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January 2023 – Haiku About A New Year
a single candle
on New Year’s Eve
her wish
—Jacob Salzer
during countdown
the frozen moon
outside my window
—Fanny Budan
New Year’s party
my lover’s wife
brings flowers
—Caroline Giles Banks
no one to kiss
I down the dregs
of the old year
—Lisa Gerlits
first kiss
of the new year —
the dog
—Julie Schwerin
fast asleep
the old dog starts his new year
with flatulence
—an’ya
The first dream of the year:
I kept it a secret,
and smiled to myself.
—Shō-u
New Year Day:
What Luck! What Luck!
A pale blue sky
—Issa
new year’s day
the desk and bits of paper
just as last year
—Shōbi
early morning light
gently your hand sweeps away
new year’s confetti
—Roberta Beary
always on hand
for new year’s card writing
a glass of sake
—Nanternō
I pour out
a bit more sake for each
card I read
—Fujimoto Hiedo
hanging New Year’s cards
on the shoji
last year’s dust
—Maggie Chula
at the New Years
food offering
a family of mice
—Shiki
other children
thrilled to meet mine
this new year
—Hamano-jo
ice cubes
in my tulip glass—
new year’s resolutions
—Sam Blair
new year dawns
the snow remains just as
last year left it
—Chōsui
new year snow
covered ground
of my bygones
—Steve Bahr
breathe in the new
breathe out the past
New Year meditation
—Cathy Merritt
At the river’s
edge…
waiting to crossover
—Dr. David H. Rosen
the first sky
this is where the clouds
of joy are kept
—Chōsui
hanging the wall calendar
we take on
twelve new cats
—Barrie Levine
snowy roofs
spring already leaking into
the old year
—Sekiga
fingernail moon
this winter night
the itch for spring
—Kathe L. Palka
it’s the start
of the sun’s renewal
day after day
—Hokko
New Year’s moon
the activist begins
saving the dates
—Christine Wenk-Harrison
the old rope
smooth in my hand—
new year’s bell fading
—Michael Dylan Welch
Temple bells unrung
Orange and yellow banners blaze
Year’s dying glory
—Mike Freiling
the old year goes away—
and the things it takes along
what and what are they?
—Soin
two red camellias
on a warm January day
so many buds unopened
—Shasta Hatter
quickly the hare
hops up the hills
a year passes
—Shūchō
February 2023 – Haiku About Trees
tree branches empty
a lone bird
changes everything
—Roberta Beach Jacobson
frail apple tree
the closest thing we have
to a scarecrow
—Nicholas Klacsanzky
tree to tree—
I walk along carrying
shadows
—Pravat Kumar Padhy
autumn dawn
the apple tree
ripe with robins
—Dave Read
orange carp
lost in the reflection
red maple leaves
—George Klacsanzky
late fall
skeleton of the tree
on each leaf back
—Francine Porad
shimmering pines
a taste of the mountain
from your cupped hands
—Peggy Willis Lyles
April mist—
Under the pine
At midnight
—Jack Kerouac
The old carving tree . . .
a new pair of initials
and the first young leaves
—Tom Tico
bare trees
no other sound but
falling snow
—Max Verhart
the whole tree
swinging with her
summer’s end
—Lisa Gerlits
twilight—
the equanimity
of trees
—j rap
passing under the maple I breathe in fall colors
—Mary McCormack
roots of fallen trees
in the ravine—the highway’s
aching fingers
—Ian Gwin
a cloak of snowdust
the evergreens undulate
ethereal ghosts
—Michelle Hyatt
out of tune
in the same tree
cicadas
—Edwin Lomere
back yard compost
a nearby tree blooms
in tea bags
—Gabri Rigotti
the snow-spinning wind
I dream of only big trees
in my prison yard
—Alan Summers
Exmoor mist…
a winter crow settles
in the ghosts of trees
—Brendon Kent
Withered winter tree;
its barren boughs reflected
in the sick man’s eye
—Eric W. Amann
evening lull…
the dead cypress
still speaking of wind
—Kay F. Anderson
chill wind—
the heart of an oak
leaves the chimney
—Robert Bauer
winter bare tree
ice crystals sculpt
an abandoned nest
—Angelee Deodhar
threading through
a weeping willow—
sunlit laughter
—Laryalee (Lary) Fraser
the dark folds
of a greening mountain—
my sister’s locked diary
—D. Claire Gallagher
broken wall…
the barn and a cherry-tree
lean on each other
—Maya Lyubenova
mountain cedar—
snowmelt leaving
a sharp blue scent
—H. F. Noyes
woodpecker—
the silence when my shadow
touches the tree
—Cindy Zackowitz
March 2023 – Haiku About Spring
mountain spring—
in my cupped hand
pine needles—Michael Dylan Welch
after the rain
my daughter jumps into
each piece of sky
—Jacquie Pearce
on the merry-go-round
children laugh as the breeze
blows petals into the circling
—Naomi Wakan
walk in the woods
chickadees land
on a hand out
—Hans Jongman
my kind
of baptism—
cherry blossom rain
—Vicki McCullough
white and red tulip
the bloodshot beauty
in your lens
—Julie Emerson
April sunshine
promises
yet to be kept
—Mike Montreuil
spring fever . . .
