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HAIKU DIALOGUE – A Good Wander: The Art of Pilgrimage – Purpose

A Good Wander: The Art of Pilgrimage with Guest Editor P. H. Fischer

“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.” – Basho (translated by Sam Hamill, The Essential Bashō, Shambhala, 1999)

Ready to lose yourself in the wonder of wandering? If so, grab your rucksack, water bottle (filled with a bit of sake perhaps), a pair of good trail shoes, a sturdy walking stick, and, of course, your favourite notebook and pen.

Over these next two months, I’ll share brief reflections and photo prompts from my Camino pilgrimage. This 900 km trek, from France across the Iberian Peninsula to Santiago de Compostela and beyond to the Atlantic Ocean, reignited a passion in me for haiku. I committed to composing at least one poem per day as a practice of being present to the moments unfolding along the way.

I’m not the first to scribble haiku while sojourning through villages, cities, mountains, plains, and sacred sites. Beginning with Basho (his Narrow Road to a Far Province remains the classic haiku travelogue), many poets including Santoka, Ryokan, and Kerouac, have taken to the open road to wander lonely as clouds, sing songs of nature (and themselves), and return to inspire others to join in on the chorus.

I invite you, likewise, to heed the poet’s instinct to get outside to go within; to ramble with intent, to write, and to return from your journey renewed, perhaps even transformed. You don’t need to go to Santiago, Jerusalem, Stonehenge, Graceland, Burning Man, or Matsuyama to accomplish this. Even a walk to the corner store can be a pilgrimage if experienced with our haiku senses attuned. Through the wonders of technology, we can journey from the comforts of our home if a physical jaunt is not possible. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that perhaps the most fascinating journey – navigating our interior landscape – can happen while sitting quietly on our meditation cushion.

It may be true, as J.R.R. Tolkien attested that “not all who wander are lost,” but let’s have fun trying. Isn’t that the goal of both pilgrimage and art – to lose oneself utterly in the present moment? To experience the ineffable/transcendent/divine (pick your term), and at least try to transmute our experience through a creative medium like haiku?

Alright, enough talk! Let’s get out wandering and writing. I look forward to reading your poems about real, imagined, imminent, interrupted, or eventual journeys. May the wind be always at your back!

next week’s theme: Completion

On the twenty-eighth day of my pilgrimage, as I climbed the last ascent of the Camino – Monte do Gozo (yes, wearing trail shoes) – I felt a joy bubbling within and, with it, a knowledge of the heart that couldn’t rise to the tongue. What words could convey the ineffable peace, calm, and serenity of that moment?

Where statements fall short, music, art, poetry, may inch closer. I took out my smartphone. For the first time on the walk, I pressed play on the music app and listened to “Hallelujah” by Leonard Cohen sung by K.D. Lang. Beautiful. Playing the song a dozen times, I crested over the mount and saw Santiago de Compostela reveal itself to me, less like a prize and more like a sigh.

What followed – Santiago de Compostela, the Cathedral, the swinging of the Botafumeiro (the huge incense thurible) during the Pilgrim’s Mass, the crashing of the Atlantic swells against the edge of the continent – was not an end but a commencement. This pilgrimage will forever remain a touchstone for me. A place to return to whenever I need to recall what is possible in life.

Arriving at a desired destination brings such a mix of emotions, doesn’t it? What were the last steps of your favourite journey like? Were you relieved? Was the joy of accomplishment tempered by disappointment that the journey had run out of path? This week, let’s write haiku/senryu about our arrivals – physical or metaphorical. I look forward to meeting you at the finish line and reading your accomplishments.

The deadline is midnight Pacific Standard Time, Saturday November 26, 2022.

Please use the Haiku Dialogue submission form below to enter one or two original unpublished haiku inspired by the week’s theme, and then press Submit to send your entry. (The Submit button will not be available until the Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in.) With your poem, please include any special formatting requirements & your name & residence as you would like it to appear in the column. A few haiku will be selected for commentary each week. Please note that by submitting, you agree that your work may appear in the column – neither acknowledgment nor acceptance emails will be sent. All communication about the poems that are posted in the column will be added as blog comments.

below is Peter’s commentary for purpose:

Your poems continue to inspire me with their breadth of experience and depth of feeling and spirit. As my memories move along the way toward Santiago de Compostela in Spain, this week’s purposeful poems also took me to a labour room, a deserted beach, a New England diner, a school play, Croagh Patrick, a highway during rush hour, fabulous forests, and a sombre concert hall, among many other locales. I encountered a black hole, alpine reflecting pools, witches, hawks, wildflowers, a lama, the smell of sizzling bacon, and a solo traveller loving themselves under a million stars. I can’t wait to share all the fantastic poems selected for this week’s column. Let’s dive in, starting with five poems highlighted for commentary.

