• Darell Lindsey

    spring garden
    the color returns
    to her cheeks

    winner - Polish International Haiku Competition 2017
    also published in a hole in the light: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2018 ( Red Moon Press, 2019)

  • Davidson, Kari

    rabbit tracks
    through an old patch of snow-
    spring moon

    the wind
    the teapot

    border patrol siren—
    a strand of rosary beads
    falls into dust

    passing travelers—
    the evening sunlight
    in their wine

  • Davis, Pat

    tower bell
    only the kids look up
    to hear it

    slap of a beaver's tail
    I wake into his

    catching words
    in this windy day
    a poem comes and goes

  • Deborah P Kolodji

    the traffic home
    from the hospital
    winter rainbow


    at his remembrance service
    that old portrait


    autumn leaves scattering
    my younger self skips
    to school


    reindeer antlers
    on the car behind me
    my red nose


    prickly pine cone
    she doesn’t return
    the hug


    the name left off
    the gravestone
    her dog’s ashes


    weeds after rain
    a mailbox filled
    with medical bills


  • Don Baird


    drifting here under moon debris under


    river wind meeting an owl's hoot


    atonal tin can tapping nerves


    only shadows allowed between


    mind in mind outside the bark


    moon print pissing on a tree limb



  • Don Baird

    late autumn
    the sunset sketches
    a flamingo


    falling moon
    the calligraphy
    of shadows


    autumn palette
    a red truck dangles
    from the oak


    her words hanging
    in moonlight


    tsunami –
    the swirls of poppy dolls  
    and children



    Don Baird is an internationally known martial arts teacher and poet. He specializes in eastern poetry forms such as haiku, tanka, haiga and haibun. He is moderator of the Simply Haiku Yahoo Group Workshop.

  • Don Baird

    those restless gallops
    in the wind
    shouts of children playing tag
    under the stars near the moon


    the loss
    of you from my pillow
    a sleepy hollow
    where thoughts drum along
    with the beggar down the alley


    her eyes
    limpid in the white lights
    of a Ferris Wheel
    stopped at the starlit crest
    kissing the moonlight


    Don Baird is an internationally known martial artist with a passionate love for haiku, tanka, haiga, haibun, and renga. He is moderator for the Simply Haiku Yahoo online workshop, and an author of a book of poetry. He has placed 3rd twice in a row at the Kusamakura International Haiku Contest. He is well published and has recently released his latest book, Haiku Wisdom (Met Press - Modern English Tanka).

  • Dru Philippou

    with our love
    we fill a bucket
    to the brim
    on this ink-dark night
    it spills out stars


    childhood meadow
    where I learned
    to soothe myself
    in the slowed time
    of whispering grasses

  • E. L. Blizzard

    two hundred thousand
    and counting

  • Edden, Maureen

    eye to eye
    with a blackbird
    we discuss breakfast


    on their faces
    soft focus

    finger painting
    on blue jeans
    blackberry picking

    sipping tea
    in cupped hands
    her bone china


    the tip of my nose
    a state of zen

  • Edward Cody Huddleston

    upping my meds
    more snow
    in the forecast


    the jeweler
    explains her return policy
    first frost


    red clay
    shaking the sunset
    from my boots


  • Elaine Wilburt

    empty fields
    through frost lace on the glass—
    silent night

    C-U Haiku, The News-Gazette, 12.09.18

  • Elaine Wilburt

    cicada holes—
    after so many years
    what’s left behind

    Hedgerow #128, Summer 2019


  • Espenmiller, Lisa

    closing a window
    against the neighbors -
    sharp moon

  • Esther Zimmerman

    pumpkin picking --
    looking for
    the misshapen one

  • Evening Primrose

    pale spirit in fog—
    a sycamore waits by
    the ancient river

    daybreak unveils tender shoots
    spring touches the river banks

    the sundrop
    primrose in yellow
    still upright through winter

    children dream of flying
    above teacher's monotone
    raptors ride the breeze

    primrose hesitates
    blooms in the evening

    an old man
    collects the child
    at the school gate


    Darlene O'Dell, Asheville, North Carolina
    Janine Lehane, Asheville, North Carolina

  • Fantasy called Life

    Berlioz’s ‘Les Troyens’
    in the background
    who will be Cassandre
    heralding the coming
    of something wicked?


    out front
    the thick pink
    of mums
    cuts through
    the darkness


    in bed
    in pajamas
    the sound of a car’s backfiring


    he hasn’t picked up the phone ~
    on the bedside table
    a book of tanka
    and one of senryu


    munching on a piece of chocolate
    can’t help
    turning around abruptly
    there’s a sense
    of something behind me


    whisper of leaves
    and the voice
    of the night sprinklers …
    the moon is God’s
    all-seeing eye


    Verdi’s “O Mon Dieu”
    or will it be Strauss’s “Salome?”
    none of those
    i head to the kitchen
    for a bit of chocolate


    the kid’s in the back room
    a city out of Leggos
    i stare in the mirror
    making faces


    nothing transcendent
    happened to me
    the way
    he spoke to me earlier
    something’s lingering


    i want dahlias and
    a hint of baby’s breath …
    i want Mahler’s music
    playing in this fantasy
    called, ‘my life’


    Orrin Tyrell
    Dallas, Texas


  • Featured Haiku Poet: Ted van Zutphen

    by Robert D. Wilson

    It's not easy to find a haiku poet today whose poetry embodies Basho's admonition: "Follow the zoka, return to the zoka." Most of what is passed off as haiku today is Imagist free verse claiming to be the new haiku in touch with the now, only the now is then, and the people writing the poetry follow teachers who rarely post their poetry on the web except when one of theirs has won an award. They say kigo isn't necessary, and therefore, not the heart of a haiku. They say it's the "haiku moment" that's the heart of a haiku. The "haiku moment" is an invent of Kenneth Yasuda and R.H. Blyth, who believed falsely that haiku is a Zen Buddhist literary genre. Nowhere in the teachings of Basho and his disciples, is this "haiku moment" mentioned; in fact, Basho wrote some of the haiku for his travel diaries before he went on treks across Japan into zoka's bosom. The "haiku moment" was very popular with the Beats and later, the flower children, who have since become deflowered, as it advocated a NOW mindset that didn't take much time or effort: go there, be there, close your eyes, follow the march hare down the rabbit hole into the White Rabbit's lair. Flow, go, and make up the rules as you go along, don't listen to the red queen, sit at the feet of the Cheshire Cat, and you'll be ten feet tall.

