USA

  • Adelaide B. Shaw

    heavy wind–
    magnolia blossoms
    holding on


    pond algae–
    a great blue heron
    poised at the edge
     

    outdoor café–
    sharing the sticky table
    with an ant
     

    hot afternoon–
    the sharp click of heels
    on an empty street
     

    empty beach–
    crossing the hot sand
    a gull’s shadow
     

    Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Millbrook, NY with her husband. She has three children and six grandchildren. She writes haiku and other Japanese short form poetry and has been published in many journals. Her collection of haiku, An Unknown Road, placed 3rd in the Mildred Kanterman Merit Book Award for 2009. A sampling of her work may be found on her blog: www.adelaide-whitepetals.blogspot.com

  • Bruce Ross

    Around Jordan Pond

     

    We are making our annual circuit around this huge freshwater lake sealed off from the nearby Atlantic and surrounded by glacially carved mountains covered by spruce and pine. In a week or so the roads leading to it will be closed. There is no one beside us. It is very cold with off and on rain as nature adjusts itself to the coming dormancy:
     
                                               late autumn drizzles . . .
                                               white and green lichened boulders
                                               above the lake
     
    I am drawn into the tactile strangeness of red granite glacial boulders and their coldness within the greater coldness. Their starkness placed up the mountains among or below the evergreens is a classic Chinese landscape. But the one or two solitary boulders I see now define the Zennian regard for empty space surrounding a rock diffused within an atmospheric transformation, stillness within change:
     
                                                 glacial boulders
                                                 in the lake shallows
                                                 drifting mist . . . 
     
    We reach a rustic wooden bridge. In the water seems to be a stick floating along, the only thing moving on the water. I think of the simplicity and absolute presence things sometimes evoke but joke to my companion, "Look, the Loch Ness Monster." But of course it is a beaver which we follow into an inlet and watch him collect small branches, one at a time, for a dam across the stream entering the lake. Only a few feet away on its hind legs, a little like ET. I wish him good luck as we move on:
     
                                                 a cold rain. . .
                                                 from the beaver's dive
                                                 the littlest plash
     
    It is very cold at the finish of the trail, wet and muddy. Our hoods are up and our heads down to avoid the sleeting rain. We are exhausted and frozen, looking forward to the warmth of the car. I see then what I couldn't imagine:
     
                                                steady wind . . .  
                                                in two of the puddles
                                                washed-up eels
     
    I watch them circle their tiny enclosures in slow spiraling motions, taking their life's breaths where they could. I picked the smaller one up with our staffs to toss in the lake, but it squirmed so, it dropped two feet short in a dense thicket, its fate in its own strivings. The large one landed in the shallows, adjusted itself for a moment among some rocks, and then slowly and evenly swam away into the lake's depths.  
     
     
     
     
    Bruce Ross is a humanities educator and past president of the Haiku Society of America. He has authored four collections of haiku, most recently summer drizzles . . .   haiku and haibun. He edited Haiku Moment, An Anthology of Contemporary North American Haiku and Journey to the Interior, American Versions of Haibun, and co-edits the annual Contemporary Haibun. He also authored How to Haiku, A Writer's Guide to Haiku and Related Forms and endless small waves haibun (2008). Bruce lives with his wife Astrid in Maine.
  • Lucas Stensland

    I can't tell
    if it's her underlining
    or mine ---
    she went back again
    to her husband


     
    young boys
    checking out
    young girls
    I'm too damn old
    for this damn store

  • M. Kei

    nineteen...
    she tells me
    when she dies
    to have her ashes
    made into a blue diamond


     
    the groan of my knees
    as I drag myself up
    from the concrete floor ---
    this is a young man's job
    but a wage is a wage


     
    a few more dreams ---
    clouds piled
    on the grey branches
    of grey trees
    on a grey day

  • Margaret Dornaus

    all around us
    the violence of last night's storm
    unpredictable
    as the bouquet of roses
    you lay down beside me

  • Pamela A. Babusci

    planting
    a white gardenia
    within her heart
    this time it will be
    impossible to forgive


     
    at night
    she sheds her veneers
    and escapes
    into a blue river
    of morning glories

  • Adelaide B. Shaw

    clearing skies–
    in the marshes, cabbage
    fully grown
     

    first day of spring–
    daffodils flown in
    from Ireland
     

    spring equinox
    a field of fresh manure
    around the bend
     

    warmer days–
    reflections on the pond
    between ice floes


    April dawn . . .
    on the gray horizon,
    the promise of blue

     

    Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Millbrook, NY with her husband. She has three children and six grandchildren. She writes haiku and other Japanese short form poetry and has been published in many journals. Her collection of haiku, An Unknown Road, placed 3rd in the Mildred Kanterman Merit Book Award for 2009. A sampling of her work may be found on her blog: www.adelaide-whitepetals.blogspot.com

  • Adelaide B. Shaw

    THE GOOD LIFE

    Everything you need
    Everything you want
    At the Mall
    Clothes for school, clothes for work
    At the Mall
    Running shoes, party shoes,
    Fill your house, your garage
    At the Mall
    Come today, come tomorrow
    Hang out here. Meet your friends
    At the Mall
    Short of cash.  Charge it now
    At the Mall.
    Everything you need
    Everything you want
    At the Mall

    indoor garden
    the artificial color
    of roses

     