Have a wonderful week, everyone!

the octopus
puts its arm up to meet
the young girl’s finger

John S Green
Bellingham, Washington

To live is to be curious. To be curious is to be open. To be open is to trust. In John Green’s beautiful poem, this healthy disposition toward life is on display in a heartfelt moment of discovery shared between a child and an octopus. It’s easy for us to think of children as innately curious and just as easy to forget that animals and sea creatures are as well. A quick scroll through social media confirms how inquisitive and playful dogs, cats, cows, dolphins, crows, elephants, monkeys, orcas, etc. can be. This haiku reminds me of Michelangelo’s “The Creation of Adam” wherein God and the (supposed) apex of God’s creation (made in God’s image) reach out to touch each other from their respective places in the cosmic hierarchy. While that powerful icon has underscored western society’s privileged, patriarchal, domineering stance toward nature (and the other), John’s imagistic poem wonderfully illustrates something else. Might this emerging eco-conscious, interdependent, inclusive world view lead us into a new age of cooperation, empathy, and sustainability? I hope so. The planet’s survival hangs in the balance.

for a lifetime—

Helen Buckingham
Wells, UK

A dayfly, beginning life as an aquatic larva, now emerges from the water as a slight insect with diaphanous wings, and an equally delicate lifespan – a mere two days to check off all the items on its bucket list. Two sunrises, two sunsets, and that’s that, unless, of course, a bird, bat or spider snuffs the dayfly out even earlier. Objectively, this simple five word poem succinctly states the sobering facts facing a dayfly’s existence. Poetically, Helen Buckingham’s perfectly placed five words hold much, much more. Taking its place in a long line of fine haiku preceding it, this poem subtly signifies the transience of life, a fact none of us can avoid. But it also challenges the reader to consider the nature of that temporality. Brief as a dayfly or enduring as a Bristlecone pine, each life, our own included, acquiesces to the simple truth of this poem: we’re here for a lifetime, whatever circumferential length that might be. Our language suggests that, while simple, this truth is tough to accept, let alone celebrate. We say that a loved one’s life was “cut short” or “taken too soon,” and I understand the sentiment completely. This poem, however, invites me to welcome, difficult as it may be, that when life comes full circle, it is perfectly complete. Whether our circles are small or large, they are whole, and wholly worth embracing.

inside his death
I sweep the stoop
in small circles

Kath Abela Wilson
Pasadena, California

Speaking of circles, Kath Abela Wilson’s poignant poem reminds us that there is nothing linear about the grieving process. Stepping inside the experience of death, the subject of this poem locates themself in a liminal place where nothing and everything find motion in the simple act of leaning on a broom and sweeping a stoop. Each circular sweep of straw against distressed wood recalls another memory of the subject and their dearly departed – perhaps chatting with neighbours, watching the antics of an alley cat or pigeons on a fire escape, of tender words spoken, difficult decisions pondered, partaking in the sacred silence shared between two clasped hands in the evening breeze, experiencing the years gently entwining their hearts. Perhaps a passerby might wonder what the subject of this poem is doing, lost in the endless sweeping of an old stoop. But those in the know – caring family, loving friends, empathetic readers of this poem – will continue to hold space for grief and its varied expressions for as long as needed.

polishing brass
my veneer
rubs off

Jonathan Epstein

Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s seminal book Flow, often cited in discussions about creativity, posits that people deeply engaged in an enjoyable activity may experience a positive state of consciousness he called “flow.” Artists, musicians, mystics, writers – including haiku poets – may experience this satisfying, time-collapsing state of being after a period of complete absorption in their pursuits. Jonathan Epstein’s senryu suggests that this meditative, transcendent state is accessible to all, not just to fine artists and hilltop hermits. Flow can happen even while engaging in simple, menial tasks such as polishing brass. The subject of this poem loses themself in the repetitive, “mindless” task of persistent polishing, resulting in a personal epiphany. Gazing into the reflective brass bell, genie lamp, or singing bowl, they gradually see not only their physical visage staring back at them but something much more profound – a glimpse of their inner self momentarily shining unencumbered through the patina of daily existence.

