Haiku
edited by Kala Ramesh
wedding album promises to keep
moon clouding and clearing…
the baby
peekaboos his eyes
learning to walk
the spring mudflats…
lotus feet
shuttering the abandoned house
windblown morning
bugleweed
at the gate
full clothesline
in the summer wind
a few pins let go
trees reaching over the trail echoes of boyhood
abandoned state road
wide open—
wild blackberries
train tracks
rusting
into summer’s horizon
sitting to hear what the silence is shouting
our birth
begins our dying ...
cherry blossom
lingering cold
decades after our birth
mother's darkening blues
autumn moon
the scent of candle
heavy in the air
lengthening shadow
another ash print
on my forehead
dew-covered garden
thousands of reflections
better than mine
gingko walk
a stream overflows
with images
ceasefire at dawn the black sunflowers
woodpile pill bug
curling into itself
family cabin
state lines
the punctuation
of run-on corn fields
rhubarb crowns -
a dessert
fit for kings
sunshine
in the toddler’s hand
a daffodil
fields of stubble -
after harvest
I recall dad’s hugs
floating candle
in the bowl
a new moon
knowledge ravaged
by dementia
empty bookshelves
refugee
in a bulging rucksack
her angora rabbit
rotting teeth
a row of condemned
tombstones
board riders
voices rise and fall
on a turquoise sea
leaving some of itself
in the moss
mist lifts from the lake
each strand
drawn with dew –
spider’s web
storm and primroses
beyond my threshold
neighbor's fickle mood
down on my knees
weeding the onions ...
silent worship
almost sunset a parasailer with a rainbow
ash-throated flycatcher the pale-yellow hitch in its song
eyebrow piercing the hushed whispers of strangers
five-decade rosary each morning blackbird a prayer
her sparring gloves
the sudden pop
of a pink peony
how the light catches leaves song sparrow song
poems on the cover a stamped heart
shifting dunes
no need to pedal
with a tailwind
train station goodbye the pain between them
waiting in hospital
the long concert
of a goldfinch
our meeting -
even the clouds
look like flowers
snowflakes -
all shades
of silence
an autumn leaf in silence crosses my silence
step by step I share autumn with my shadow
big squall at sea
the old sailor’s wine
lined with water
friday the 13th
the neighbor's black cat
sleeps on my deckchair
equinox night
the bright moonlight
like a sunlight
my birthday
the delivery guy brings a parcel
for the neighbour
disused rail line
thistles and dandelions
spill over the tracks
somewhere in the rain distant wisteria
everything forgotten shifting moonlight
every snow the same white landscape of her skin
in the hospital windows
nothing but more hospital
how different
these woodland paths
fallen leaves
family reunion
they live their lives
through faded photos
children's laughter—
the woodpecker spirals
up the pine tree
she tells me the truth—
every night the moon
a little further away
the robin's heart
thumping on my finger
mine thumps louder
copper
sculpted into moonlight
beech leaves
a whiteness
through the mist above
a would-be moon
smell of ripe apples
next to the warm stove
Snow White's story
this must be
what heaven looks like
sakura
Tai chi
through the willow tree
a gentle wind
falling petals
the way of spring
to say goodbye
bloodshot sunset
over unharvested wheat ...
war's many faces
explosion
of autumn colours ...
echo of war
first snow
falling on the battlefield ...
young widow's firstborn
blazing poppies
in the blistering sun ...
those vacant eyes
the day comes
with no one from childhood -
unhedged cliff
cooking breakfast-
the cat stares prayerfully
at a passing crow
hearing the music
of the forest ...
autumn rain
a black swallowtail
clings to the parsley
I tiptoe away
fallen leaves ...
the unfinished house
up for sale
window view —
the morning glory
climbs the moon
morning sun
a blue heron lifts
one leg
sound of the train…
waves ripple
across the pond
cicada moon
time comes to
a standstill
full house
you never know
when he's bluffing
rabbit fur
on a barbwire fence
morning frost
petticoat blue panties
wedged in a rock
– underwater blues
bedroom wallpaper
– an odd fly
against the pattern
hanging flower basket
unable to hide
decaying townhouse
white stones in moonlight the beginning and end
in peace and war we live under one sky
country walk
giving a name to the flowers
I don't know
golden sunbeams
my haiku has the voice
of a magpie
using father’s hammer
the nail’s shadow
shorter, shorter
waves keep sinking —
the lies I tell myself
about what I can’t
unmet accusation
the fish crumbles
to the fork
almost full big eyes and smallmouth
the moon a half-eaten snack
orange
flannelling
the wooded hillside
jiu-jitsu
the snowman
has no chance
summer's light
in a circle of fallen
gingko leaves
mailbox names
painted by neighbors
no longer alive
the burl preserved in its bowl
dry dock
the old fisherman's
quiet night
fermenting apples
autumn days
mash together
dune grass
whispering the voyages
of beach sand
just snow petrels before that nothing
seasonal depression...
