Haiku of the Day 2022

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

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

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

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

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