Haiku Dialogue: What’s at Hand Week 21

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1. by Shell most have conceived sea shells, few egg shells; there could be many such shells and its extended meanings. However, many are good haiku

2. sinking tide
   a broken shell, abandoned
   again
   *
   Kari Davidson
   *

   This wonderful ku is a keeper for me.
   It shows the ups and downs of life and gives hope. It’s yin and yang, the course of the world … the universal principle of dao.

   1. Many good ku here, but “abandoned / again ” speaks to me with a special poignancy.

      1. Thank you, Bill.

   2. Thank you, Eva! For some reason, after I wrote it, the broken shell in my haiku made me think of a foster child.
      Your haiku spoke to me immediately, as I work with veterans– “home leave” made me think of someone returning from overseas possibly from some kind of military service. There is some kind of memory or experience which he can probably never explain and never relive; the shell is “deep in his coat pocket.” It must be something precious because he’s brought it with him, but it’s also… broken. Yours is a beautiful haiku.

3. Thanks Viki and Christine for appreciating my poem. When brainstorming this week’s topic, I did not think of eggshells, so I was happy to read the poems about them.

4. Thank you Craig, for choosing my verse, and to the others who’ve commented on it. I’ve enjoyed the many verse here and could comment on many of them.
   A lot of us thought of seashells, so I appreciate the poets who sent verses about other “shells”, like
   in the shell of a shed
   the sapling
   persists
   -Pat Davis
   .
   I especially liked the humor in Aljosa V’s line:
   ocean with a speech impediment
   .
   settled
   on a clam shell shard
   nibble away, sandfly
   -Don Wentworth
   .
   That sandfly’s going to be nibbling a long time! makes me think of moving the beach, one grain at a time, or eating an elephant bite by bite.
   .
   post-storm
   the broken shell fills
   with stars
   -Hifsa Ashraf
   .
   Lovely seaside scene: the storm is gone and night has settled. In a half-filled shell we get the reflection of the stars above; even broken, the broken shell can still hold beauty.
   .
   sand dollar clutched
   in her tiny hand
   sudden tears
   Stephen Kusch
   .
   I’m thinking the child can’t understand, feels the tide has left the sand dollar behind to die on the beach. The sadness of abandonment would bring a sensitive child to tears.

5. Thank you, Craig, for including my haiku in this publication. I loved all the haiku. Three particularly impressed me:

   mother’s Day
   in my scrambled eggs
   broken shells
   Marta Chocilowska’s

   broken shell
   in the nest
   bombing
   Angiola Inglese

   bullied boy
   counting broken bits
   of seashells
   Roberta Beary

   1. Thank you so much, Maria Teresa!
      I like your searching for the other half of the shell 🙂
      Marta

   2. Maria Teresa,

      Thanks for appreciating my haiku about bullying.

      x
      Roberta

6. Thank you for including my haiku Craig. Many thanks to Alan Summers for the mention.
   .

   city break
   shells of shattered spirits
   curled up on cardboard
   .
   Ingrid Baluchi
   .
   This haiku stood out for me. I may have interpreted differently from other people, but for me it portrays the stark image of rough sleepers in London and other cities, where homes are sold to foreign investors to keep empty while the homeless are cruelly moved on to find another cold patch to lay sleep on. A memorable but sad haiku.

   1. Thank you, Martha. You interpreted my poem precisely as I had intended. Visiting UK after a gap of over 20 years — Cambridge of all places, and coming from a relatively poor country that is Macedonia, I was utterly shocked by the number of homeless people of all ages strewn around the streets, ignored by the municipality and tourists alike. Shameful.

      1. Your poem is heart-wrenching. This is a very sad sight to see! Not knocking compassion, but we hear so much about the need to open doors and take in refugees from other lands. So what shall we do with the homeless on our streets now? And where will the refugees end up? Difficult questions people need to consider.

7. Thank you to editors of the magazine for publishing my haiku and all the praise to maestro Kittner and his cooperatives. Congratulations to a colleague Aljosa Vukovoc from Šibenik.

