HAIKU DIALOGUE – Haiku Prism – Brown

Haiku Prism – A World in Color

During this dark time we could all use something to brighten up our weeks. I believe that each one of us carries an inner light that can be a source of solace for others. So let’s take that light and channel it through the magic and wonder of haiku to express our world in all its glorious colors. Let’s let haiku be our prism.

Each week I will be providing a new color for you to meditate on and write about. You do not need to name it in your haiku, simply let it be an aspect. You can take this in any direction you like from various flora & fauna, fruits & vegetables, clothing items, celestial bodies, household objects, etc…to various associated moods. Even think in related colors such as pink for red or gold for yellow. I am also happy to accept sub-genres including scifaiku and mythku.

next week’s theme: White

Please send up to two unpublished haiku by clicking here: Contact Form, and put Haiku Dialogue in the Subject box. The deadline is midnight Eastern Standard Time, Saturday, May 16, 2020.

Selected haiku will be listed in the order they are received with a few chosen 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 can be added as blog comments.

Below is my commentary for Brown:

This week, my daughter’s preschool class did a session over Zoom exploring primary colors, what happens when you mix them, and the various colors of objects. As I sat there listening, it occurred to me just how primal and foundational the ability to discuss color is in our world. Our perception of color becomes deeply personal as we begin to build associations, and often one of the first questions children learn is, “what is your favorite color?” Brown is not a color I hear often in response to that question, but this week brown has been lifted up, examined, and given its proper place among the brighter, and flashier colors.

I found myself drawn to a set of senryu that are not inherently universal, but are so in their exploration of isolation. What I’ve found, is that what we write about does not have to resonate with other people’s experiences to be intimate and moving, and these three certainly struck a chord in me.

quarantined–
counting empty bottles
of brown ale

Teiichi Suzuki, Japan

One of the unfortunate side effects of separating ourselves from others, and living in isolation, is that our individual difficulties can become harder to face. Over the past several months there has been a reported increase in depression and anxiety, domestic abuse, and substance abuse. Here, who else is there to notice the bottles? Who is there to care? Who is there to help? If you know someone who may be struggling, please check in on them, ask them pointedly how they are doing, and be there to listen.

roadside diner
a shade too brown
for service

Jonathan Roman

I don’t often read senryu that handle this subject in the manner that it needs to be. As someone who is not a person of color, I cannot fully understand what this moment feels like. In my country, I cannot possibly begin to fathom the other side of our racial divide, and that level of isolation. However, this felt like an important senryu to highlight, and what I can comment on is that the “aha” moment of L3 is well set up, and delivers quite a punch. I was quite unprepared for the turn this took.

breaking bread alone
the many ways
I now pray

Kimberly Esser, Los Angeles

As places of communal worship have been shut down, those of faith have to find new ways of interacting with each other and their beliefs. How lonely to “break bread” without another to share it with! And I can only imagine how prayers have changed with the current state of the world. Not everyone can place themselves into the specific acts discussed here, but I think the bigger picture of adaptation and longing is one we can all enter into.

Thank you for your submissions and I hope you all are safe and well. Please enjoy the rest of this week’s selections, and happy reading!

famine…
the unforgettable taste
of that brown loaf

Brăilean Mirela

 

the color of soil
some of it in
my hand’s lifeline

Stephen A. Peters

 

cardamom
scented coffee
her only constant

Kanjini Devi

 

intimacy…
like autumn leaves
fall to

Intimità…
come foglie autunnali
cadono

Kyoko Bengala

 

lockdown fashion
a dash of coffee
for eye shadow

Jackie Chou, Pico Rivera, CA, USA

 

misogyny
whoever clipped
myna’s wings

Vandana Parashar

 

coffee break
that aroma
of friendly gossip

Rajeshwari Srinivasan

 

a pile
of the withered leaves
father’s last breath

Agus Maulana Sunjaya, Tangerang, Indonesia

 