Cold mountain air
and a night on tatami:
worth the hike

Jenny Shepherd
London, UK

In a parallel universe, my second self lives in a humble shack atop a remote mountain. It’s an austere yet purposeful life. I spend my days foraging for a few mountain berries, gathering sticks to stoke a small fire for the lonely evenings, perhaps a brief encounter with a whistling woodcutter deep in the woods, or an excursion to the valley to kick a ball with the village children, or fill my begging bowl with enough rice to cook a meal of gruel. On my tiny porch, I hold court with grackles, bluebirds and cuckoos, and at night sit on my tatami in the cold light of the moon, patiently waiting for a few lines of verse to alight on the page or for sleep to tap me on the shoulder. Deep in the night, perhaps that life dreams of this life in Vancouver where I now sit comfortably in the warmth of a recliner pondering Jenny Shepherd’s travel haiku. A visceral, embodied delight, Jenny’s poem pays homage to the long line of reclusive haiku poets – Basho, Ryokan, Santoka, to name a few – who actually lived, toiled, and wrote haiku in conditions I can only imagine. Some of their ramshackle huts are still standing, welcoming pilgrims, such as the subject of Jenny’s poem, to trek high into the cold mountain air, rest for a while on a tatami next to a futile fire, and connect with the simple things that fuel inspiration for more than a few fine poems, Jenny’s included.

and here are the rest of the selections:

sunlit cabin—
the growing yes
of morning

Pippa Phillips
Kansas City, MO


morning tea I sip a cuckoo’s trill

Neena Singh


singing to the only bird who listens to me

Roberta Beach Jacobson
Indianola, Iowa, USA


parsing data
dunlins swirl
into a pattern

Jerome Berglund
Minneapolis, Minnesota, United States


finding their shape
losing their shape

Deborah Karl-Brandt
Bonn, Germany


into their urn
a skylark’s song

Charles Harper


scattering dad’s ashes…
at the end of the journey
the Milky May

Florin C. Ciobica


blossom season
coming back with the urn

Bryan Rickert
Belleville, Illinois USA


park bench
people with fixed destinations

Alan Peat
Biddulph, United Kingdom


New England cafe
patrons fight for a seat
next to the witch

Sharon Ferrante
Daytona Beach, FL USA


through a brain fog
smell of bacon

Jeff Leong
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia


tossing the big issues—
i cook the rice
mop the floor

Vijay Prasad
Patna, India


washday blues
granny’s bloomers
full of wind

Carol Jones


through the hollow of twirling leaves a giggle

martin gottlieb cohen
Egg Harbor, NJ US


dead leaves
blowing down the track
and your point is?