8. Thank you, Craig Kittner, for including my poem! I liked your commentary, especially your first two sentences.
   In different ways, I was touched by every poem and I love all the meaningful interpretations! Thank you.
   —
   egg tooth
   we speak only of
   the afterlife
   *
   Betty Shropshire
   *
   Betty Shropshire’s poem is so intriguing. Do we humans “speak only of / the afterlife”… when the “egg tooth” animals are the actual essence of it?

   —

   in the shell of a shed
   the sapling
   persists
   *
   Pat Davis
   NH, USA
   *
   Pat Davis’ poem is my favorite! It brings another story to the meaning of “broken shell”. Maybe a tornado, hailstorm or fire has left only “the shell of a shed”; yet, there it is, the “sapling / persists” surviving all. Nature is remarkable!

   —

   bullied boy
   counting broken bits
   of seashells
   *
   Roberta Beary
   County Mayo, Ireland
   *
   Roberta Beary’s poem gives me a tear. A “bullied boy” retreating from the world to find comfort in nature. I especially like Alan Summer’s vision of maybe the boy is saving the “bits” for a mosaic! And Laurie Greer’s thoughtful observance how we humans can sometimes be resilient and hopefully self-healing—“counting” and “to take control”. And we humans are the only ones who can control the bullying.

   —

   winter solitude
   my other half missing
   from all her shells
   *
   simonj
   UK
   *
   Simonj’s melancholy poem brings a tear, “my other half missing / from all her shells”. Simonj’s heart is broken. I can almost picture the hand-picked collection of shells she carefully displayed one by one. Or maybe a bunch of the shells were delicately placed in a bowl or basket. With heartfelt thoughts, maybe beyond “winter solitude” the shells can bring a bit of comfort.

   —

   snail’s journey . . .
   a boy connecting
   the broken pieces
   *
   Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
   *
   Srinivasa Rao Sambangi’s poem is a bit heartbreaking for me. Studying his new discovery, maybe the “boy” is trying to repair the snail’s house? Or is there a deeper “journey” “connecting” the boy and the snail?

   Thank you!

   1. Thank you Vicki Miko, for such a lovely interpretation of my haiku 🙂

   2. Thanks, Vicki, for commenting and including other comments about my ‘bullied boy’ haiku. An issue close to my heart.

9. I like a number of poems already commented on – and here are a few more:
   .
   morning after divorce
   two halves
   of eggshell
   Serhiy Shpychenko
   .
   Two people, joined as one, are two again. Maybe what was in the broken shell will have lasting significance despite the breakup.
   .
   broken seashell
   honeymoon over
   so quickly
   Rehn Kovacic
   .
   Relationships, like seashells, are fragile. The shell remains, but cracks are already visible. Such is life. Cracks may be repaired!
   .
   sinking tide
   a broken shell, abandoned
   again
   Kari Davidson
   .
   I like the use of “sinking” here which causes me to think of a “sinking” feeling. Goes well with the use of “abandoned,” as well as “again.” Evokes sadness. Great choice of words!
   .
   they’re fighting again
   I listen to the sea waves
   in my broken conch
   Christine G Delisle
   .
   A child finds a way to deal with emotional upheaval in the family. Paired with this idea is the broken shell: despite its flaw the child holds on to hope. Nice.
   .
   her sea song
   still resonates
   cracked conch
   Charles Harmon
   ,
   If the use of sea song refers to “work” then her legacy continues to be noticeable and of value. Despite the crack, her life still has meaning and it recognized by those around her. A bit of a mystery here, but a moving poem nonetheless.
   .
   egg tooth
   we speak only of
   the afterlife
   Betty Shropshire
   ,
   Interesting! Most of use, in one way or another, attempt to crack through the mysteries of existence. The bird does not know what is on the other side but does what comes naturally. Likewise, humans speculate what is on the other side of their many closed environments. I think there is more to this, from your perspective Betty, but it’s a powerful image for me given your choice of words!
   .
   Thanks to all of you.
   Ron
   .

