children squealing
slowly the oldest gorilla
focuses elsewhere
- Ruth Yarrow
The thief left it behind,
the moon
at
the window
- Ryokan
What is really ours? In the sense of this haiku ( my personal favorite) what we "own" or possess may
be very little... perhaps our memories of who we once were or what we once had... perhaps some understanding and then...
The moon
broken again and again on the sea
so easily mends
- Choshu
aware
of the heart:
handling
glassware
- Raymond Roseliep
A
firefly flitted by:
"Look"!
I almost said
but I was alone
- Taigi
Simply trust:
do not the petals flutter down,
just like that
- Issa
poppy-
both of us
simply
alive
-Issa
The next morning
rereading the last page
of the happy ending
- Tom Tico
free at last, the fly
flew out the window-and then
right back in again
- James Hackett
monastery bell
the curled cat opens its eyes
closes them again
- Jerry Kilbride
Today it struck me-
the thought of red suns setting
after I'm gone
- Gunther Klinge
vacation over--
hearing the sea
in the traffic's roar
-Pamela Miller Ness
the old cat carries off
a little sunshine
on his back
- Anita Virgil
Everyone is asleep
there is nothing to come between
the moon and me
- Enomoto Siefu-Jo
warm evening
an open door
to someone's living room
- John Stevenson
This huge ocean-
I could stand here forever
it would still come to me
- Proxade Davis
when I have sat long enough
the red dragonfly
comes to the wheatgrass
- Laurie Stoelting
Resting...
the sagging fence
goes on up the hill
- Foster Jewell
coming home
flower
by
flower
- Jane Reichhold
fence fallen away
I close the rusted gate
behind me
- Yvonne Hardenbrook
in the pollen
on my car
her signature
- John Stevenson
old passport
the tug
of my father's smile
- Yu Chang
cabin steps
fresh birch seeds
since morning
- Hilary Tann
as the light fails,
still hammering
from the treehouse
- Lee Gurga
noh play-
watching the throat
behind the mask
- Hilary Tann
waiting for you
another pair of headlights
through the fog
- Yu Chang
amber light...
creased
in the roadmap
a place we've been
- Peggy Willis Lyles
Across the fields
a swallow carrying one hair
from the plow horse
- vincent tripi
migrating geese-
once
there was so much
to say
- Adele Kenny
lone red-winged blackbird
riding a reed in high-tide-
billowing clouds
- Nick Vigilio
in autumn rain
looking back at the smoke
from my chimney
- Anita Virgil
in the mountains
a roadhouse sign goes out
clouds blow off the stars
- Cor van den Heuvel
The little breeze
that touched my face
returns
- Alexis Rotella
a deep bruise
I don't remember getting
autumn evening
-John Stevenson
crowded bus through fog
someone singing
in another language
- Ruth Yarrow
In this empty web,
left
by a will to be free
a pair of small wings
- James Hackett
Just leaves
where the carnival
was
- Alexis Rotella
winter evening
leaving father's footprints
I sink into deep snow
- Nick Virgilio
stalled car
foot
tracks being filled
with
snow
- Gary Hotham
the river-
coming to it with nothing
in my hands
- Leatrice Lifshitz
how silently
the wave-tossed log is beached
and snow-flaked
- Geraldine C. Little
At the summit tree,
my exhausted dog lifts his leg
a dry formality
- James Hackett
the old man
blows
his nose then smells
the daisy
- John Wills
Moving with
the clock tower's shadow
the flower lady
- Alexis Rotella
as the sun comes out
a sail appears from behind
the island
- Cor van den Heuvel
summer night
the tide flows
from the estuary
- John Stevenson
On
the rabbit's fur
just enough snow
to be snow
- vincent tripi
at the corner
she
finds a wind to spin
the
pinwheel faster
-Gary Hotham
old slippers
the comfort
coming apart
- John Stevenson
night of the blizzard:
my snow angel glowing
under a street lamp
- Adele Kenny
a crow in the snowy pine
inching up a branch,
letting the evening sun through
- Nick Virgilio
no sound to this
spring rain-
but the rocks darken
- Anita Virgil
dark road
sparks from a cigarette
bounce behind a car
- Cor van den Heuvel
Old Lincoln-
a deeper lavender
where the wrench lay
- Alexis Rotella
another
bend
now at last the moon
and all the stars
- John Wills
pueblo roof edge
Hopi mother pats the dance
into her baby's back
- Ruth Yarrow
An old spider web
low
above the forest floor,
sagging full of seeds
- James Hackett
The day i find,
the
day it finds,
firefly
- vincent tripi
Indian summer-
we ride around town
just to be riding
- Lenard D. Moore
Saturday downpour-
swiveling the stool
at the soda counter
- H.F. Noyes
A wisp of spring cloud
drifting
apart from the rest
slowly evaporates
- Tom Tico
Old pond:
frog jump in
water sound
- Basho
oppossum bones
wedged in an upper fork-
budding
leaves
- Lee Gurga
A Halloween mask
floating
face up in a ditch
slowly
shakes its head
- Clement Hoyt
Lean-to of tin;
a pintail on the river
in the pelting rain
- Robert Spiess
In a tight skirt
a woman sweeping leaves
into the wind
- Virginia Brady Young
a poppy...
a field of poppies!
the
hills blowing with poppies
- Michael McClintock
the flick of high beams-
out of the dark roadside ditch
leaps a tall grass clump
- Paul O. Williams
fog moves through
the burned out house:
gently
- Jack Cain
Since settling to earth
the high spirit of that kite
has
gone completely
- Kubouta
quietly
we become
audience
- Hilary Tann
a bit of birdsong
before we start
our engines
- John Stevenson
yesterday's paper
in the next seat-
the train picks up speed
- Gary Hotham
The feeling and sense of this wonderful haiku have stuck with me for years. Being in this moment is to be touched by
all that is constantly left behind. The newspaper is a token of what was, not what is, and as such presents a potent reminder
in concert with the train's picking up speed that the moment is fleeting and quickly lost. You have a sense of being alone
and looking to the empty next seat and there's a random wonder about whether yesterday's news is worthy of retrieving. The
paper and the train's motion together fill you with a depth of recognition that captures perfectly the heart of loneliness,
