re:Virals 555

“More difficult than making your own verses interesting is understanding those of others…” ―Shinkei (1406 –1475). Citing this, Onitsura (1661 – 1738) wrote: “…this should be a way in which a person is completely given over to training.”

Welcome to re:Virals, The Haiku Foundation’s weekly commentary feature on some of your favorites among the best contemporary haiku and senryu written in English. In the host chair today is Shawn Blair. This week’s poem, chosen by Sitarama Seshu Maringanti was:

   
ripples of water
in the brimming birdbath—
spring breeze
—Anne Curran
 Hamilton, New Zealand
 THF Blog: January 21, 2026 — "HAIKU DIALOGUE – Energy of Motion – Movement in Stillness"

Introducing this poem, Sitarama writes:

This haiku, in my view, reflects a photographer’s vision of his picture as a haiku in stable or still fluidity. Vidya Shankar, the Guest Editor at the time of the blog on the topic of Movement in Stillness observed—’photography is poetry in a different dimension’. How true! The haiku simulates the gentle ripples in a birdbath already full and about to overflow. But it doesn’t spill and spread along the sides of the bath. Such is the gentleness of the spring breeze, so well imagined and presented by the poet.

Host comment (Shawn):

Even a birdbath that is hidden in some overgrown corner of a garden can seem to be the center of the universe. It attracts the starlings who bathe en masse, the grackle with its crazy golden eye, the small bird that takes one shy sip before escaping into the bushes. Other animals visit the birdbath too, especially when the basin rests on the ground without a pedestal. The birdbath is an offering to the non-human world—the gardener who keeps the birdbath full of good water invites the sun and clouds and treetops as well.

The verse speaks of the ephemerality of all these things. They are ripples in the water, a spring breeze that comes and goes. But the emphasis is less on things gone than on things anticipated—the birdbath is brimming, the basin has just been filled. A cause hoping for a desired effect, the gardener is also a spring breeze, the nature of this world.

Sudha Devi Nayak:

The haiku is a beautiful sight, breathing of a serenity, an ineffable peace. The water rippling in joy in the morning sunshine, glimmering with hope, aided by the spring breeze, spreading to the ends of a birdbath, gently, softly, endlessly taking care not to spill over. Strangely, I am reminded of Monet’s comment on his waterlilies, “The basic element…is the mirror of water…the passing cloud, the sudden fierce gust of wind, the fading or suddenly refulgent light…create changes in colour and alter the surface of the water”.

I can see the birds skimming the sky, towards the birdbath landing on the rim to sip the water. Slowly I find more and more of them, a crowd of cheeps and chirps in their delightful hues and shapes, some of brilliant plumage, some plain, feathered friends bound by a unity in their diversity. They drink, they plunge into the coolness of the waters, float on them, mingling, jostling, haggling, in happy camaraderie.

The birds are but travellers and would be on their way, before long, traversing the skies but for brief moments they have enjoyed the peace and sustenance of the birdbath. The birdbath in the fragrance of the morning stoic and calm is a metaphor for hope that rises eternal in the human heart even in the direst of conditions. When we are unsure of ourselves, at the edge of thought, unable to connect, to come to a conclusion ripples of hope raise their heads to tell us all is not lost, there would be a light at the end of the long tunnel. There would be a birdbath with that cool sip of water waiting in the spring breeze.

Urszula Marciniak:

Oh, to be able to take a bath again, spontaneously, with water splashing sideways, with boundless joy, whether in a bathtub, a bowl, or a puddle. It doesn’t matter if you’re a child, an adult, or a bird.

You have an innate ability not to worry about who’s going to clean it up, even if you’ve long forgotten about it. If you don’t have the courage, at least look at the birds. Enjoy their joy. There’s just this bath, the wind, and nothing more.

You don’t have to go to the seaside to feel the breeze. You’re experiencing it right now.

Tomorrow you’ll think about your worries, they certainly won’t escape you.

Radhamani Sarma:

The summer has set in and we are glad to see a different world of birdbath, a delightful pleasure for both humans and birds. Not merely humans have bath, bath tubs and related accessories, but for birds also, birdbaths have become essential for multipurpose. Any number of quick showers for humans and birds essential this summer for our lives. Modernity develops with these infrastructure even for birds and animals.

Given above is a simple haiku of sound and sight for us to develop the theme into further, Nature comprising water and birdbath, season being spring innate for all of our well being, a delectable pleasure in the offing for all; In western countries, the variety of birdbaths, in tune with the seasons, adding beauty to gardens also a wholesome point to cherish.

Anne Curran has observed in close quarters how the image of rounded ripples, in circles—a watery web have captured our eyes. The first line beginning with “ripples of water” take us to the spot how they are created. Sight and sound—a combination of image wonderfully embedded in this. Birdbath usually created by pools and ponds improvised by man, with all care and caution, now invite birds: “in the brimming birdbath— / spring breeze” birds delightfully enter tubs play with feathers swim and wet and interplay, in the brimming bath—another delectable image, wherein spring breeze aura emanate. Either way, spring breeze sparks for game of feather delight in the overflowing birdbath—or ripples of water enable a kind of ensemble for birds and so on and so forth. The words “brimming birdbath” showcase myriad approaches—the act of both weathers deep dive and up, the wholesome pleasure spring action in season spring, and the enhanced spring breeze on all sides, a multi approach. A profound insight into the images distinctly show that the ripples in water, brimming birdbath and spring breeze—all are intertwined. The same string of real show wherein fully fledged joyful exuberance emanates.