the turtle’s neck
at full stretch
—Carole MacRury
weightless
the whole earth against my back
under spring sun
—Anna Vakar
spring wind
my face colder
where the tears are
—Philomene Kocher
cherry blossom
after cherry blossom
dawn’s slow light
—Ulrike Narwani
this sweet spring rain –
wouldn’t it have been better
if you’d stayed alive?
—Isabella Mori
swallow’s nest
grandma brings a pillow
for the pew
—Sidney Bending/Margaret Rutley
butterflies mating
my wife’s hand made to fit
inside my palm
—Chen-ou Liu
mothers day
watering my bleeding hearts
and forget-me-nots
—Sheila Bello
on my back…
cherry blossoms ascend
to clouds
—David Berger
the trail bends
into sunlight
first trillium
—Tanya McDonald
little girl with a ribbon
twirling and twirling
in sunshine—Marshall Hryciuk
first crocus
the slight murmurings
of my heart
—Marianne Paul
centre of the jellyfish
filled with light
March morning
—Terry Ann Carter
green sprouts spring gossip
—kj munro
trickster wind
the red beach ball
travels the coast
—Lynne Jambor
she whistles
while switching her clothes out
daffodils
—John Green
daisy petals . . .
names of our crushes
in the breeze
—Antoinette Cheung
rain clouds
the frog puffs
his belly out
—Chiyo-ni
peak bloom
she swings a sandal
from one toe
—Peter Fischer
blending into the carpet pattern
fading crabapple petals
—Karen Sohne
the gardener mows
a cultivated lawn
not sparing the tulip
—Frances Mary Bishop
windswept—
into an upside down umbrella
frangipani blossoms
—Angelee Deodhar
cherry blossoms
fluttering in the breeze…
hummingbird wings
—Nancy Nitrio
snow melts
and the village floods
with children
—Kobayashi Issa
April 2023 – Haiku About LGBTQIA+
graduation morning
the transgender boy flips her tassel
right to left
—Bruce H. Feingold
across the river
the other side
of my family
—Brent Goodman
frangipani blossoms
two old men
hold hands
—Carolyn Hall
blind date
discovering the gender
beneath his dress
—Cliff Roberts, aka Kawazu
pronoun decision
the gender of a squash
blossom
—Deborah P Kolodji
pride parade
from behind a cloud
the sun comes out
—Olivier Schopfer
30th of June
my unidentified flag
furls into itself
—Peg Cherrin-Myers
mid-January—
avoiding eye contact
with his gay brother
—Ignatius Fay
broken twigs
in slivers of moonlight
Sappho’s song
—Eve Luckring
letter to a gay friend a love stamp
—Marlene Mountain
rainbow flag
thoughts tumble out –
side the box
—Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy
gender roles blend mix stir repeat
—Roberta Beary
coming out
mom puts me on
the prayer list
—Lithica Ann
a life together
two women stand barefoot
in the river
—Jane Reichhold
fellow commuter
watching her slowly
transition
—Alan S. Bridges
fellow commuter
watching her slowly
transition
—Alan S. Bridges
making change
transgender
cashier
—Lucas Stensland
an atlas moth
emerges from the cocoon
shedding my gender
—Robin Anna Smith
two women
hold hands
wild-rose hedge
—Joanna M. Weston
longtime friend
comes out of the closet—
those jokes back then
—David Oates
spring cleaning
finding who I was
stuck in the closet
—Barbara Kaufmann
sitting at the bar
my soul filled with deep longing
and deeper terror
—Joel Derfner
same sex wedding
his father gave him away
years ago
—Bill Kenney
balloon girl
twisting gender stereotypes
into animals
—Christina Nguyen
spring night
i offer my genes
to a stranger
—Dietmar Tauchner
I knew she was bi—
I just didn’t know
she was polar
—James Tipton
man tears up the Father’s Day card from his gay son
—John J. Dunphy
I slip again
on their pronoun
November rain
—Susan Antolin
quiet dusk he leaves his aggression inside me
—Orrin PréJean
wedding day—
the usher asks, bride’s side
or bride’s side?
