Our new background image for issue 21.1?can be seen as a welcome reminder that we humans do overcome incredible obstacles.
winter’s end
a wardrobe slaps closed
revealing a little
more of themselves
crocuses
first daffodil
forever
the show-off
Spring fever
dancing just for themselves
girls in white dresses
a fine mist clings
to old-man’s beard
signs of spring
steady thaw
the wood frog’s heart
beats again
new ache
writing a psalm
on my heart
Light,
the old monk said,
is like silence
you can see.
Holy Saturday
the door cam catches
a porch pirate’s breath
Easter morning
fox cubs scuffle
over a thrush egg
(The Mainichi, April 11, 2020)
empty
a crow leaves
the robin?s nest
between heartbeats
?a breath
of hyacinths
a snowflake
out of nowhere
just one
in the beginning cherry blossoms (haiga)
first rays of sun
on morning frost . . .
I’ll catch the next train
after our tiff
about whose turn to shovel
sudden snowmelt
social distancing
at your place
or mine
only the top
two plates used
pandemic
moonlight
trapped in icicles …
one virus variant
after another
in this new normal
interrupted dream?
I make myself small
to slip back in
Covid life as we don?t know it
lockdown blues
a hit of whip cream
straight from the can
nestled into oak the urge of white trilliums
A micro haibun by Taofeek Ayeyemi.
year of the ox
most of us
plodding on
gibbous moon
she gives me the bigger
piece of pie
graveyard shift
another year of waiting tables
of waiting dreams
migrant
detention
sunset
ladders
the sky
family tree
the leaves
that brought me here
my child –
wind blown leaves
beyond recall
empty playground
a lollipop-shaped
swarm of ants
cactus?blossoms holding on to hope
the measure
of a life
the flower
that blooms
for a single day
(haiga)
late Monday
the quiet work
of bees
imagine the sound of rain
to the snail
inside its shell
deep wrinkles
the paths into her eyes
filling with rain
sun among the branches …
in the smile of an old man
a gold tooth
temple procession
in between drumbeats
elephant chains
barely dawn
a spider weaves yesterday
into today
a flash of kingfisher blue morning fog
glass rings
on the barroom counter
daylight moon
another bill drops in the letter box longer days
pandemic
another candle
at dusk
its fragrance
almost a taste
lilac
hammock time
a neighbor?s lawnmower
cuts it short
Full moon
how is it, my friend
where you are
wind-blown rain
gutters fill
with blossoms
morning birdsong
so many small
reunions
(haiga)
evening quiet
the widow wears
his glasses
old photo
the smiles
I left behind
rusting in dry dock
a boat named
let it be
high tide
a ghost crab
unearths the stars
if only
I could awake
in the arms
of the northern lights …
dancing, dancing
thunder clap ravens fly at the dream?s collapse
(haiga)
completing
the silence
coyotes
after a quarrel ?
from the chimney
cooing of doves
yellow locust leaves
settling between the bricks
we decide to stay
moving day
a pink flamingo peeks
from the trash
late spring
a robin?s
thinning voice
out of the blue
my son calls?
late spring
Zoom?
I hazard
a new red lipstick
Sunday afternoon
I know the time
by the light
green everywhere i turn into summer
berry-picking
even our shadows
turn blue
(haiga)
it’s hot, it’s hot . . .
the late-night complaints
of banjo frogs
ripe mango
that delicious shiver
after rain
talk of rain
the first drop hits
my lower lip
the well too full
for empty words to echo
Note: This is a tan renga by Jennifer Hambrick and Brad Bennett.
creeping phlox
pours over the ledge
she says what I feel
waterfall –
a single drop of river
finds its fern
veins of quartz
running under the firs
white water
waning light
a cormorant and I
linger in deep water
rented cottage
a hummingbird returns
to an empty feeder
antique shop
today’s prices
on vintage tags
sipping tea
sent by a friend
as a birthday gift
I am learning
to grow old
late innings in the stands gathering dust
grieving all day
in the wind
three tall magenta zinnias
(previously published in Modern Haiku, 2020)
sister lotus
teach me the Dao
of blossoms
zoom therapy
the small holes in the back
of my sweater
bones the geology of me
age spots
I no longer talk
with my hands
everywhere
someone’s hands
this old adobe
with every storm
this spiderweb
rent and rebuilt
day long rain
the missing numbers
on the remote control
spitting rain
the sound of noodles
hitting the wok
banana split
the child in me
still a child
family photo —
everyone wears
the same smile
(originally published in Chronogram, Dec 2007)
staying in touch?
after the Zoom meeting
moon meditation
St. Mark’s Square
a cloud of pigeons unveils
a cloud of tourists
filling in
the empty spaces
daily crossword
midwinter
a redtail endures
the rain
who knows how long
widowhood lasts
mute swan
marriage anniversary
mom melts the old candles
together
soft winter sun softening the butter
winter rain
a blue bowl overflows
with clementines
he hawk flicks its tailatop the telephone pole–pelting winter rain
gathering dusk
i leave the old toys
at the thrift shop
receding hairline growing my collection of hats
my head
full of worries…
drooping sunflowers
picking wildflowers
she always takes things
literally
wild mushrooms
I kept on picking
the wrong man
she stakes out
her own path
climbing rose
the just-purple
of beach plums
a tern’s whistle
far love
the scent of apples
on the wind
autumn leaves falling for her
autumn afternoon
I bring a little honey to
a slow moving bee
some color
lost in the wash
autumn rain
deep autumn
the red in my hair
long gone