old priestís rectory:
the pine tree green
even in snow


—Charles Trumbull
        

About the author: Charles Trumbull is an editor for Encyclopaedia Britannica and lives in Evanston, Illinois. He has been writing haiku since 1991. He was editor (1996-2002) of the Haiku Society of America Newsletter, president of the HSA in 2004 and 2005, and an organizer of the Haiku North America 1999 conference. He is currently editor of Modern Haiku and proprietor of Deep North Press, a publisher of haiku books.

No Web page yet; e-mail: trumbullc at comcast dot net

Responses to the haiku for 6 February 2007 by Charles Trumbull

  1.  
    Alan Summers
    2007-02-06 06:11:12
     

    We have a Scots pine outside our very quiet block of flats. I love the scent of pine trees, and the combination of snow and pine and a quiet private rectory wins for me.

  2.  
    Aurora
    2007-02-06 08:10:06
     

    Excellent.

  3.  
    Rita Odeh
    2007-02-06 08:55:42
     

    I envisined a priest at the end of his life(old)posessing an inner belief that if he dies at this moment(snow as a symble of death), his record will stay green the same as that pine tree.
    Beautiful juxtapositions. Enjoyed.

  4.  
    Vasile Moldovan
    2007-02-06 11:27:00
     

    A deep haiku. Unforgettable.

    hide and seek:
    evergreens and passing snow,
    life and death

  5.  
    kala ramesh
    2007-02-06 15:35:58
     

    The colors you've played with are soothing and beautiful- creating a visual imagery that speaks a lot . . . and this is coming from a person who has never seen snow!

  6.  
    Bill Kenney
    2007-02-06 17:06:05
     

    A very rich haiku.

    low mass
    the old priest can't remember
    all that he believes

  7.  
    b. m. richardson (orgbob at webtv dot net)
    2007-02-08 19:39:03
     

    kala, your words remind me of the things(some) i've never seen.
    strange, how one's mind tend to create an image; though always pleasing, even of the ones i always seem to be at odds with.
    having never seen most of the commenters, their words paint a portrait upon my mind's canvas.

    -

    kala's song
    through the night air...
    so fragile
    this small blue-winged butterfly

  8.