   1. Thanks for your comment, Ronald.

   2. Thanks for your comment on my verse. It’s very hard for children to watch and hear parents seriously arguing. The child in my verse is trying hard to drown it out with the soothing wash of waves.

   3. Thank you for your comments, Ronald.

10. These resonated with me:
    raised voices
    eggshells
    that I walk on Michele L. Harvey

    I love the contrast in the loud sound of voices and the softer sound of walking on eggshells.

    mother’s Day
    in my scrambled eggs
    broken shells Marta Chocilowska

    I’ve read the interpretations already given. When I read it I pictured an elderly and/or loving mother not mentioning the broken shells in her eggs, just appreciating the effort of her child.

    low tide search
    among shattered shells
    the unbroken Kath Abela Wilson

    I like that “the unbroken” can be a person or a sea shell.

    bullied boy
    counting broken bits
    of seashells Roberta Beary

    This one tore at my heartstrings. I am particularly sensitive to the topic of kids being bullied, as I advocated for many a bullied child during my long years of teaching.

    1. Thank you very much for your nice comment, Pat 🙂
       m.

    2. Good to read this, Pat. Deep thanks for your anti-bullying advocacy! I count you among my sheroes and heroes.

11. I like Susan Roger’s upbeat haiku:

    cracking eggs to Bach
    the beat of a cantata
    in my frittata

    two haiku with positive undertones:

    Kathabela Wilson’s

    low tide search
    among shattered shells
    the unbroken

    Charles Harmon’s

    her sea song
    still resonates
    cracked conch

    So much said with so few words.

    Michele L. Harvey’s

    raised voices
    eggshells
    that I walk on

    This one hits home for me, as I had a temperamental mother growing up.

    Lots of other wonderful ones. Great selection, Craig!

    1. Thank you so much Jackie!

12. Two that stood out to me in rereading are:
    .
    the words you used
    to whisper in my ear
    broken seashell
    .
    Olivier Schopfer
    .
    Words and whisper are nice together. The word used can be heard two ways.
    .
    bullied boy
    counting broken bits
    of seashells
    .
    Roberta Beary
    .
    A nice rhythm for such a sad image. At first I thought he was counting shells for comfort, then in rereading thought he might be bullied because of his counting the broken bits, or just because.

    1. Thank you very much, Debbie!

    2. Many thanks Debbie!
       For me my haiku is colored by whatever the reader brings to it.
       x
       Roberta

13. A very wonderfully drawn insightful image still ringing into our ears. My favorite this week

    broken shell
    the sea
    still singing in it

    Pratima Balabhadrapathruni

14. Thank you everyone for a rewarding read. Betty Shropshire’s will linger for me…holding an awareness of before birth and after death:
    .

    egg tooth
    we speak only of
    the afterlife
    .
    Betty Shropshire
    .
    .
    Many resonated but I would like to mention just two more. I am moved by how broken things offer comfort in troubled times in these haiku:
    .
    they’re fighting again
    I listen to the sea waves
    in my broken conch
    .
    Christine G
    Delisle, SK, Canada
    .
    .
    bullied boy
    counting broken bits
    of seashells
    .
    Roberta Beary
    County Mayo, Ireland

    1. Janice,

       Thanks so much; good to know my haiku speaks to you of comfort.

       x
       Roberta

15. Thank you, Craig, for including my poem, and to Alan and Laurie for your comments – always appreciated.
    Two very different outlooks in the following poems which caught my attention among several others this week:
    Nature’s determination in Pat Davis’
    .
    in the shell of a shed
    the sapling
    persists
    .
    and Rich Schilling’s
    .
    broken shells
    the jagged edges
    of war
    .
    If only we could feel and experience more of the first than the second.

    1. Thanks, Ingrid, for appreciating my poem.

    2. Thanks Craig for including my haiku and thanks Ingrid for enjoying it!

16. Thank you, Craig, for publishing my “scrambled eggs” 🙂
    My favorite poem this week is

    the words you used
    to whisper in my ear
    broken seashell
    *
    Olivier Schopfer

17. Marta Chocilowska’s

    mother’s Day
    in my scrambled eggs
    broken shells

    offers an unmistakable image of childish love. She also lets us help put it together!