freshly turned earth …
the worm and I
of one mind

Judt Shrode

 

chocolate
cocoa pickers
don’t know its taste

Stoianka Boianova

 

spring sorrow
her wrinkles
now turning brown

Lakshmi Iyer

 

coffee stains
on the manuscript …
soft dawn

Tsanka Shishkova

 

old chair
deep in the fabric…
stories untold

Margaret Mahony

 

till it sings
the little brown bird
goes unnoticed

Bryan Rickert

 

desert storm
the west loans dust
to the east

Steve Tabb

 

insomnia
I inhale the earthy smell
after midnight storm

Nisha Raviprasad

 

newly plowed field
the way the farmer sings
to earth

Pat Davis, NH

 

homecoming-
the smell of the earth
it leads me far

ritorno a casa-
l’odore della terra
mi conduce lontano

Angela Giordano, Italy

 

winter prairie
a lexicon
of browns

Christopher Seep

 

COVID 19 hair
three shades browner
than the box

Rehn Kovacic

 

spring affair
we take our espressos
short and sweet

Clifford Rames, Freehold, NJ

 

mud season
the walk turns into
a dance

Tim Cremin

 

old chopping board some scars deeper

Madhuri Pillai

 

brown tea leaves
her destiny hidden
in a tea cup

Minal Sarosh

 

sepia photo-
always this longing
for my petite self

Arvinder Kaur

 

dark coffee
the bitterness
in your last text

Pamela A. Babusci

 

tree rings the concentric growth of vanity

Rashmi VeSa

 

brown study
giving each seed
its proper depth

Laurie Greer

 

Corona season —
the earth becoming
flavorless

Manoj Sharma, Kathmandu, Nepal

 

sea otters lounging
on a bed of kelp forest –
shelter in place

Bona M. Santos, Los Angeles, CA

 

fallen leaves
the many ways
to begin again

Kat Lehmann

 

h(earth)
we learn to shelter
in place

Debbie Strange

 

spinning earth
into her favourite cup
Mother’s Day

Marisa Fazio

 

her resignation
magnolia blossoms stain
the campus sidewalk

Randy Brooks

 

as if to make up
for his drab attire
morning wren song

Michele L. Harvey

 

mudpie summer’s last treat

Pris Campbell

 

coffee shop art
the lingering scent
of espresso

Margaret Walker

 

autumn sunrise –
earthy henna swirls
my greys to orange

Dorothy Burrows

 

attic trunk
the teddybear
he never held

Edna Beers

 

brown bananas
growing in size
her age spots

cezar-florin ciobîcă

 

last call
one man at the bar
sleeping

Rich Schilling, Webster Groves, MO

 

a longer walk
my arms
catch the sun

Mark Powderhill

 

sunday afternoon
the aroma of coffee
from the mulch

Astrid Egger

 

kneading
the bark of a bare maple—
moon cat

Devin Harrison, Canada

 

strong tea
I blink against
sunrise

Ann K. Schwader, Westminster, CO

 

decoration day
she plants geraniums
on parents’ graves

Nancy Brady, Huron, Ohio

 

I tell myself
it’s a giant freckle…
first liver spot

Julie Bloss Kelsey

 

gnarled hands
pluck long-forgotten tunes –
thrift store guitar

Wendy Notarnicola

 

raking leaves
the brown spots on my hands
like mom’s

Claire Vogel Camargo

 

dried dirt
on her garden gloves
the rosemary long gone

Greer Woodward

Guest Editor Tia Haynes resides in Lakewood, Ohio, near her beloved Lake Erie. She was featured in New Resonance 11: Emerging Voices in English-Language Haiku and has appeared in journals and anthologies worldwide. Much of her inspiration comes from the landscape and people of the American Midwest as well as life with her two small children. Her chapbook, leftover ribbon, (Velvet Dusk Publishing) is available on Amazon. Follow her on Twitter: @adalia_haiku

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).