John Hawkhead
United Kingdom


to be that hawk
riding the thermals—
my lost yesterdays

Penny Harter
Mays Landing, New Jersey


finding myself
in step with coyotes

Tracy Davidson
Warwickshire, UK


walking meditation—
the reflective stance
of a praying mantis

Mona Bedi
Delhi, India


a small temple
on the trail to Everest
lama’s blessing

Bruce H Feingold
Berkeley, CA, USA


trek in tea garden
I bend to pluck
a red coffee berry

Padma Rajeswari
Mumbai, India


mountain peak vastness I realize I’m alive

Eleanor Dean
Massachusetts, United States


the travelers’ pony
shakes its bells
pilgrim to Croagh Patrick

Ann Sullivan
Massachusetts USA


two mountains longing for the valley between them

Cynthia Anderson
Yucca Valley, California


still Alpine pool
reflecting mountains
and my nakedness

Amanda White
Morvah, Cornwall, UK


in my sleeping bag
under the Montana stars

Marcia Burton
Salt Spring Island, Canada


field of stars
our hands

Nicky Gutierrez
Akron, OH


winter stars without an anaesthetic

Keith Evetts
Thames Ditton UK


moon floating in space…
the Crescent Trail
all to myself

Laurie Greer
Washington DC


hunting for peace. . .
the pale moon
pulls me inward

marilyn ashbaugh
edwardsburg, michigan


stepping outside
after a dry holy hour
the evening air

Curt Linderman
Seattle, Washington


midnight suddenly a black wave

Pris Campbell


going to know why

Daya Bhat


winter solstice:
darkness recedes
with each pen stroke

Elizabeth Shack
Illinois, USA


silent dawn
the squeak of the wheels
on the gurney

Sharon Martina
Warrenville, IL


by needle
saguaro sunrise

Ann K. Schwader
Westminster, CO


summer sunrise
the cosmos expanding
inside outside

Gary Evans
Stanwood, Washington


morning glory
with each bend
closer to the light

Sarah E. Metzler


a shaft of sunlight
on the vase of roses
music room

Tim Cremin


glimmering moon—
last concert of
the pianist with cancer

Keiko Izawa


whilst waiting…
the bare branches
fill with song

United Kingdom


in a field of sunflowers
cancer fundraiser

Margaret Mahony


near-death experience —
coming home
to vibrant evergreens

Seretta Martin
San Diego, CA, USA


letting go of the string
that tethers the self

Colette Kern
Southold NY, US


ochre the deep desire to be grounded

Teji Sethi


forest bathing
i learn to live
with wildflowers

Lakshmi Iyer


poppies –
nothing else to learn

papaveri –
niente altro da imparare

Maria Teresa Piras
Sardinia – Italy


stretching my arms
around a giant sequoia …
a heartbeat

Victor Ortiz
Bellingham, WA


we write haiku
to capture a moment
a fly in amber

Margie Gustafson
Lombard, IL USA


lost in the forest
by a great horned owl

Ruth Holzer
Herndon, Virginia


the afternoon sun
selects a hillscape …
this is enough

Annie Wilson
Shropshire, UK


reed bed
a hermit tells me

Moldovan Mircea


Spearfish Canyon
the river in me cheers
the river in you

Mike Stinson
Nebraska USA


humming along
with each note
bubbling stream

petro c. k.
Seattle Washington


river walk
light shines through
a dragonfly’s wings

Bona M. Santos
Los Angeles, CA


smooth lake
the stillness moves
inside me

Kimberly Kuchar
Austin, Texas


merely a lake
flowing into a lake
Niagara Falls

Maxianne Berger
Outremont, Quebec


soul searching
that old man at the lake says:
let go your garbage

AJ. Anwar
Jakarta, Indonesia


sanctum trek
this quest for
the mobile signal

Ravi Kiran


afternoon traffic
tuned to the soundless rush
of november clouds

Jonathan Roman
Yonkers, New York


I’ll get married
and raise sea lions
what a pain…

Barbara Gaiardoni
Verona, Italy


stuffy sun
groceries weigh more
with every step

Vandana Parashar


in the crowd
at a school play
working parents

Richard Straw
Cary, North Carolina


on every journey childhood bees

Roberta Beary
USA / Ireland


the hum of a bee
inside the lotus
inside me

Adele Evershed
Wilton, Connecticut


raindrop symphony on a tin roofed outhouse

Dan Campbell


expecting rain the smiles of strangers

Adrian Bouter
The Netherlands


using hand speak
bartering for a
cashmere scarf

wanda amos
Old Bar, Australia


sirocco wind
at the Colosseum
my belly dance

Luisa Santoro
Rome, Italy


wind shift
as days go by
a tangerine scent

Luciana Moretto
Treviso Italy


heritage walk —
reading the road signs
in my mother’s accent

Lori Kiefer
London UK


summer school
learning to live
on my own

Nancy Brady
Huron, Ohio


first cries
in the labour room
birthing his mother

Ruchita Madhok
Mumbai, India


deserted beach . . .
a child is searching for
a souvenir

Dejan Pavlinović


sharing my childhood
with my granddaughter –
photos in black and white

Paul Callus


black hole
the fortune cookie
is empty

Valentina Ranaldi-Adams
Fairlawn Ohio USA


late into the night
I sit up and think
about nothing

Lev Hart
Calgary, Canada


Guest Editor P. H. Fischer (Peter) lives, works and plays in Vancouver, Canada, on the traditional, unceded territories of the Coast Salish peoples. He is the winner of the Vancouver category of the 2022 Haiku Invitational of the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival, and is grateful to see his poetry published in a growing list of haiku journals including The Heron’s Nest, Modern Haiku, Frogpond, Presence, First Frost, Whiptail, Kingfisher, Prune Juice, Haiku Canada Review and others. His top passions (besides family) are walking and writing haiku. If he could, he’d leave on another 900 km ginko today!

