January 2022 – Haiku About Imagination
saying nothing
at the funeral
let them believe it’s grief
—Joseph Robello
a whiff of perfume
remembering everything
but the name
—kjmunro
petunia
wishing it could be
a tuba
—RaNae Merrill
raindrops
on salmonberry leaves…
a child’s gravestone
—Kathleen Tice
empty fountain
coins and wishes
left behind
—Roy Kindelberger
yard sale—
buckle rash
on an old fender
—Joseph P. Wechselberger
today
a missing piece is found
just beyond the shadow
—Susie Merrell
music swirling
from a wooden flute
what’s lost what’s found
—Sheila Sondik
in this space
where solitude and I dwell
my folded hands
—Gillena Cox
origami…
the boat in the ocean
in her hand
—Sheila Windson
pale winter sky—
the honor student who never
raises his hand
—Paul David Mena
stiff breeze
she touches the sea
for old times’ sake
—Glenn G. Coats
what remains
after the phone call
raven’s song
—Jone Rush MacCulloch
still unopened
the boxes we moved
from her last room
—Kath Abela Wilson
cloud shadows
scale a wall…
an inmate dreams
—Ronald K. Craig
shattered—
I touch
the stillness
—Angela Terry
bitter frost
the bone chill
of an empty crib
—Jocelyn Ajami
loneliness
one cookie left
on the party platter
—Joan C. Fingon
pussy willow
in a vase of dirty water
the cobwebs
—Jim Rodriguez
yellow leaves the path to our imagination
—Scott Mason
words I regret
scrubbing my sink
over and over
—Christine L. Villa
after the movie
in his old Chevy
confessions
—Peggy Hale Bilbro
the last patch of snow
on the mossy lawn…
a call from home
—Michael Dylan Welch
sparkling lights
along the embarcadero
her glass bracelet
—Dianne Garcia
over the moon
he asks her to walk
in another woman’s shoes
—Terry Ann Carter
pond ripples
what she whispered
before sleep
—Jamie Wimberly
rainstorm in lockdown
only the clouds
are free
—Mike Fainzilber
her call—
the loneliness
in a voice
—Michel Montreuil
shadowbox
medals
he needs to forget
—Jim Haynes
gusty winds
dragging the dark
through the trees
—Leanne Jaeger
river in flood
telling him more
than he wants to know
—Susan Constable
February 2022 – Haiku About Synesthesia
louder and louder the scent of freshly cut grass
—Paul Kulwatno
carillon bells
stopping to listen
to the blossoming plum
—Michele Root-Bernstein
feuillemort—
the color
of his voice
—Corine Timmer
the metallic rasp
of a belted kingfisher . . .
morning mist
—Angela Terry
the Milky Way
its taste
in my mouth
—Stephen A. Peters
everywhere
the scent of green
after rain
—Dina E Cox
up an octave the moonlit sea
—Michelle Tennison
the bells sound white under the green moth darkening
—Scott Metz
just-fledged light
chips of wren song
from the log pile
—Claire Everett
telephoto lens
the loon’s call
comes into focus
—Carolyn Hall
just enough rain
to darken the scent
of the pine woods
—Paul Chambers
in muted colors
the sound of a waterfall
Chinese scroll
—Johnnie Johnson Hafernik
the pen twice as old as me smells of blood
—David Boyer
blending colours the blackbird’s song
—Shloka Shankar
cliff dust
cicadas saw
through the heat
—Agnes Eva Savich
silver night
the soft glow
of highway noise
—Jennifer Hambrick
cattails
the red-winged
wind
—Jeff Hoagland
new moon
a white chrysanthemum
breaks the silence
—Joseph Robello
October fest
too much oom-pah-pah
in the mustard
—Adelaide B. Shaw
new leaves
the old forest
finds its voice
—Rob Scott
on the edge of sleep
the black and white checkerboard
of a dog’s bark
—Julie Bloss Kelsey
leaf color of an old song turning
—John Stevenson
blackbird singing light into the womb
—Stephen Toft
white wind the eyes of the dead seal missing
—Carolyn Hall
whittling pine
I release the shape
of its scent
—John Hawkhead
autumn loud with valley ochre
—Cherie Hunter Day
so greenly history puts forth thorns
—Eve Luckring
Kind of Blue the smell of rain
—Allan Burns
March 2022 – Haiku About Longing and Loss
soft murmurs
of the passing river
mother’s voice
—Meera Rehm
the moon comes gently
on the empty side of the bench . . .
another autumn
—Steliana Cristina Voicu
fading scent
of the fallen pines . . .
mom’s funeral day
—Hifsa Ashraf
the weathered bench
in mother’s garden
her young old voice
—Adrian Bouter
inhale…
all the pine forests
I’ve ever known
—Brad Bennett
widowed…
all those years of wanting
some solitude
—Polona Oblak
sorrow—
the thin skin
of dusk
—Sondra J. Byrnes
coming to terms
with the life I have…
honeysuckle wind
—Angela Terry
scenting the night
with somewhere else
train whistle
—Ann K. Schwader
cocooning . . .
