Haiku spring:
white blossoms
on an old, black bough.
Published by
d. f. tweney
d. f. tweney is the founder and publisher of tinywords.com. A writer, editor, journalist, and listener poet, he lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with his family. He tries to write haiku every day, but he doesn't always succeed.
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Hello and welcome to the first-ever world-wide, wireless, ad-hoc, open-mike haiku reading!
Haiku has its roots in an 800-year-old Japanese tradition called renga or renku. In renga, groups of people would gather together to write collaborative, linked poems. One person would contribute a stanza of seventeen characters, called a hokku, to kick things off. Then others would respond in turn with their own short stanzas, each one being explicitly or implicitly linked with the ones before it. The result was a long, linked, collectively written poem.
In the 17th century, a genius named Matsuo Basho started adapting the form and writing 17-character poems intended to stand on their own. These poems emphasized immediacy and vividness of observation, and took as their subjects the natural world and the poet’s relation to it. This form became known as haiku, and the tradition has since spread around the world.
Today, haiku is a truly international art form. It’s also one of the most democratic, because haiku are easy to read and understand, and because anyone can write a haiku. What’s more, haiku can help increase understanding and awareness — as you delve deeper into the “haiku mind,” you become more attuned to the world and the people around you.
In today’s event, poets around the world will contribute their own haiku to this page. As they do so, the haiku will be read aloud and will also be broadcast to a mailing list of virtual participants. And the result, at the end of the day, will be an echo of haiku’s origins in collaborative poetry. Indeed, in one sense we will be creating a long, virtual renga, right here on this page.
May I say what a great idea this is! I live in England so I won’t be at the live event. I hope it goes well. I am one of your subscribers and I’ve sent my ‘attempt’ at a haiku in a reply to your daily e-mail! Here it goes again in case you haven’t received it.
stormy night
neighbour’s windchimes ring
a blackbird sings
Hey Dylan, this is Ezra Pound!
For all I know this was obvious straightaway to everyone else, but the familiarity of your haiku (Haiku spring…) bothered me for several days, until it came to me:
In a Station of the Metro
The apparition of these faces in the crowd :
Petals, on a wet, black bough.
Hello and welcome to the first-ever world-wide, wireless, ad-hoc, open-mike haiku reading!
Haiku has its roots in an 800-year-old Japanese tradition called renga or renku. In renga, groups of people would gather together to write collaborative, linked poems. One person would contribute a stanza of seventeen characters, called a hokku, to kick things off. Then others would respond in turn with their own short stanzas, each one being explicitly or implicitly linked with the ones before it. The result was a long, linked, collectively written poem.
In the 17th century, a genius named Matsuo Basho started adapting the form and writing 17-character poems intended to stand on their own. These poems emphasized immediacy and vividness of observation, and took as their subjects the natural world and the poet’s relation to it. This form became known as haiku, and the tradition has since spread around the world.
Today, haiku is a truly international art form. It’s also one of the most democratic, because haiku are easy to read and understand, and because anyone can write a haiku. What’s more, haiku can help increase understanding and awareness — as you delve deeper into the “haiku mind,” you become more attuned to the world and the people around you.
In today’s event, poets around the world will contribute their own haiku to this page. As they do so, the haiku will be read aloud and will also be broadcast to a mailing list of virtual participants. And the result, at the end of the day, will be an echo of haiku’s origins in collaborative poetry. Indeed, in one sense we will be creating a long, virtual renga, right here on this page.
Let the renga begin!
About haiku and how to write it
Sign up for our World Poetry Day mailing list
Get more details on the World Poetry Day event
dawn…
the kitten still sleeping
on the dog’s belly
passing plane
the sudden absence
of cicada song
-Sue Mill
The Gardener
One day at a time,
patiently he tends each one,
watching children grow.
–Ken Ritchie
honoring my Dad,
the Gardener I knew best,
Clinton McCay Ritchie (1921-1981)
golf war –
the loud clash
of plaid pants
deborah russell
Mowing the lawn –
spring’s first daisy
peeking
through the grass.
budding dogwood
what colour
goes with war?