     

    AFTERNOON AT THE GUEZE de NEVE CAFÉ

    I am a woman alone, sipping wine in a corner café. On this last Thursday of November the Brussels sky is overcast.  The awning on the tobac across the street flaps in the wind.

    bell above the door–
    settling near the window
    a few dried leaves

    The café, named after a local beer, has blue décor. Blue and white tiles on the floor, blue and white ceramic plates on a ledge along the walls, blue and white half curtains on the windows, a blue haze of smoke swirled across the ceiling by a creaking paddle fan.  The proprietress, wiping glasses behind the bar, has a cigarette burning in an ashtray. Two customers drink coffee and smoke.  I light up my own.

    pop music–
    unintelligible words
    French or English

    Outside, snow flurries, spattering shoppers’ coats, parked cars, the tobac awning.  The old fashioned pendulum clock loudly ticks away the afternoon. Dusk darkens into night.  Lights come on outside and in the café.  Through my window reflection I see a familiar figure hunched against the wind-blown snow.  His conference over, my husband joins me.

    cold hands in mine
    he orders brandy for two–
    a Thanksgiving toast
     

    Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Millbrook, NY with her husband. She has three children and six grandchildren. She writes haiku and other Japanese short form poetry and has been published in many journals. Her collection of haiku, An Unknown Road, placed 3rd in the Mildred Kanterman Merit Book Award for 2009. A sampling of her work may be found on her blog: www.adelaide-whitepetals.blogspot.com

  • Adelaide B. Shaw

    at day's end
    a task not completed
    a poem not written;
    there is no moon tonight,
    the clouds will have to do



    blue wildflowers
    under a matching sky
    slow my walk;
    was there ever a need
    for such hurry before?

  • Adelaide B. Shaw

     

     

     

    Adelaide B. Shaw lives in Millbrook, New York. Her haiku and other Japanese short form poetry have appeared in many journals. Her collection of haiku An Unknown Road placed 3rd in the Mildred Kanterman Merit Book Award for 2009. 

  • Adelaide B.Shaw

    overtaken
    by younger and smarter
    it's easy to quit;
    still... I'll keep pushing forward
    even as I lag behind


     
    birthday dinner ---
    the late summer night
    is filled with insects;
    are they aware of aging
    and the shortness of life

  • Alegria Imperial

    astray
    the pond
    I lied to

     

    magpie chapter
    you can tell whose ‘I’
    is ripped

     

    let it be
    if a mollusk’s pulse
    corresponds to a fugue

     

    the word “seed”
    lodged between
    my incisors

     

  • Allen, Diane

           r  c

        e       o

      v            m

    o                  e

           

           my

            desire

            r

            o

            w

            n

            i

            n

            g

  • an’ya


    at a crossroads
    unsure which way to go
    so I followed
    the sweetest sounding path—
    red-eyed vireos

     

    waking
    to a vanilla sun
    in june
    without you by my side—
    coffee in a cracked cup

  • Andrea Byrd


    rigid joints
    breaking of
    iced branches


    ice cream
    splattered paint
    on my palms

  • Another Sunny Morning in California

    Blandness. Monotony. Boredom. Blue emptiness. Numbness. Lassitude.

    zero in three lines
    0
    o

     

  • Ashbaugh, Marilyn

    small talk
    the creek scampers
    beyond its banks

    Modern Haiku Volume 48:1 (2018)

  • Autumn Noelle Hall

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Autumn Noelle Hall lives with her family in the United States. She draws her inspiration from the flickers and jays, hummingbirds and chickadees which frequent their feeders, the pine squirrels, raccoons, black bears and mountain lions which amble across their cabin deck. Autumn believes these spirits of nature sharing the slopes of Pikes Peak in the state of Colorado are the true haiku masters.

  • B.S. Dixon

    broken mirror-
    my reflection
    in all the pieces

     

  • Beate Conrad

    Foggy Stop


    In the beginning, before any beginning, even before first dawn, there was nothingness. No, not even a word. Simply nothing at all. The absolute absence of everything. The absence of any existence and of any being. The unimaginable, the unspeakable.

    "Death you mean," I add spontaneously.

    No, not even that. Death is the dissolution, the end or transformation of something that is. Of something particular. Therefore death, too, is something particular.

    „The void?“ I assume on a hunch, moving my cold toes in my boots.

    Sounds better. But still the void signifies the absence of filling the space. The space is the condition of the void. But nothingness has no condition; it is defined by nothing but itself. It is indifferent to beginning and end. It is indifferent to any condition and time by being all and nothing. And not even that.

    „Well, then, it is the word which means everything and is nothing,“ I let go triumphantly.

    „What is more comprehensive, with less determination or condition whatsoever, than the word?“ I am freezing in my thick down-jacket.

    Words exchanged
    into the heavy fog night
    arrives the last bus

     

    Beate Conrad lives in Michigan, USA. Her haiku and haiga have been awarded and appeared in a variety of print and online journals. She created several haiku related artworks combing visual arts and music.