    1. Mona, thank you so much! You read my intentions perfectly!
       m.

       1. Thank you so much, dear Marta. Your haiku is lovely. A sweet memory!

          1. thank you, Olivier 🙂

18. a broken shell.

    Some original treatments of the prompt!
    .
    .

    a broken shell-
    ocean with a speech
    impediment
    .
    Aljoša Vuković
    Šibenik, Croatia
    .
    .
    We have certainly denied the ocean(s) its voice now, all clammed up with our unnecessary single-use plastic. A strong haiku!
    .
    .

     
    broken shell
    in the nest
    bombing
    .
    Angiola Inglese
    .
    .
    Shells always makes me think of bullet casings or larger shell casings first, partly as we have experienced the 75th Anniversary of the Normandy Landings of WWII in an attempt to fight fascism.
    .
    Now we seem to again target civilians, namely women and children, and hospitals, and homes, over “valid” military targets.
    .
    .
     
    all the places
    where the shell is broken –
    receding waves
    .
    arvinder kaur
    Chandigarh,India
    .
    .

    A haiku that wraps negative space around it. A very powerful haiku.
    .
    .

     
    egg tooth
    we speak only of
    the afterlife
    .
    Betty Shropshire
    .
    .
    egg tooth:
    a hard white protuberance on the beak or jaw of an embryo bird or reptile that is used for breaking out of the shell and is later lost.
    .
    I’ve seen the practice of the preposition ‘of’ left deliberately as an enjambment, and it can work, as it does here.
    .
    Another strong haiku with a lot of reverberation.
    .
    .

     
    no coins
    a crushed sand dollar
    in the back pocket
    .
    Carmen Sterba
    .
    .
    Some people stamp over other people to be the next billionaire, earning money that others actually made for them. Others are rich beyond words on simplicity and lack of greed. Great haiku!
    .
    .
     
    talk of divorce —
    sandals crushing
    broken shells
    .
    Carol Raisfeld
    .
    .
    Both literally and metaphorical. We often think our first default is to destroy, but never re-build afterwards. Another strong verse.
    .
    .
     

     
    they’re fighting again
    I listen to the sea waves
    in my broken conch
    .
    Christine G
    Delisle, SK, Canada
    .
    .
    Another one about divorce, impending, or domestic abuse perhaps? So many people are killed in a marriage. So many children scared and scarred, sometimes repeating the pattern.
    .
    .
     
    beach drift . . .
    we mend the cracked wings
    of angels
    .
    Debbie Strange
    .
    .
    As to be expected, not only beautful but unexpectedly beautiful!
    .
    .
     
    settled
    on a clam shell shard
    nibble away, sandfly
    .
    Don Wentworth
    .
    .
    The dreaded sandfly, are they are as painful as the Queensland ones I endured. They make the worst mosquito almost fairylike in comparision.
    .
    .

     
    nautilus shell
    the fractal
    fracturing
    .
    Edward Cody Huddleston
    .
    .
    Just love that first line in itself!
    .
    From my haibun:
    .
    .
    A character in a poem is never written
    .
    There are nautiluses who remember useful things for only a day,
     .
    Alan Summers
    pins on a map: 3rd haiku anthology (Inhaiku Mumbai anthology)
    Inhaiku Mumbai ed. Rohini Gupta (November 2nd 2018)
    from haibun: A character in a poem is never written
    .
    .

    home leave —
    deep in his coat pocket
    a broken shell
    .
    Eva Limbach
    Germany
    (Mare Tranquillitatis)
    .
    .
    A seashell in a coat pocket instead of a military shell casing. This soldier brings something back that is hopefully positive.
    .
    .
     
    post-storm
    the broken shell fills
    with stars
    .
    Hifsa Ashraf
    Pakistan
    .
    .
    Ah, an infinity shell, awesome! I bet there was a crow or two playing there too! 🙂
    .
    .