this considerable wait
for wings
—Michele Root-Bernstein
deep winter
in the air
that replaced you
—Jann Wright
birdsong
the day starts
without her
—Ben Oliver Stroud
the depth
of what i yearn for
autumn shadows
—Tyrone McDonald
grief
large stones
at the edge of the path
—Jennifer Hambrick
stillborn
silence slips…
into silence
—Vinay Leo R.
leaf-drip
stillness and tremor
in the fishpond
—Simon Hanson
last night’s dream—
strands of broken web
in the wind
—Martha Magenta
almost Fall
the tree stump alive
with trumpet flowers
—Carol Raisfeld
late frost—
a punnet of whatever
you left me
—Cynthia Rowe
family mantel the ashes I’ll inherit
—Agnes Eva Savich
end of summer
i go fishing
in an old wound
—Keith Polette
hospital wall—
folding the shadows
into a paper crane
—Kristen Deming
lying beside you
i would feel less lonely
alone
— Lev Hart
lonely without you
the togetherness of the leaves
that fall
—Arvinder Kaur
autumn evening
watching his shadow
recede
—Padma Rajeswari
a longing
strays skyward
tree canopy
—Richa Sharma
early bulbs
such vibrant colours
she left us
— Maurice Nevile
broken pot
a handful of earth
to the earth
—Vandana Parashar
your perfume inside our shriveled silence
—Kashiana Singh
rising incense …
what if each breath
were a prayer
— Priti Aisola
storm season
what else have we left
but to lose
—Michael Henry Lee
April 2022 – Haiku About Presence and Absence
hiding in everything plain sight
—Don Wentworth
March in the garden—
my hostess shows me brown sticks
and speaks of flowers
—Sister Benedicta
empty
blue egg shell—
the filling nest
—Mike Montreuil
truck stop
we try to imagine
what Lewis and Clark saw
—Billie Wilson
the rattle
of leftover pills—
we empty her room
—Gary Hotham
rain falling into the silence of nothing to say
—Susan Constable
quantum theory
the universe where
I didn’t lose her
—Bryan Rickert
purple crocus
the colour of bruises
I no longer have
—Sue Mackenzie
heat mirage
semantics
at the vanishing point
—Grant D. Savage
through his late wife’s glasses
nothing but the world
—Bernadette Duncan
reunion
our missing classmates
still young
—Robert B. McNeill
A dinner bell empties the baseball field
—Alexis Rotella
Polaroid photo—
—a little girl swings
out of the frame
—Stanford M. Forrester/sekiro
rock chimney
where the log cabin stood
yellow bearded irises
—L. Teresa Church
cloud shapes
the whales
are disappearing
—LeRoy Gorman
old desk drawer
still that rich aroma
of his cigars
—Pat Benedict Campbell
what I know
what I don’t know
empty wheelbarrow
—Jim Chessing
lights out . . .
I see
silence
—Charlotte Digregorio
wind
I feel the hair I’ve
lost
—Michael Dudley
juggling
the mime drops
nothing
—Ann Goldring
magic show
my son and his friends
disappear
—John McManus
tire tracks
in the snow
all that is left behind
—Terry Ann Carter
All I long for
lies around the bend—
unseen river
—James Roderick Burns
this winter intentionally left blank
—Cherie Hunter Day
unbearably loud
the wordless poem
we never wrote
—David McMurray
in the snow
leading to the mailbox
no footsteps
—Jocelyne Villeneuve
14,000 feet
the mountain disappears
into my breathing
—David Elliott
evening fog
antlers ghosting through
the coulee
—Debbie Strange
from inside the Rembrandt the empty museum
—George Swede
night
the only thing big enough
to hide an ocean
—Claudia Coutu Radmore
May 2022 – Haiku About Early Childhood
deep in
the tidepool
a child’s gaze
—Gregory Longenecker
Saturday morning my daughter breaks out skipping
—Bruce Feingold
tea time
the little girl pours
with both hands
—James Rodriguez
the story ends
my daughter’s eyes wide
with ceiling stars
—Chuck Brickley
rising toward
the slow turn of maple seeds
the child’s laughter
—Richard Tice
custody shuffle
the daughter’s starry eyes
extinguished
—Roberta Beary
winter squall—
my daughter tells me
her doll won’t sleep
—Michael Dylan Welch
christmas morning
children play in the mountains
of wrapping paper
—Elizabeth Crocket
blue whale
the outstretched arms
of a toddler
—Victor Ortiz
grounded
the wings I lost
while growing up
—Bryan Rickert
in the rubble of war lingering lullabies
—Hifsa Ashraf
always with me
the child in me
—Daniela Lăcrămioara Capotă
pretend play which me am I going to be today
—Vandana Parashar
mountain stream
my daughter discovers
her toes
—Genevieve Wynand
windswept clouds
a boy and his dog
chasing shadows
—Susan Constable
tea party
my granddaughter shows how
I must crook my pinky
—Gary Evans
apple buds…
my school chum’s father
demands a hug
—Michele L. Harvey
happiness
the soap bubbles
I can never catch
—Christina Sng
fireworks
my son asks
if heaven could catch fire
—Adjei Agyei-Baah
babysitting—
learning the name
of each unicorn
—Julie Bloss Kelsey