—Carol Raisfeld
gender neutral
dad wonders if the army
would make me a man
—Bryan Rickert
May 2023 – Haiku About the Afterlife
behind the stand
of winter trees
a red sun set
—Masaoka Shiki
year’s end
I give the graveyard
a passing glance
—Tom Painting
hope chest
the forget-me-nots
pressed in her bible
—Lorraine Padden
early morning light
my mother’s presence lingers
by the long-armed chair
—Bona M. Santos
crescent moon
are we better off
the less we know
—Christine Lamb Stern
where
the wildflowers grow
childhood dog
—Edward Cody Huddleston
creation story
a turtle in the weeds
this side of June
—Erin Castaldi
playing army…
the little boys fight over
who’s dead
—Stanford M. Forrester
a hope for this spring
my brother’s memorial tree
finally blossoms
— Joshua Michael Stewart
lilies the meaning of life after dark
—Stella Pierides
the dead of night
my father wanders
through my dreams
—Gregory Longnecker
brief sunset
a world beyond this one
in mother's eyes
—Roberta Bearya deceased friend
taps me on the shoulder
plum blossoms falling
—Chen-ou Liu
summer grasses
all that remains
of warriors dreams
—Matsuo Basho
one part forgetting
one part remembering
afterlife
—Robert Epstein
my grandmother’s Bible—
every bookmark
an obituary
—Chad Lee Robinson
another mass shooting
my son practices
his trumpet solo
—Crystal Simone Smith
hot afternoon
the squeak of my hands
on my daughter’s coffin
—Lenard D. Moore
winter pond
withered lotuses
turn inward
—Agnes Eva Savich
turtle crossing…
the ones that make it
the ones that don’t
—Terri L. French
hallway
I step over
the dog’s ghost
—Sidney Bending
raven speak
hearing my father
from a dead tree
—Sandi Pray
yet another
grave to tend
family plot
—Debbie Olson
reading the will
I inherit
his anxiety
—Bryan Rickert
looking
for a way out
this mayfly
—Tia Haynes
night ocean
death’s puppeteer
clears his throat
—Fay Aoyagi
funeral
even now his face
remains a mask
—Kala Ramesh
his old workshop
only dust and sunlight now
on the wooden counter
— Antoinette Librodust motes the silence after the eulogy
—Mark Brager
now and then
salvation through
a zinnia
—Tiffany Shaw-Diaz
in this world
we walk on the roof of hell
gazing at flowers
—Kobayashi Issa
June 2023 – Haiku About Singularity
one umbrella—
the person more in love
gets wet
—keisanjin
driftwood…
just enough of me
holds on
—A.J. Anwar
sometimes
one is enough—
daffodil
—Rebecca Drouilhet
stillness on the lake
a lone swan
stirs the stars
—Irena Szewczyk
stages of grief
a body
that’s mostly water
—Tyrone McDonald
the full history
of hydrogen
winter stars
—J. Zimmerman
quiet library
dust particles suspended
in a ray of light
—Angelina Georgacopoulos
family reunion
proof we are alone
in the universe
—Jay Friedenberg
striated rock
the millennia
in my DNA
—Agnes Eva Savich
beach walk
billions of years
between our toes
—Carly Siegel Thorp