the cape sand frog
buries its head
day's end
a few petals remain
in the hearse
polished floor
a patch of sunlight
slides
across borders
this language
of snowflakes
ebb tide
shells remain
and questions
watery footprint
one by one the stars
wink back
too much plum wine
the moonlit path home
shines with dew
twenty-eighth-floor terrace
bones of bamboo
clatter
pansy ...
remembering his name
no longer
the sun goes down in my garden cyclamens are blooming
starless night ...
the dark silence
of the sky
our dream
melting like snow ...
frozen morning
a rose blossoms ...
the slow becoming
of a love
locked soldier ants
throw their weight about
—silent disco
driving off-track—
the fattest elephant seal
steals a pre-dug patch
called back
for another scan
the waning of spring
driving into the sunset blinded by birdspatter
the neighbor's St. Bernard comes lolloping over to rescue me
the crooked old tree too heavy with peaches
down your throat
still quivering--
sea cucumber
at the tip of an ancient island diving in
far from home ...
a pair of geese
heading west
slicing today
from tomorrow —
winter lightning
on the road
friends found and lost
the wash of days
death spiral —
the mother octopus
embraces her eggs
winter rain —
cutting the thick pages
of a new book
ahead of me
the endless white road —
noonday sun
our eyes meet
and pass ...
plum blossoms
still
in the moor
voices of autumn
the world in a raindrop red gerbera
an impromptu singalong
with crickets—
candle running out
rash grasshoppers
too much spring
for fall
paper silence
her tip jar clinks
with more loose change
light lingers
the long tilt
towards sleep
night when skies
shimmer too bright
sleep mask with stars
divorce
one loose thread
and the story unravels
highway rain ...
an autorickshaw
chugs along
autumn dusk
a luxury car leaves
the old-age home
weekend morning
a newspaper hangs
on every door
cotton clouds
the many ways he could
have lived more
weekend night
the juice vendor takes
bagasse home
border firing
not all birds fly
one way
harvest moon
no matter which side they turn
Ukraine sunflowers
early snowfall…
aroma of doughnuts
from the old bakery
graveyard shift
a deathwatch beetle
clocks in
my optic nerves thinning the spaces
the seen and the unseen
sun-bleached bones—
a white stone on a distant beach
bares my true name
without
a moment's hesitation
my reflection
after we name trees
darkness drains the forest
of three dimensions
its shape
more fleeting than a teardrop
the match flame
funeral over the song of a woodlark
earth tremor
a fallen
toy soldier
a row of dolls
in the shop window
twilight chill
string puppets are we really free
windsock wherever life takes me
between the id and the ego i walk a tightrope
daybreak
the white dome
grey with pigeons
at war
with ourselves
monoculture
when there’s no one left
to tend your grave
starlight
seaside toilet
even the spider
stays outside
when you realise
what death means
nightingale
the gray pigeon
catches my eye
winter deepens
dogs circle
knots of people
winter dusk
the good old dog days
burning leaves of grass
with a magnifying glass
meeting
an old friend
change of season
first date
a small bird lands
on the park bench
an enso on the scarf baby curl
pilgrims...
thousands of prayers
across the universe
mom's chair...
still hear
her fairy tales
dropping rain
I hum a haiku-song
in a minor key
gentle lullaby
in the tent of refugees
newborn girl
hair cut short
I stop being friends
with the wind
breaking clouds
a litter of puppies left
outside women’s shelter
she calls
I answer—
koel and me
leaving the stars
where they are
mountain river
the path home
becomes narrower
rose bushes
finally in remission rogue summer
moving day
was the house
this big before
midnight downpour
one last page
since three hours
fireflies
my journey has
just begun
used cologne
you linger even after
the funeral
twisted branches
the constant ache
to break free
i carry the face
i dream
with
rocking chair
i come
i go
guilt
of living
i forgive the body
last dance her body is throughout
get together
all parts of me
invited
i
the left-over
of her gaze
peeling off an unclaimed experience
dusk -
a wait gradually
swells
morning prayer
a mantis clings
to my finger
refugee trail
long after humans
scent of wild garlic
spring morning
my bible
without a bookmark
linden path
the lightness
of my father's urn
war front
soldiers' Christmas wishes
in the wind
the darkness
at the end of each day —
full moon
birthday greetings
just a few breaths away
to retirement
romancing the night owl's coos
bumpy road
a postman helps inflate
the tyres
his ashes
next to hers
summer rain
pilgrim's way
slowly, slowly
the pain eases