    Enter Ted Van Zutphen, a poet born and raised in the Netherlands when it was still called Holland, then moved as an adult to the United States where he married and raised his children. Most of the good haiku poets I encounter today didn't learn their art in a university or from an online Captain This or a Commander That. They see haiku as a path instead of a hobby . . . The mystical dao of poetry Shotetsu and other Japanese master poets traveled on in the cerebral cortexes of their minds and urged others to follow as well. The old masters and those today who aren't lazy observe the zoka with empty minds free of subjectivity, not concerned with two-dimensional objects they enclosed in imaginary picture frames borrowed from the Hallmark Card Company. Haiku become multiple-dimensional when one convenes with the zoka in the writing of a haiku and makes use of aesthetic tools that unearth the unsaid, yugen (depth and mystery), and other styles that breathe breath into a poem the essence music from the Zhuangzi's pipes of heaven.

    van Zutphen knows haiku is not the object-biased Imagist free verse called Modern American Haiku. Instead, he writes activity-biased haiku concerned with the process, the always changing, unpredictable zoka that creates, deconstructs, reconstructs in an endless continuum of time that's not limited to Zen Buddhist thought or the concrete two-dimensional Anglo- Western mindset that places humankind above nature. Humankind destroys, nature sculpts, transforms, and doesn't follow the latest trends.

    waves speaking
    in ancient tongues . . .
    spring morning

    waves: not an object as it’s liquid air, each wave its own creation, part   
                 of a symbiotic dance with the wind and tides.

    speaking: an action verb AND a descriptive modifier using     
                personification to set the stage for an in-depth look at the zoka
                sculpting waves superior to anything a human can sculpt, a
                living, endless string of haiku that's ageless, continuous, and     

    ancient tongues: an action word used as an allegory indicating that
                the sea is not dead, and sings its own song; a term used in
                the New Testament Book of Acts, glossallia, called the 
                language of angels, spoken in prayer, when a follower of
                Jesus Christ is filled with God’s Holy Spirit.

    spring morning: a season indicator and the time of day; a kigo
               reference when used in the right context. Too many today   
               think kigo are nature words instead of that which brings life
               into a haiku, celebrating and emulating the creative power of
               nature. The reason people in the Anglo-West think this way,
               as do many Japanese, is due to a shared German-based
               university system that defines aesthetics, the arts, literature,
               social science, and philosophy with a language ill-equipped
               to fathom and describe Eastern thought. Japan was colonized
               when it adopted this university system that still prevails in

    van Zutphen's haiku is a process (activity)-biased poem that leaves room for a continuum of interpretations. Re-read it a couple times.

    the spring sun
    in its depths

    Again, van Zutphen's haiku, an activity-biased haiku (is there any other kind?) takes readers on a journey concerned with change created by the zoka.

    mountain: something that cannot be picked up or studied in a
               laboratory; an object only if one considers the earth 
               to be a single object. Is this planet living or non-living
               organic matter? Is science capable of making such a

    the spring sun: a season indicator. The sun is not a tangible object
               nor has anyone done anything more than make scientific
               theories as to what the sun is or isn’t.

    Read this a few times. van Zutphen juxtaposes line one with lines two and three to form an amazing, living activity-biased haiku. As a reader it is your job to finish the poet's haiku with your own interpretation. What does this haiku say to you? Notice the focus of this poem is the creative power of nature, the zoka. A kigo only becomes a kigo in the proper context.

    Read the rest of these gems with the zoka in mind. This is real haiku: relevant, activity-biased, and deep.

    oh rock …
    how long will it take
    to wear you down?

    shrouded mountains...
    your presence pierces
    the distance

    misty morning -
    the dogwood blooms
    my breath

    willow branches reach
    for their roots

    setting moon...
    the wall between us
    brick by brick

    dawn moon...
    the red river flows
    into its past

    tidal moon -
    where does the sun rise

    hiding moon -
    still the bloodstains
    on his hands

    morning dew . . .
    your words filling
    the void


    Ted van Zutphen grew up in the Netherlands, lived and raised his family in Ann Arbor, Michigan, where he observed life through the windshield of a bus for 32 years. Since his retirement last year he has been studying and writing haiku and other Japanese short form poetry. He now travels the US in his small RV, visiting family and friends, while experiencing the endless beauty, hope and despair of this country. Previously published in Notes from the Gean, haijinx and Simply Haiku.

  • Flanagan, Michael

    sometimes late at night…   
    I must pause to console     
    the child deep inside     
    October dawn
    a prayer for skill and deer  
    sipping schnapps   
    three months, six days in a truck… 
    yet now we laugh       
  • Fractled

    Spring cleaning...
    the stain of memories
    I fail to remove


    the struggle
    of what blooms...
    April snow


    Winter moonset —
    the light of day in full
    just before dawn


    more ripples —
    a migration of fish
    as the rain stops


    young orphans
    and human traffickers...
    Mother's Day


    record heat...
    people wearing shorts
    this late Winter