• Bryan Rickert

    late summer leaves
    start to lose their green
    this longing
    to shave my head
    and start life anew


    in line
    to view the body
    cottonwood fluff
    outside the church door
    swirled by the wind

  • Bryan Rickert

    grandma’s quilt
    all the worn holes
    in autumn leaves


    morning chill
    the door’s squeak played
    by the breeze


    midday sun
    a pond turtle breaks
    the surface


    old fishing pond
    the steady bite
    of horseflies

  • Camargo, Claire Vogel

    bare branches

    a raven weighing
  • Cariello, Matthew


    blackbird lilac forgive my confusion


    half-moon half-no-moon raspberry blossoms


    noon whistle          this is not my life

  • Cariello, Matthew M.

    my winter family
    stink bugs
    in the rafters

    this snow or the last?
    my father forgets
    my name

    my hair half white
    not even thick enough
    for a louse

    why don’t pigeons
    perch in trees? 
    bitter rain

  • Carr, Jennifer

    cooking dinner
    daughter turning
    into her mother


    sleeping bag
    on the park bench
    a prayer

  • Carrie Ann Thunell

    after many year’s absence
    monarch butterflies
    grace the garden


    shuttered storefronts—
    finding deer
    downtown at dawn


    before sunrise
    tree roots
    untie my laces

  • Cates, Anna

    hail storm
    thrashing the white pine
    hour of the monkey


    pink lily pads
    a stork beaks up
    the splash


    spring dawn
    in a foal's eyes
    milky clouds


    warm stars
    slipping through our fingers
    sand and time


    a great mountain
    washed with rain—
    I climb it

  • Catherine J.S. Lee


    After thirty-seven years, he says it: "Let's sell the house and get out of here." How I longed to flee this island. High-school friends moved away. My sons escaped to Boston and New York City. And now my husband is ready to go. Thinking about my rose garden, the cove near our house, I wonder why I ever wanted to leave.

    drifting clouds
    spring's first wild geese
    in the meadow


    Catherine J.S. Lee lives, writes, teaches, and gardens on an island on the coast of Maine, USA, near Canada.  A published short-story writer for over 20 years, she began her haiku journey in July, 2007.  Her haiku have appeared in a variety of print and online journals and some have done well in national and international contests.  Her collection, All That Remains, was the winner of the 2010 Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition. 

  • Catherine J.S. Lee


    The haiga editor’s comment:

    Cat gives us a lot to think about. Her haiga are very resonant with wonderful photographs that interactively compliment her haiku. The thought that “black ducks” can lead you home is something intriguing to ponder. One remarkable aspect of her haiga dwells in her methodical approach as to where she will place her haiku on the photograph. Wonderful and traditional, her haiga will have a lasting place here at Simply Haiku (in this case Simply Haiga!)

    Catherine J.S. Lee lives, writes, teaches, and gardens on an island on the coast of Maine, USA, near Canada. A variety of print and online journals have published her haikuHer collection, All That Remains, was the winner of the 2010 Turtle Light Press Haiku Chapbook Competition and was published this spring, 2011. She is one of 18 featured poets in A New Resonance 7:  Emerging Voices in English Language Haiku, new this spring from Red Moon Press.  

  • Charles D.Tarlton

    saying penance
    at the communion rail
    piety failed me
    I saw myself,bowing
    just perfectly so

  • Charles Tarlton

    rushing to lecture
    frantic I don't know the room
    will the students
    be waiting? oh,wake up
    you've been retired a year

    slabs of cold
    gelatinous air slide downhill
    in the morning
    light and shadows painted
    on implausible layers of glass

  • Colleen M. Farrelly

    Fires and Stones

    A street preacher spitting fire and brimstone, warning of the Day of the Lord to the brother in the back, who’s casually slipping something to another’s hand. The sister in the front, crying out with the Spirit, tears smearing her heavy make-up, confessing until it’s time to turn another trick for food. Fire and brimstone to scare the children straight and stave off his next fix. Fire and brimstone to whip the followers into a frenzy and fill his “Glory, glory, hallelujah!” wallet.

    a mitten
    marring the freshly-fallen snow —
    childhood lost

    A few blocks away, we share half a gyro and a heart-led prayer on the stone wall outside the homeless shelter. A flick. A small flame from the lighter finally sparks his cigarette and un-numbs our hands. I’ll be back in the morning, but he’ll be gone to wherever he goes.

    warm ashes —
    night stars calling lost souls

    Haibun Today, December 2018

  • Cooper, Bill

    pear blossom thawing to the beat of wrensong

    young inmate reupholstering a library window seat

    trombone smile in a hoarse voice   widdly roo de waz

    midnight dock wind the melody of lobster pots


  • Copeland, Seth

    choked with stone
    prairie verbena grips wind

    a longspur licks a ladybug from the flowers

    read rimbaud at last
    violets filled my mouth

    bum wine pints mock the jesus on grandma’s wall

    plains dusk / water stargrass
    wreathes dead fish

    off bank a grasp of sneezeweed shudders & bows

    thumb the gideon’s
    all hotels smell this way

    dogs rut on the hot chat, burn paws & stomachs

  • crepuscule with monk

    crepuscule with monk. autumn's raven settles into the bone

    withered leaves cling in whispers from the oak

    moonlight by proxy a streetlight stains the sleepless walls

    only an hour left before rapture

    another news cycle and still no closer to god

    yes and no the question of consent

    deeper than thought a light frost sublimates into the wind

    running on empty nest syndrome

    she tidies the cedar chest, a photo falls to the floor

    smoke from the bonfire of letters

    no paper trail and yet as guilty as any other

    first stone is a glancing blow

    ripples of sunlight on snowmelt a stonefly nymph

    the delta of venus in furs

    braiding a sense of self from snippets of folksong

    into the grand fugue state of the union

    doddling this way and that, he's forgotten the war

    contrails fading high in the crosswinds

    petal by petal by petal... the hours pour through me

    off beat and slightly out of tune


  • Cygan, Amy

    Van Gogh pretending same sunflower painted

    Bones – Journal for Contemporary Haiku. Issue No. 14

  • Cyndi Lloyd

    days in the sun...
    father and daughter
    on a tandem swing

    the deeper blues
    from my childhood


    not listening
    to my body again


    an olive branch parts
    the fog

  • Dan Hardison

    Antiques and Collectables
    Walking along a downtown street, a window caught my eye. “Antiques and Collectables” read the sign above. There was a rocking chair, a baby carriage, a chair just right for a child, a glass lamp, a toy car, a pretty little doll, figurines, old magazines, and faded photographs. Old things, sentimental things, all cherished possessions once.
    clock on the wall
    ticking away the time
    gone forever


    Dan Hardison lives in Wilmington, North Carolina. Dan is a writer, photographer, and  artist working primarily in pencil, pastels, and woodblock printmaking. His poetry has been published in multiple publications. Dan's  the editor of the book "Life's Journey, Collected Essays and Poems" by George W. Jones.

  • Dan Hardison


    The haiga editor's comment:

    In reading Dan’s haiku, I notice that each one continues to float my mind in a lingering breeze of pondering. Without complication, his work remains delicately engaging yet causative. The images are carefully chosen and combined with gentle, thought provoking haiku for an enjoyable viewing and reading experience.

    Dan Hardison resides in Wilmington, North Carolina (USA). He is a writer, photographer, and an artist. His work has appeared in multiple online and print publications. He is also the editor of the book "Life's Journey, Collected Essays and Poems" by George W. Jones.