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an'ya, US
skipping along
an empty desert highway—
the tumbleweed
on a hunch
turning on the porchlight—
first snowflakes
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Gerry Bravi, CA
a thrush sings
the message loud and clear
without words
in a rippled sky
the splash of primary colors
water at evening
bright autumn day
pen in hand I wonder
what to leave out
no words come
I set out to find something
and missed what was
aftermath
what dreams await
beyond despair
shadows fall
another strip of sun
slips away
late November
old leaves touching
new snow
a heron fishing
does he sense something where I
perceive nothing
joggers on the path
do more than their shadows
chase them
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Elizabeth Howard
breakfast path
the snap, crackle, pop
of frosted grass
clear and cold
contrails in the sky
paths in the snow
music homework
three beginners
contrary horns
power lines down
I light the old camp stove
for evening tea
drenched meadow
a herd of pintos splashes
through golden flowers
bars on the sun
trellis icicles
stretching |
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Karina Klesko, US
my heart
with a need to be fulfilled
the path of this river
new moon
i longed for you and we slept
together till dawn
conch
shell
comforting & cool
inside
shattered glass
gazing through the space
where a window used to be
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Andreas Gripp, CA
flurries at
night
flakes glitter
with the stars
blizzard’s
wind
pushing drifts
shifting landscape
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Rita Odeh, IL
oh, Issa, pour me—
some fresh metaphor
from your cup
on top of Fuji
i am nothing but
an ant
being a sponge,
I absorb the seawater
as well as its salt
lilies turn yellow
my love to lilies
stays green
through the mist,
nobody is coming...
an empty nest
poor little louse
living in the mess
of my oily hair
the hot kettle—
is busy looking for—
the water
hand in hand,
we'll climb Mount Fugi—
in tomorrow's dream
the more climbing up—
the less struggle with
the falling rock
climbing up,
towards the dragon's mouth—
an ant
sleepy cat,
giving a great yawn—
to the passing—by rat
one fly,
just one, in my morning—
cup of coffee
a sudden shower,
the cow is seeking refuge
behind the scarecrow
first rainbow—
a crow arguing with
a sparrow
wagging her tail—
finally, the cricket
is under control
oh, Issa:
forty years old, yet, my blood type
is still B*
* B is a rare blood type in Japan.
It carries a sense of melancholy.
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John Daleiden, US
lion and lamb
lie down beside each other—
the stuff of dreams
without their
voices
these geese would be lost
snow after dawn
new snow
fall—
the smell of liniment oil
beside a log fire
deer tracks
in the new snow--
Rudolf, my son says.
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Shanna Baldwin Moore, US
colors from the deep
swirl in a sunbeam
sparkle of plankton
turtle
dreams....
catching the undertow
of winter waves
after
the storm
driftglass and seashells
along the tide line
sound of
seagulls
in my memories
rusty swings
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Vaughn Seward, CA
late afternoon...
snow clouds over
fields of stubble
night time—
in silence a layer of snow
accumulates
a leaf occupies
its own depression...
snow bank
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Terra Martin, CA
snowstorm
shadows the footsteps
left behind
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Read the winning Haiku
for the December Hunt
Kukai
Read the Editor's Choice
Haiku for the December
"outerwear" thread
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