Lori Zajkowski is the Post Manager for Haiku Dialogue. A novice haiku poet, she lives in New York City.

Managing Editor Katherine Munro lives in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, and publishes under the name kjmunro. She is Membership Secretary for Haiku Canada, and her debut poetry collection is contractions (Red Moon Press, 2019). Find her at:

The Haiku Foundation reminds you that participation in our offerings assumes respectful and appropriate behavior from all parties. Please see our Code of Conduct policy.

Please note that all poems & images appearing in Haiku Dialogue may not be used elsewhere without express permission – copyright is retained by the creators. Please see our Copyright Policies.

This Post Has 30 Comments

  1. Many thanks, Peter, for your kind and thoughtful comments—much appreciated.

    In reading the wonderful selection of poems, I jotted these five that drew me in just a tad extra:
    through the hollow of twirling leaves a giggle
    martin gottlieb cohen
    Egg Harbor, NJ US

    Childhood joy is something that is magical for everyone present. I wonder if this giggle is an adult who has retained the whimsy of their youth.
    winter solstice:
    darkness recedes
    with each pen stroke

    Elizabeth Shack
    Illinois, USA
    We are among the lucky few who can escape onto the page. Many writers have said that they have no choice but to write. The same can be said for the reader who travels into a book.
    the afternoon sun
    selects a hillscape …
    this is enough

    Annie Wilson
    Shropshire, UK
    We don’t need a bright blue sky to laugh, sometimes just a glimmer is good enough. This reminds me of Leonard Cohen’s line,
    “There is a crack, a crack in everything
    That’s how the light gets in.”
    on every journey childhood bees

    Roberta Beary
    USA / Ireland
    This poem makes me, again, reflect on the beauty of keeping a childlike mind into adulthood—’on every journey’. Keeping a balanced sense of humor helps everything. Ahh, the sweetness of honey, and fond memories.
    deserted beach . . .
    a child is searching for
    a souvenir

    Dejan Pavlinović
    The beach is certainly not deserted for this child. Undoubtedly, the sands and rock teem with marine life and beautiful shells. Imagination is never far off for the wandering mind, happy to get lost.

    1. Very welcome, John! Thanks to you as well for highlighting a handful of poems from this week that I also love. Your insightful commentary shone light on aspects of each of these poems that make them even more special. Thank-you! 🙂

  2. A lovely selection but this one caught my attention because it was so different…

    we write haiku
    to capture a moment
    a fly in amber

    Margie Gustafson
    Lombard, IL USA

  3. A fine crop; thank you, Peter. Among those notable in the genre for me were:

    a shaft of sunlight
    on the vase of roses
    music room
    — Tim Cremin

    Classic. Music.

    lost in the forest
    by a great horned owl
    — Ruth Holzer

    The unusal inversion that nature finds and saves us rather than the other way round.

    merely a lake
    flowing into a lake
    Niagara Falls
    — Maxianne Berger

    “merely” is an apposite choice for two meres. But this word connected to a wonder of nature neatly prompts some expansive meditation on the nature of wonder. Thinking of adding this one to my short list of interestingku.

    sanctum trek
    this quest for
    the mobile signal
    — Ravi Kiran

    In the haikai tradition, the human irony of the Instagram world humorously counterposed with sober holy pilgrimage.

    in the crowd
    at a school play
    working parents
    — Richard Straw

    More hakai play on “working” — immediately rang the bell. All but two of my kids’ school plays I attended were hard work.

    going to know why
    — Daya Bhat

    Love the weight carried by these four plain words. And the space they open.

    1. Thanks, Keith, for the comment, and thanks, Peter, for selecting one of mine.

      So many fine verses appear here each week, all of them with backstories and all deserving multiple readings.

      1. My pleasure, Keith and Richard! Indeed, they do deserve multiple readings. Thanks for highlighting a number of them that stuck out for the reasons you mentioned, Keith. Re: “working parents” I like your interpretation! My first reading brought me back to my own experience of attending my boy’s school events and seeing parents busy at work answering emails etc. on their phones as soon as their child’s part in the play, concert, etc. was over. Might’ve been guilty of this one or twice myself. 😉

  4. Lovely selection. Both of mine were very close to selected ones. Selected were better.
    All poems are superb with the one on masturbation outstanding.
    Once again, superb.

