Contents
 

 

 

Sketchbook 

Haiku

 

 

an'ya, US

skipping along
an empty desert highway—
the tumbleweed

 

 

on a hunch
turning on the porchlight—
first snowflakes
 

 

 


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
 

 

 


 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

 

 


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
 

 

 


Andreas Gripp, CA

flurries at night
flakes glitter
with the stars

 

 

blizzard’s wind
pushing drifts
shifting landscape
 

 

 


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.
 

 

 


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.
 

 

 


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
 

 

 


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
 

 

 


Terra Martin, CA

snowstorm
shadows the footsteps
left behind
 

 

 

Read the winning Haiku for the December Hunt Kukai

Read the Editor's Choice Haiku for the December
"outerwear" thread

 

 


top of page

 

1