
The final version —
a smaller
slice of orange
Gaza sunset
Final L3 came about when it crossed my mind that, somehow, the world of the people of the Gaza Strip at that time was similarly getting smaller. Sunsetting.
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thick clouds--
a gap takes me
to the ocean
Modern Haiku, Issue 46:2, 2015 (Ed. Paul Miller)
Poems come to my mind as a fragrance to a flower… A flow of poetic thought sparks when I capture some image while walking, travelling, or sitting calmly on the balcony. Generally, I write it down in my notebook or on a piece of paper. I still remember a couple of occasions when I jotted down haiku even on the boarding pass, paper napkin, and my palm while traveling! I wrote the above haiku while on a domestic flight. “Haiku is the art of the instantaneous,” said Stuart Quine to Tim Gardiner. The sun was shining brightly over the hills of thick cloud, the edges gleaming with prominence. I could stare through the gaps of the clouds at the blue colour of the Bay of Bengal, the northeastern part of the Indian Ocean, from the flight. I had a feeling of amazement and tranquility. Instantly, I transformed the moment into a poetic flow.
It is primarily a haiku with contours of visual imagery. I could feel the exquisite beauty of nature revealing the vastness of the ocean through the gaps in the clouds. The elliptical opening in high to mid-level clouds is known as fallstreak hole or “hole punch cloud”. The poem bridges the pathway between the sky and the sea at the level of the landscape of conscious imagination. The “gap” is a doorway of human experience, architecting one's thought across space and time.
Randy Brooks says, “The writer starts something that the readers finish. What a great haiku does for readers is it invites them into a collaboration of creative playfulness…” I wish to briefly cite the reviewers' comments about the above haiku featured in Nicholas Klacsanzky's Haiku Commentary Blog, May 2028.” It is fascinating to consider how readers interpret the poem in their unique styles.
Lucia Fontana, an Italian poet, author, and founding editor of Incense Dreams, elucidates the Zen feeling embedded in the haiku as she pens: “Since the first reading of this ku, I’ve felt it carries an extraordinary sense of liberation. I can read it again and again and feel each time the movement, as if I’m being pulled by an invisible wind, not mentioned, but there for sure, to the blue of the ocean, breaking through the blue gap of the sky…!
It seems it creates in the mind of the reader a virtual flight, surfing on air currents and seeking the sun. Also, at a deeper level of reading it, the kireji lets us imagine and clearly perceive the recovery of the soul of the author, as if he could have turned his wounds into blessings….
The first line contains bitter sounds — ck, cl, ds — which suggest an imminent storm, or a difficult life-moment. But soon, in the second line, the rhythm of consonants separated by the sounds of long-short-long vowels empowers the dynamic in the ku and brings the openness of the long and open vowels in the last line, of the word ocean, as a natural mantra for all.
This ku has a strong Zen feeling, showing a meditative journey from full to empty (thick clouds/gap) and it is a reminder to us to not be afraid of emptiness since we ourselves are nothing else but little fluctuations of matter around this vacuum.”
Hifsa Ashraf, poet and editor from Pakistan, discovers the meditative element in the poem: “This is really simple to interpret, as it is all about the thought process. Thick clouds may indicate a lack of awareness or oblivion or unconsciousness. A gap is a sort of reflection of those thoughts that go through the filtration process. Awareness of our own thoughts (mindfulness), in other words, crystallized thoughts. I see the meditative element here as well where the person is having some deep experiences that facilitate him to think deeply and have concrete thinking….”
Poet, Laughing Waters from Italy rejuvenates rewinds her feelings with inspiration: I’m living next to the ocean, so I can really relate to this haiku. In this haiku, line one sets the entire mood. Thick clouds so often can be seen on the horizon. They are also very symbolic. It seems that even the weather feels the mood of the poet. Something is about to come—good or bad, we don’t know. The future is hidden from us.
Next we move to line two. It is very clever. It brings hope for the better. Its not just clouds, but we see an opening, and line three gives us more. Now we know we are on the beach and we see an ocean. Overall, I really enjoyed this haiku. Its inspiring. Here’s a tanka written in inspiration:
a dark horizon—
heavy clouds
chasing each other
we fall in warm sand
and laugh
My humble summarization: It has been a delightful poetic spark from high above the sky, illuminating the beauty of nature in its splendid manifestation, embedding the spirit of science and spirituality.
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Suduko
Rubik's Cube
you
Issa's Untidy Hut – Wednesday Haiku 9-26-2012
The poem came to me all of a piece which is itself a puzzle. Is the you not only the subject of the poem but the real author? I still find the seven syllable spareness very satisfying. That others do as well is gratifying.
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ebbing tides
internal chaos
of missing you
16th Yamadera Basho Memorial Museum English Haiku Contest, November 2024
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the long sigh
of an ebbing wave…
summer’s end
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morning serenade –
the blackbird sings
under my window
The Japan Society (Haiku Corner 2023 - Week 27)
Summer. I live in a building surrounded by grass, bushes, and tall trees. Many different species of birds live in this environment, and I love listening to them and watching them.
I am often awake until morning, and that year there were a lot of blackbirds, and they were whistling very early before dawn. Their cheerful song inspired me to write a haiku.
There is also a metaphor in the verses. I leave that to your imagination.
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old friends
the unfinished melody
of a skylark
Frogpond 47:2 Spring/Summer 2024
‘This haiku holds a special place in my heart. I wrote it while considering how through life we not only nurture and value ongoing friendships, but we also lose friends, either through passing or simply from losing touch. There is an ebb and flow to life and sometimes someone is taken from you when you feel that there is so much more that you could have shared. I hoped that in these few lines I could capture the essence of how special friendship is and how the song of new and old friends continues in this cycle of time and experiences with these bonds. I think that this poem, that came with only a few tweaks from my first version, carries a universal message that everyone can relate to.’
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high tide
a wreath of stones
captures the ocean
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full moon
our bed
half empty
paper wasp: a journal of haiku 14(4) spring 2008
Author comments:
I am returning to haiku and other forms of poetry after putting my creative work on the back burner for many years. I've been revisiting my early poems, published and unpublished. This particular haiku was one of several that paper wasp: a journal of haiku published in 2008. It was my first poetry acceptance. I was delighted then, as I am now sharing the poem again.
Close to 20 years later, it's a little hard to recreate my mindset on the day I wrote it, but I suspect this poem was inspired by circumstance. At the time I was working on a social science master's degree, and my university campus was located 100 traffic-clogged miles away from the home I shared with my husband. At that point I was staying near campus for most of the week and only driving home on select weekends. So, even though my marriage was solid (and remains so after three decades), my husband and I spent most of our nights apart, "our bed / half empty."
I'll also mention that my husband and I were (and still are) cinephiles with a special fondness for horror movies. I liked leaving the poem open for an interpretation related to lycanthropy (one partner's absence linked to the "full moon"), alongside other possible readings.
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a teddy bear
falls from the stroller—
silent crowd
Presence, issue #77, November 2023