     
    city break
    shells of shattered spirits
    curled up on cardboard
    .
    Ingrid Baluchi
    Cambridge, U.K.
    .
    .
    I like the juxtaposition of the first line where people pollute the skies with short holiday hops by plane, and broken society can’t pick up those pieces let alone their own. Powerful work!
    .
    .

     
    low tide search
    among shattered shells
    the unbroken
    .
    Kath Abela Wilson
    Pasadena, California
    .
    .
    Glad there is something unbroken, but shhhh…
    don’t tell the ‘high ups!’ 🙂 Neat poem! Love the opening line too!
    .
    .
     
    half moon scallop vows to fulfill
    .
    Laurie Greer
    Washington DC
    .
    .
    Wonderful rhythm here, a real joy to read out loud too!!!
    .
    .

     

    mother’s Day
    in my scrambled eggs
    broken shells
    .
    Marta Chocilowska
    Poland
    .
    .
    Ah Mother’s Day, I had three one time, but at least I have two surviving mothers-in-law, who are amazing! Just think of broken shells as added calcium! 🙂
    .
    .

     
    broken sky
    the mosaic pattern
    of a dunnock’s egg
    .
    Martha Magenta
    .
    .
    There is something magical about dunnock eggs. They used to be my favorite photos in the early bird books I got from my milk round money as a wee bairn.
    .
    .

     
    raised voices
    eggshells
    that I walk on
    .
    Michele L. Harvey
    .
    .
    Ah, yes, it’s now normal, expected, and demanded, that as many of us as possible to angry for no reason. I can so relate to violent or potentially violent arguments about to happen, and tiptoeing away, if possible.
    .
    .

     
    broken seashell
    honeymoon over
    so quickly
    .
    Rehn Kovacic
    .
    .
    Ah, those seaside romances never last!
    .
    .
     
    broken shells
    the jagged edges
    of war
    .
    Rich Schilling
    .
    .
    Strong use of juxtaposition of comparison!
    .
    .

     
    bullied boy
    counting broken bits
    of seashells
    .
    Roberta Beary
    County Mayo, Ireland
    .
    .
    I don’t know if I’m right in this, but in my imagination at least, the boy is a collector, his only comfort. A group of cowards look to destroy anything that makes him in the least bit happy. I hope in another dimension he made a mosaic out of them (shells or boys).
    .
    .

     

     
    winter solitude
    my other half missing
    from all her shells
    .
    simonj
    UK
    .
    .
    An intriguing last two lines, especially that last line. It does feel incredibly sad. I am so sorry.
    .
    .

     
    snail’s journey . . .
    a boy connecting
    the broken pieces
    .
    Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
    .
    .
    Wonderful poem!

    1. Thank you, Alan! Your comment amused me to tears!
       Best, mch

       1. At least I met all my mothers, the last one a few years ago. Only one made me scrambled eggs, or more specifically six-egg omelettes, as per request. 🙂

          1. Alan, in my poem it is not a mother, who makes scrambled eggs for children, but a child who makes it for his mother 🙂

             1. mother’s Day
                in my scrambled eggs
                broken shells
                .
                Marta Chocilowska
                Poland
                .
                Marta said:
                “in my poem it is not a mother, who makes scrambled eggs for children,
                but a child who makes it for his mother”
                .
                .
                Yes, I’ve done that when I did 24/7 care for six months (no sleep) caring and cooking for my mother. It set back Karen’s M.E. for a year or more.
                .
                .
                I read it initially as the spirit of “Mother’s Day” or of “Mother” in the breakfast, remembering the parent.
                Interesting that the pronoun belongs to a male child. I wondered if the author was ‘my’ so thanks for the nod.
                .
                re
                broken shells
                That could mean a very young child, even a teenager, who has not learnt to cook (yet).
                .
                What was strong was that I could read it as a remembered regular dish by a mother, just as I remember omelettes or chicken curry, or lemon meringue or fancy salad dressing etc…
                .
                I’m sure this haiku will turn up in a Robert Epstein anthology! 🙂

             2. Alan, thank you again for your extensive and insightful comment, as always bringing a new knowledge and a new point of view 🙂
                Love
                m.