    Subir Ningthouja

    1. Thank-you, Subir! Indeed, I really appreciate and admire Marcia Burton’s courage to write on such a personal/private subject. No topic should be off-limits for poetry! 🙂

  5. Lev Hart’s haiku
    late into the night
    I sit up and think
    about nothing
    I don’t know how often this happens to others, but during those moments my mind turns from nothing into a haiku or two.
    Lori Kiefer’s haiku
    heritage walk —
    reading street signs
    in mother’s accent
    More and more I hear my mother’s voice in my head, and this haiku reminded me of this.

  6. Another bumper week of fine haiku/senryu Peter, with really insightful commentary. I pick out this seemingly simple one-line monoku for comment:

    expecting rain the smiles of strangers

    Adrian Bouter

    How smiles can bring light into our lives!

    1. Thanks, John! I love Adrian’s poem as well. So true; the power of a simple smile to brighten a day. 🙂

  7. Thank you Peter H. Fischer for this delightful selection. I am also pleased that for the second consecutive week you included my haiku in your choice. I congratulate all the other haijin who feature in the above list.

    1. Thanks, Paul. Great to have you here. Thanks for your contributions to the column. 🙂

  8. the hum of a bee
    inside the lotus
    inside me
    Adele Evershed
    Wilton, Connecticut
    When I read this one I immediately thought of Nick Virgilio’s famous haiku –
    out of the water . . .
    out of itself
    Adele’s haiku moves a reader in an inward direction while Nick’s haiku moves a reader in an outward direction.

  9. It is a pleasure P. H. to see that you have selected my haiku for the column. Congrats to my fellow Ohio poets Nicky Gutierrez and Nancy Brady. Congrats to all the other poets who were selected. Thanks to Kathy, Lori. and the Haiku Foundation.

    1. Welcome, Valentina! So many great poets in Ohio. It would be lovely to meet many of you at next summer’s HNA conference in Cincinnati. We’ll see!

  10. raindrop symphony on a tin roofed outhouse

    Dan Campbell

    Wow, this one took me back to my childhood summers. In fact, some of my fondness memories from that view in the woods of British Columbia. Thank you, Dan Campbell.

    Wonderful selections, Peter, from so many of my favorite poets. What a joy each week has been.

    1. Thanks for your comment, Eavonka. It’s cool to hear that you spent childhood summers in my neck of the woods. It’s a beautiful part of the world isn’t it? As someone who moved to BC as an adult, I still pinch myself that I live amidst such natural beauty. And, at least on the coast, lots of rain! I can certainly hear and feel, (maybe even smell!) Dan’s poem. Great stuff.

  11. A wonderful and diverse read. Well done, to all poets.

    to be that hawk
    riding the thermals —
    my lost yesterdays
    -Penny Harter

    I do think there are many people who wish they too were that hawk.

    stepping outside
    after a dry holy hour
    the evening air
    -Curt Linderman

    I felt myself taking a deep breath after line three. I also like the ‘ho’ within ‘holy and hour’
    ho ho the evening air.
    Lovely verse, Curt.

    we write haiku
    to capture a moment
    a fly in amber
    -Marge Gustafson

    A perfect way to relate to that haiku moment. Love it.

    Thank you, Peter, for choosing one of mine, appreciated.

    1. Thank you for the kind words, Carol.

      And speaking of taking a deep breath, I must admit that I audibly gasped with joy after reading your piece. Not only could I see the white bloomers flapping against a blue sky but I could also hear the thwap, feel the breeze, and smell the fresh air and whiff of detergent. You truly transported me there and totally immersed me in the moment. Thank you!

      Our group journey these past few weeks has been a treat. Many thanks to Peter.

      1. Thank you for your kind reply, Curt, glad you enjoyed my verse, also.

        You are right, along with Peter, we have all been on a haiku journey, even on a week when we aren’t published it’s a delight to read everyone else’s verses.

        1. Hi, Carol and Curt, thanks for your kind words and your contributions, and for highlighting a few of the amazing poems this week. I’m enjoying every step along the way with all of you! 🙂

  12. So many excellent haiku here. Congratulations to all. A quick read finds me appreciating Ruchita Madhok ‘s child birthing the mother. How profound as newborns definitely create new parents, sometimes very inexperienced ones at that.

    Dan Campbell ‘s raindrop symphony, I can so hear it. Valentina Ranaldi-Adams ‘ black hole when expecting something different are just a few that caught my eye on my first pass. Well done to all.

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