Haiku of the Day 2022

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

midnight gas station—
voices of those
who know each other

—Chad Lee Robinson

Mariana Trench
an old darkness
becomes a depth

—Kat Lehmann

your enlistment photograph
as you were

—Scott Mason

this small ache and all the rain too

—Alan Summers

my father and I
a puzzle we’ve done
before

—Peter Newton

sap moon
stepping in moose tracks
to stay on the trail

—Kristen Lindquist

and after such a year
the first crocus
in its usual place

—Anita Virgil

blue nemophila
I still miss the little things
about my sister

—Debbie Strange

jogging track
the fragrance I wait for
runs past

—Arvinder Kaur

first husband’s shirt
second husband’s pants
scarecrow

—Jonathan Humphrey

small town
mamma has a story
for each name

—Ashish Narain

sun-kissed skin
the ghost of her necklace
on this rainy day

—Thomas Powell

mapping myself a garden somewhere south of old lady

—Michele Root- Bernstein

scent of rain
the few things
I still believe

—Ken Slaughter

forget-me-nots
we let her talk to
the wrong gravestone

—Mike White

lost piece of sky
my mother always
wore blue

—Kathabela Wilson

sunken grinding stone
stories told of herbs
that made us men

—Adjei Agyei-Baah

first French kiss —
forty years later the doorway
still there

—Geoff Pope

on the train
no longer in a hurry
to get anywhere

—Alan S. Bridges

she forgets my name
I offer
it back to her

—Elizabeth Crocket

in the parked car
a song too good
to turn off

—Adam T. Arn

feet in stirrups—
the new gynaecologist
her old paper boy

—Carol Raisfeld

just like home
socks
under her hospital bed

—Mark Teaford

spy novels—
inheriting mom’s closetful
of trench coats

—Marianne Paul

scent of jasmine
the dent in the garden gate
still there

—Anna Maris

suspended days
another moon comes
to the window

—Lucia Cardillo

after the wake
the soft tick
of Grandpa’s watch

—Marilyn Ward

morning traffic
slowly passing
the same bus

—Robert Kingston

january rose
my hairdresser tells me
her new name

—Keiko Izawa

on my knee
closer to my mother’s
womb

—Marilyn Ashbaugh

Look! Skeletons
in their best holiday clothes
viewing flowers

—Onitsura

forgive me, peregrine, the summit is still a lonely place

—Tim Gardiner

open grave —
the autumn moon moves
across the shovel

—Lenard D Moore

space debris . . .
the newborn foal
finds its legs

—Ferris Gilli

pill bug
—I curl up
Too

—Debbie Olson

abacus:::
he counts Jupiter’s moons
again and again

—Minal Sarosh

The old pond
A frog jumped in,
Kerplunk!

—Allen Ginsberg

too much water
for the drain . . .
it was never love

—Steve Amor

my hand takes them
down the sledding hill,
the legendary one

—Randy Brooks

six crows—
at the bus stop
—south bound

—Linda L. Ludwig

       his black and white picture
still in the window...
                   gray winter clouds

—Raquel D. Bailey

flea…
that you,
Issa?

—Raymond Roseliep

Lily:
Out of the water…
Out of itself

—Nicholas Virgilio

road trip
the first sunrise caught
in thick city smog    .!

—Kala Ramesh

still part-furled,
a wing of the butterfly
on his open palm

—Norman Barraclough

just when I thought
the day was grey—a blue jay
swoops over the lilac

—Doris Lynch

get effin’ out of there!
a British soldier screams
. . . post blast silence

—Marion Clarke

red dragonfly
do you like my jasmine
handcream?

—Meera Rehm

sforzando!
he’s using CAPS again
in an email

—Mimi Ahern

snowflakes, snowflakes!
another child
sticks out it’s tongue

—Nadejda Kostadinova

fog. . .
the sound of wings
going somewhere

—Carole MacRury

love or war?
the blackbird’s song
filling the coppice

—Polona Oblak

Santa
putting a finger aside his nose
…he blows

—James Krotzman

duck______socially distanced______from loon

—Richard Bailly

warm night… thunder shudders into the next heartbeat

—Tyler McIntosh

sheet lightning
the face near the top
of the ferris wheel

—Chuck Brickley

punctuating
the silence …
woodpecker

—Ravi Kiran

Dusting of snow . . .
       No secret
where I spent last night.

—Sally Biggar

in the shade
of the grape arbor . . .
my heart murmur

—Jim Chessing

my life sentence ends in a full stop.

—John Hawkhead

Eight Brocades
all the students
in sweatpants

—Sidney Bending

the year passes …
longing for cranes
to colour the sky

—Kala Ramesh

whispering words of encouragement
baby’s first
milk

—Randy Brooks

above the wind
there it is again
the lark

—Simon Chard

autumn leaves
this familiar road
with a new lover

—Patrick Gallagher

the sunny inside
of a complicated day
camellia

—Kath Abela Wilson

temple ruins . . .
pieces of a buddha
still praying

—Stanford M. Forrester/sekiro

 a ladybug
  out of nowhere
      we make up

—Scott Mason

snow moon—
the light from without
the light from within

—Patricia J. Machmiller

mid-summer rain
the leaf cup half full
of light

—Jacquie Pearce

this year
no wishbone
big enough

—Chuck Brickley

mother’s pincushion
a grove of marking needles
starts to bloom

—Fay Aoyagi

at the nest edge
a newborn hummingbird
a wing and a cry

—Cristina Rascon

renewed faith
grilled cheese
and tomato soup

—John S. Green

wide blue sea this moment enough

—Jenny Fraser

winter afternoon—
the dog with a clipped tail
wags what he has

—Susan Antolin

layers of light
so many ways to say
I love you

—Terry Ann Carter

fireflies
my son tells me
he’s a hobbit

—Jim Chessing

pretty sure my red is your red

—John Stevenson

sun after rain
the sky refills
with rosellas

—Quendryth Young

inside a prayer the scent of rain

—Victor Ortiz

crescent moon—
the broken tree
in bloom again

—Ion Codrescu

sun after rain
a little girl sings at the top
of her voice

—Nikolay Grankin

church bell…
the beggar spreads
his mat

—Adjei Agyei-Baah

peeking out
at the top of the stairs—
my granddaughter

—Sheila Sondik

candlemas
little fingers pulling
the wishbone

—Alan Summers

above all the finch’s song

—Carolyn Hall

here comes the sun
I tell the little darlings
it’ll be all right

—Lew Watts
(from the haibun “Come Together”)

clearcut—
wildflowers filling in
the empty spaces

—Carole MacRury

crystal moon
I celebrate
another day

—Marion Clarke

without a word
the morning
glories

—Mark Brager

eggshell blue
something new begins
to stir

—P.H.Fischer