    2. Alan,

       Spot on as usual. Cowards, yes. And regarding dealing with the aftermath, I’ve seen your compassion up close. That speaks volume to me.

       x
       Roberta

       1. Thanks Roberta, I try to pay it forward as much as I can, I feel it’s the only in this increasingly cruel world.

    3. Thanks to Alan and Craig for choosing and enjoying my haiku.
       As always I read many interesting texts here.

    4. Many thanks Alan, for liking my haiku 🙂

    5. Thanks Alan for appreciating ! Regards

    6. Alan, I appreciate your interest. I still remember the time my family came home from one of the beaches along the Pacific Ocean when I was about four or five. The next day my mother smelled something fishy in the clothes basket. She went through the clothes and found a sand dollar in a pocket of my short shorts.
       .
       no coins
       a crushed sand dollar
       in the back pocket
       .
       Carmen Sterba
       .
       Some people stamp over other people to be the next billionaire, earning money that others actually made for them. Others are rich beyond words on simplicity and lack of greed. Great haiku!

       1. Thank you for the background! Always a wonderful experience when the author lets more out of the bag! 🙂

    7. Thanks for your comment on my verse.
       A young friend told me that when her parents started drinking and fighting, she’d take her younger sisters into her bedroom and tell them stories to protect them and try to drown out the abuse. Even happily married folks have arguments — that’s life — but we forget that the children overhear and often don’t understand where, or how far, this is going.

       1. Abuse is an epidemic and too often authority figures laugh it away. Children absorb everything, whether it’s blows reigned down upon them, or words directed at them, or words within earshot.
          .
          As children absorb everything no wonder some copy the abuse.

    8. Thanks so much for commenting, Alan. Angel wing shells are my favourites!

19. Another set of beautiful poems! Thank you, Craig, and all contributors.
    was especially struck by:
    *
    a broken shell-
    ocean with a speech
    impediment

    Aljoša Vuković
    Šibenik, Croatia
    so clear and clever, yet also empathetic
    *
    nautilus shell
    the fractal
    fracturing

    Edward Cody Huddleston

    love the dizzying geometry of this
    *
    home leave —
    deep in his coat pocket
    a broken shell

    Eva Limbach
    Germany
    (Mare Tranquillitatis)

    this one offers some chilling possibilities–not just a seashell but a spent bullet shell
    *
    post-storm
    the broken shell fills
    with stars

    Hifsa Ashraf
    Pakistan
    lovely–and “storm” could mean so many different things, from rain to war to personal turmoil. A fragile and hopeful moment
    *

    city break
    shells of shattered spirits
    curled up on cardboard

    Ingrid Baluchi
    Cambridge, U.K.
    a poignant and true description of the homeless; powerful poem
    *
    raised voices
    eggshells
    that I walk on

    Michele L. Harvey

    another striking combination of cleverness and emotional depth.
    *
    bullied boy
    counting broken bits
    of seashells

    Roberta Beary
    County Mayo, Ireland

    perfect portrayal of the shattering wounds of cruelty. that “counting” is especially resonant, as if to say wounds matter, even if small, as well as a suggestion of being able to take control by quantifying an experience. And specifying “sea” shell rather than leaving it at shell–of course we have to “see” the pain, witness the brutality to keep if from continuing.
    *
    snail’s journey . . .
    a boy connecting
    the broken pieces

    Srinivasa Rao Sambangi

    I am charmed by this one! Thanks!
    *
    cracking eggs to Bach—
    the beat of a cantata
    in my frittata

    Susan Rogers
    Los Angeles, CA, USA

    ha–the perfect Sunday brunch!
    *

    1. Thanks, Laurie, for your close reading of my haiku about being bullied. I appreciate your comments.

       x
       Roberta

    2. Thank you so much Laurie, for liking my haiku 🙂

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