Tag: haiga

empty nest
still
the bird sings

gossiping among themselves
       their stories
       centuries old

 

 

Photo: The Three Gossips
Arches National Park
Moab, UT

 

first rain releasing held breath of summer

 

 

watercolor: Michael Kowalewski, UK
haiku: Sonam Chhoki, Bhutan

nearly spring --
          a shadow of the words
       you left behind

spring sunlight
  rose tinted glasses
    accent a black eye

untouched for two days
my journal waits, patient
as an atom bomb

unexplored world
from behind the neighbor’s fence
a cosmos

 

 

(Honorable Mention in The 17th Mainichi Haiku Contest)

 

calm mist
the cowbells
marching

     first drizzle ...
 all that was left unsaid
      in your eyes

 

dawn stillness
   a blue heron
rising without a ripple

woodpecker song
   luring me deeper
      into solitude

letting go
     the party continues
          without us

wildflower walk
        the
          path
         veers
               off
   through winter

a few ducks for company the long way home

just where the sky
meets the sea—
laughing gulls

sere grasses …
summer threads
unraveling

 

haiku only published in kernelsonline, Summer 2013

 

old love letters
your words
in light and shadow

 

photo by Frank Russell

 

chilly morning
my spring coat
stays packed

my father’s country—
each year he goes home
for the last time

fall migration . . .
many wings beat
against a moon drum

when caught
how to release
resentment?
as wind disperses water
as water erodes stone

glassy lake
flocks of snow geese
pull up the moon

bone density …

the broken stems

of sunflowers

beachcombing the detritus of us

water and stone

how we shape

each other

mouth of the river
an ever-changing story
told to the sea

hospice pond
a ripple settles
into stillness

redwood time . . .
the steady journey
from earth to sky

https://www.makinostudios.com/gallery

mountain meadow
ten thousand ways
to open into grace

plain brown bulb
the mystery
of becoming

northern lights
the blur of scarves
as skaters pass

self storage
the bits we keep
to ourselves

 

mossy log
a ruffled grouse drums
up the dawn

originally published in Frogpond 42.2, 2019

living will
the kids know all I need
in the end
sunlight on my face
and ice cream every day

beach umbrella
all day the orbit
of its shadow

(haiku published in The Heron’s Nest, XXI.3, Sept. 2019)

dawn
your body’s outline
follows mine

fox tracks …
who was I before
I was tamed?

(Haiku first published in The Heron?s Nest, Volume XVII, Number 1: March 2015)

gloomy morning
a windchime paddle loses
its momentum
we long for life as it was
and the return to normal

dawn meditation
the valley surrenders
its mist

in the beginning cherry blossoms

the measure
of a life
the flower
that blooms
for a single day

morning birdsong
so many small
reunions

thunder clap ravens fly at the dream’s collapse

berry-picking
even our shadows
turn blue 

bright green needles
on the fire-scarred redwood —
what we’ve each survived

point A
to point B …

is life
ever really
that simple

originally published on Instagram

tall grass
carries the scent of the sea
fishing memories
from my childhood
the father I lost

between the pages
of a half-price
guidebook —
the colors
of someone’s autumn

my easel stands
neglected in the corner
still flecked
with bright colors of a world
I no longer recognize

scattered thoughts
going where the wind
takes me

telling stories of long ago the sound of rain

babushka dolls
carrying my ancestors
inside of me

A smudge
of blackbirds swirling
into evening . . .
how fluid the shape
of this sorrow

home from work
the intimacy
and loneliness
of a shared wall

unheeded love songs freeze between worlds

the ups and downs
of a September day
goldfinches

 

riptide / we won’t go back

the music of the spheres
in my dreams I know the words

Mining for gold at dawn kalinga sagar

deep river
the places
that call us home

fern spores
the ellipsis after
your goodbye

prairie gale
the groan of a silo
holding steady

to love this body
just as it is
twisted shore pines

indian summer
holding on
and letting go

the struggle
to keep going
summer heat

finding a place to rest the scent of autumn

evening walk—
empty street
but for the sun

one hiker
out of millions
a pebble loosens

 

Art by Linda Miles. More of Linda’s art can be found at: https://instagram.com/irregularwithlove

the blue hour
you slipped away
without a sound

spring
hanging her best silks
in the wind

migration
the changing course
of my life

deep
in the blossoming
one honeybee

sun-striped path
the forest’s outbreath
fills our lungs

the odd angles of dissent bamboo grove

***

haiku by Geethanjali Rajan; art by Shloka Shankar

bridging
my two worlds
a breath

solar eclipse
the times we choose
to look away

 

HM, ’24 Murtha Contest

the shape of a life
one sparkling wave
returns to the sea

 

art and haiku by Annette Makino

indigo sky
one flies
over center field

refugee train
small hands starfished
against the glass

summer dew
the spider’s focus
on home

 

Haiku: Cherie Hunter Day
Photograph: John Levy.

John Levy is a photographer and poet living in Tucson, Arizona. His most

a day of knitting
loose ends together
brain fog

dawn chorus starlinging me out of night terrors

 

(haiku first published in Whiptail 12)

 

colour wheel what the hummingbird tastes

waterfalling
the metallic teal
peacock’s tail

she understands
the language of frogs
summer wind

  minor revisions
to the text
    spring wind

tulip petals
open
to suggestions

wind phone
the mot juste
of my grief

Photo: John Levy