raking
again and again
the same conversation
—Jennifer Hambrick
frozen pond
I skate around
his question
—Jone Rush MacCulloch
new moon…
that empty space
you took for yes
—Angela Terry
moonflower
this daughter
I’ll never have
—Rowan Beckett
canceling
the baby shower
blood moon
—Edward Cody Huddleston
longest day
the shadow
of the unlit lamp
—Mary Stevens
a glass of wine
with the departed
winter twilight
—Marion Alice Poirer
everybody
has a story
not to tell
—John Stevenson
snow on snow
an angel
loses her wings
—Terri L. French
ice age still dripping into it rainforest
—Bob Redmond
winter storm watch
she doesn’t say it
back
—James Babbs
greasy spoon
like all the others
I sit alone
—Robert Witmer
too young
to have grown bitter
baby kale
—Mark Teaford
phone call
the length of
a bottle of wine
—David Grayson
wild grass
his wish to die
alone
—Harriot West
fireflies
I decode a message
from the nether world
—Fay Aoyagi
clicking the box
I’m not a robot
clicking the box
—Ross Plovnick
my acceptance
of this fiddle-faddle day
summer pajamas
—Mimi Ahern
a season all its own peony
—RS
cherry blossom tea
the salt
in our goodbye
—Beverly Acuff Momoi
July 2023 – Haiku About Music and Memory
full circle
hearing the music playing
while I was born
—Kathabela Wilson
in fog
the rooster is tromboning
day
—Raymond Roseliep
the shakuhachi how deep the silence holding each note
—Elizabeth Searle Lamb
winter wind—
a cradlesong sung
in an ancient language
—Billie Wilson
my baby boy
digging his daddy
digging Charlie Parker
—Michael Ketchek
B-side
the acoustics
of snow
—Genevieve Wynand
Christmas hymn—
drone of the deaf grandpa
in perfect rhythm
—Ruth Yarrow
forest jazz a polyrhythm of woodpeckers
—Peter Jastermsky
train platform
a cricket busking
in the rain
—Jessica Allyson
while doing the dishes
my mother sings
Roamin’ in the Gloamin’
—Cor van den Heuvel
cello solo the owls in my bones
—Tanya McDonald
last light
my body echoes
with frog song
—Victor Ortiz
night radio station to station the static of stars
—stuart quine
can’t-sit-still kind of music meteor shower
—Carolyn Hall
when the music stops
and you can’t find a chair
keep dancing
—Charles Harmon
in the melody
of cascading water
I hear your voice
—Sally Quon
harbor stroll
the windblown strains
of fifty ukuleles
—Cynthia Anderson
the composer—
reaching one last time for notes
he alone could hear
—Barry George
for Burt Bacharachallegro non troppo their second date
—Lorraine Padden
Chopin étude
your fingers feel
my sadness
—Deborah P Kolodji
complicating
my love of music
her urge to sing
—John Stevenson
talking drums every song we know by heart
—Debbie Strange
bobbing and bobbing
on the jazz club wall
the bassist’s shadow
—Lenard D. Moore
picking banjo
on the porch
duets with cardinals
—Bryan Cook
rough turbulence
I switch the playlist
to gospel
—Crystal Simone Smith
Taps . . .