Flashes of White Light
Behind the dark silhouette
of the newscaster
Blue tits,
thrushes
all nesting in the garden
this morning.
this year’s honeysuckle
a final hike
down the mountain
on msnbc
the guy smirks
and shows shelled tanks
war without bleeding
lightning without thunder claps
when will the rain start?
rain outside
in the dog’s mouth
his entire foot
dust blows
through newspaper pages
to other dust
the maple tree
sprouts buds of burgandy
an old bird’s nest
—b’oki.
rarely at your grave–
geranium blooms freely
on your workshop stool
in loving memory of my father,
Harold A. Borgh
early spring
no visitors
just a butterfly
spring blizzard
drifts shoulder high
sundial tip
birds chatting
crocus in a patch of snow
spring awakens…
bleeding sunset
last of the green tomatoes
ripening
Margaret Hehman-Smith
clinicians don’t use
the ego or superego anymore
but theorists do
Allan Isaac
in my office
says I want juice
war in the headlines–
early robins forage
in snowmelt
Ash Wednesday–
the white rose
bows its head
Yesterday’s commute,
red-tailed hawk –
today: two hawks
Young blossom
in her creased old hand.
My mother sitting, ages
For Adèle
a following breeze
fills our sails
moving day once again
golden poppies
as I drive through the pass
descent into spring
retired colonel
he plants his flowers
in serried ranks
sun through
warm fog —
nothing but war news
Two haiku:
Bombs drop, children cry
The moon that shines on Iraq
Also shines on me.
Spring brings soft, sweet smells
but this morning in Basra
We smell only smoke.
birds perch
in sheltering branches–
a grain of mustard seed
(Matthew 13: 31-32)
TIME OF SINGING, 1995
seasons come and go…
the ageless tree before me
my sighs, for times past
Puffed up billows of white cloud
Buffed up pillows float
There I’ll rest my head
snow falling
robins peck at
the frozen ground
spring snow storm
cat curls up on lap
another cup of coffee
spring snow storm
cat curls up on lap
another cup of coffee
A chill wind blew in,
the tulips came too early,
petals on the snow.
©Judith A. Lawrence
Full moon:
war talk
on the radio.
unopen iron gate
the fragrant white blossoms
blow through anyway
like tiny tanks, snails
approach the new flowerbed.
run, plants, run.
dark clouds, single beacon of sun
does the sailboat realize it is within the beacon?
spring breeze
a parade of twirling
pear blossoms
joy — wonderful joy–
wonderful day–
prosperity! wonderful joy!
seen under covers
new loves wrapped in stolen night
holding off morning
TWO HAIKU FOR ROBINS
A few petunias
Snapdragons, gold and white mums
The robins are gone.
Holding in my heart
As days become cold and dark
Robins will return.
towers against trees
metal brackets in clear sky
thin-slicing heaven
bird of tourmaline…
her wings’ breeze, brushed my cheeks…
perch, my fingertips
gentle rain
washing away
last of winter’s white
May I say what a great idea this is! I live in England so I won’t be at the live event. I hope it goes well. I am one of your subscribers and I’ve sent my ‘attempt’ at a haiku in a reply to your daily e-mail! Here it goes again in case you haven’t received it.
stormy night
neighbour’s windchimes ring
a blackbird sings
There it is I hope you like it!
Regards Peter H Evans, Ilford, Essex UK
sod strips unrolled
where the barn was
a tender green
Buttoning her back
one never fading flower,
peace-seeking tattoo.
a paperback mystery
a dog’s bone
marking the page
Thank you very much.
Coming out of
anesthesia…
the Cross on the wall
TIME OF SINGING, 1997
AND SO MY SOUL, 2001
Lullabye
Mommy holds me close,
rocking softly, singing low,
almost sleeping now.
–Ken Ritchie
honoring my Mom,
raising children, making home,
Charlotte Ritchie Leach (1921-)
spring rain–
closed green shutters
on the abortion clinic
baghdad burning
a hint of red
in the cedars
in the buzzing air
a flag hangs limply upside-
down beside the door
I like the haiku! inspiring and refershing. =)
Wow! I liked this chain of haiku and enjoyed reading them.
Hey Dylan, this is Ezra Pound!
For all I know this was obvious straightaway to everyone else, but the familiarity of your haiku (Haiku spring…) bothered me for several days, until it came to me:
The apparition of these faces in the crowd :
Petals, on a wet, black bough.
…so it’s an “homage” then?
Better late than never…
twilight
The Wonder Wheel’s car rolls to the night’s edge
http://history.amusement-parks.com/users/adamsandy/wonderwheel.htm
rolling thunder
the ditch wet with blood
I enjoyed reading all the Haiku. I was too busy to submit, but wish I had done so. A Haiku anyway, jo
white clouds hover
above El Cap’s snowy peak
mesh – become one
all haiku very good&meeningfull metters
i thing haiku is very small&powerfull
in praise of creator
meditating frogs join
the lilies
life lines
running through the dark brown-black bark —
haiku moment
–
Vernal equinox –
for a moment the old tree plum
rejuvenates too
wintry-rain
drips from the green umbrella tree leaf
upon my head
–