Ashoka Weerakkody:

The point of inflection for me was rather late in coming I confess. The poem brings in the absurd beauty of reality we usually appreciate in haiku products and especially the last line becomes magical triggering the colour burst making everything hidden to finally fill up the home screen, like the colour burst on a television waveform works, old age analogue TV that is, to be on the safe side of any (unlikely though) debate.

“Spring breeze” to be precise, catches the eye at first glance and mind is preoccupied with the pleasant flashback to the last flowering season, colourful and fragrant, bright and salubrious, of our days gone by, and with a promise of coming back again, cycling through a fixed, unalterable slideshow of seasons as decreed by the unchangeable orbit of ours around the Sun. Comforting winds touch everything and not the least the brimming happiness, thus far untouched and unpricked, not even by a bird’s beak, if we go directly into the second line, “in the brimming birdbath,” and here we part company as we seem to defy gravity going upwards from line 3 to line 2, perhaps reverse engineering the poetry here! The unforgiving, firm, dash that breaks the haiku matters, hence it’s a different time, different place now. But for all, the image is finely focussed here taking us right within the frame where we are grasping the otherwise unseeing dynamics of nature, causing the “ripples of water”, and here we are right on top with the line 1, just the fragment, of imagination that originated in the poetic mind. And we may even shout out, ‘hey! we are here and can see you right out there!!’

But still curious about the kireji here put in with an unforgiving, long dash over there can’t be overlooked at all.

Reminds me of the wonderful song by Stevie Wonder, “I just called to say I love you” from that lovely livable “The Woman in Red,” a cinematic creation of the eighties.

He writes and sings, “No Autumn breeze, no falling leaves, Not even time for birds to fly to southern skies.” And it’s September presumably and going by the chronological flow of the lines written by Wonder boy Stevie there.

So the scenario is that poet Curran’s birdbath still remains unblemished somewhere in the Southern hemisphere waiting for the birds migrating from the upper latitudes soon to go cold. So finally the scene is entirely different one from where the poet has dreamed of a spring somewhere down under while she awaits the cold damp days of winter!

Dan Campbell—all lightness:

An Acrostic (BIRDBATH) Commentary

Beneath the surface, this haiku is an encounter between fullness and disturbance: the birdbath is “brimming,” complete, still, and then the breeze scribbles itself upon it.

In the first line, “ripples of water” gives us motion before we know its cause. The poem takes us into a world governed by traces.

Rather than showcase Spring through beautiful blossoms or a birdsong choir, the haiku chooses a small and modest reservoir of water.

Delicately, the dash after “birdbath” becomes the poem’s door. It holds silence long enough for the phrase, “spring breeze,” to enter as both explanation and revelation.

Brimming means almost overflowing; one more breath, one more ripple, and the water will spill. This is the arrival of a moment poised on the edge of vanishing.

Atmospherically, the poem is all lightness; the breeze acts without force, altering the world by touch rather than command.

The juxtaposition is haiku spare: water held in a human-made vessel, wind moving through an unchained season. Between them, the poem finds a quiet collaboration of artifice and nature.

Here, Spring is not announced; it is inferred. The haiku hopes the reader will feel Spring’s renewal in the barely visible rippling of a birdbath.

Author Anne Curran:

I was inspired to write this haiku when waiting on a couch at a client’s home. There was a birdbath outside the ranch slider, a beautiful centrepiece on the lawn, immediately in my view. The birdbath was full of fresh rainwater, and I felt sure that one lucky bird would take advantage at any moment. There were blackbirds and sparrows perched on the rim of the birdbath. My feeling was one of equilibrium, a peacefulness, that all was as it should be in that moment.

The ripples seemed like an invitation to change with their constant, almost imperceptible movement. And, of course in a garden, change is a welcome and wonderful given.

Thanks to all who sent commentaries. As the contributor of the commentary reckoned best this week, Dan Campbell has chosen next week’s poem, which you’ll find below. We invite you to write a commentary to it. It may be short, to a maximum of 500 words (succinctness will be valued); academic, your personal response, spontaneous, or idiosyncratic.  As long as it focuses on the verse presented, and with respect for the poet, all genuine reader reaction, criticism, and pertinent discussion is of value.   Out-takes are kept in the THF Archives.  Best of all, the chosen commentary’s author gets to pick the next poem.

Anyone can participate. Simply use the re:Virals commentary form below to enter your commentary on the new week’s poem (“Your text”) by the following Tuesday midnight, Eastern US Time Zone, and then press Submit to send your entry. The Submit button will not be available until Name, Email, and Place of Residence fields are filled in. We look forward to seeing your commentary and finding out about your favourite poems.

Poem for commentary:

     
desert rose
the impossibility
of us both
—Ravi Kiran
 tsuri-dōrō Issue #32—March/April 2026

Footnote:

Poet Bio

Anne Curran loves to compose short verse forms in her spare time. Whenever possible, she likes to capture that AHA moment in the writing of haiku and that emotive response in the writing of tanka verse. She lives in Hamilton, New Zealand.

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We were saddened by news that Uma Padmanabhan, latterly a frequent contributor to re:Virals, passed away on May the sixth.  But pleased to learn from her sister Sudha that seeing her commentaries published and praised here made her feel privileged and very happy.  She did not get to see the last time her contribution was adjudged the best.  Please join us in condolences. —Keith

re:Virals is co-hosted by Shawn Blair, Melissa Dennison, Susan Yavaniski, and Keith Evetts (managing editor).

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