a row of sunflowers
with bowed heads
—Roland Packer
stayin’ alive
the groom’s parents revive
their disco moves
—Bruce Feingold
the loon’s ripples
disappear
mandolin summer
—Michael Dylan Welch
songs from my youth–
I remember all the words
but can’t find my keys
—Claire Thom
prom night
dancing one last time
to End of the Road
—Jackie Chou
music box somewhere inside yesterday
—Greg Longeneker
August 2023 – Haiku About Amrit Kaal – The Golden Era
reunion
the bamboo grove bursts
with babblers
—G. Akila
chowka barah
the cushioned spot
occupied
—Amoolya Kamalnath
Agni Nakshathram
some more curd rice
in the bird feeder
—Anju Kishore
nolen gur …
the warm taste of winter
on my tongue
—Baisali Chatterjee Dutt
jugnu night
at the edge of a swamp
an upturned sky
—Firdaus Parvez
our differences
lost in spice and salt—
raw mango pickle
—Gauri Dixit
Janmashtami ∼
mixed with His feet prints
my kitten’s paws
—Geetanjali Rajan
morning cricket…
a lapwing takes off
from the outfield
—K Ramesh
bullock cart
and she walks alongside
talking to the bull
—Kala Ramesh
godhadi…
mother’s warmth
lulls me to sleep
—Kavitha Sreeraj
sun-dried grains
aunt’s backyard fills
with chirps and chucks
—Mallika Chari
ancient drum sounds
the possessed Maibi utters
a different dialect
—Milan Rajkumar
first monsoon
the road home becomes
a mountain stream
—Muskaan Ahuja
rain bath
shedding the dust
a peacock’s cry
—Neena Singh
Indian summer
buffaloes step into
a thin pond
—Pravat Kumar Padhy
sinking sun
behind the amaltas…
she lights an oil lamp
—Priti Aisola
Diwali cleaning
that itch to clear the cobwebs
on the moon
Priya Narayanan
summer night—
a creaky ceiling fan
scrapes the silence
—Ravi Kiran
in tune
the waters swell and surge
raga megh malhar
—Rupa Anand
harvest song
a cradle squirms
under a mango tree
—Shobhana Kumar
pumpkin tanpura
the street monk’s song
about hollowness
—Srinivasa Rao Sambangi
the night stung
by countless coconut palms—
Scorpio winds
—Suraja Menon Roychowdhury
Khadungla pass…
taking away what was left
of my breath
—Shreya Narang
hyderabad biriyani
I compliment the cook
in chaste Urdu
—Suresh Babu
rising heat—
the heady smell of mint
in chilled golgappe
—Sushama Kapur
poornima
the fullness of my breast
wears a scar
—Teji Sethi
morning walk
I hear the saffron
of a blooming palaash
—Ustat Sethi
spring sky
air heady with the chants
of “Kai po che”
—Vandana Parashar
summer breeze—
the scent of mogra lingers
in the bride’s braid
—Vani Sathyanarayan
pallanguzhi
the filling and emptying
of life’s coffers
—Vidya Shankar
morning quiet
the swish of a broom
erasing old kolams
—Vidya S Venkatramani
September 2023 – Haiku About Fall
on the pond
a curled empress leaf
rudderless in the wind
—Vicki McCullough
tiny maple seed twirling
how does it feel
to fly?
—Sheila Weaver
in stereo
—the dry sound of leaves
beneath my steps
—Joyce Ryckman
empty parking lot some wind collects and swirls leaves into a shape —Tom Clausen
first day of school
the teddy bear still warm
on her bed
—Antoinette Cheung
fall colours
the slow revealing
of bird nests
—P.H. Fischer
the silence
between the wind chimes
autumn breeze
—Sean Brown
Japanese maple
sill holding
the summer sun
—Jack Maze
autumn evening
the hydrangea spins
its pinks to gold
—Marilyn Potter
below the maple
a hopping puddle
of red stars
—Julie Emerson
autumn rail trip
to the countryside
colours in my lunch box, too
—Rachel Enomoto
full moon—
pumpkins in the field
ready to pick
—Carole MacRury
autumn rain
tomatoes ripening
on my window
—Marco Fraticelli
everyone stops
for this red light
lobster mushroom
—Sheila Sondik
cornbread batter
spreading in the skillet
autumn sun
—Barrie Levine
late harvest
picking apples
from the tree’s shadow
—Pamela Cooper
autumn handful
her little pumpkin
grown from seed
—Genevieve Wynand
ripened field—
an old scarecrow invites
birds to party
—Adjei Agyei-Baah
a crow shadow
intersects with mine
Indian summer
—Vicki McCullough
walking the trail
one crimson leaf
sticks to muddy boot
—Michelle V. Alkerton
trembling in the wind
a lone faded flower
that forgot to wilt
—Isabella Mori
forest ferns
brushed by moonlight . . .
autumn rain
—Elehna de Sousa
the song
of a single cricket—
harvest moon
—Carole MacRury