Featured Poet – Keiko Izawa
first snow
the bartender’s shaker
slowing
late winter dusk —
from the music classroom
a sakura song
upturned peony
mother talks about
her heyday
pink pavement
the softness of fallen petals
in each step
mountain temple
the untended grave
strewn with chestnuts
Keiko lives on a hilltop in Yokohama, Japan with her husband and two cats. Her haiku have appeared internationally in haiku journals and anthologies. While she enjoys the greater freedom of senryū, she also enjoys Japanese haiku strictly based on kigo. She is a co-editor for Toriawase Haiku Quarterly, which is to be launched in the near future.
hardly
our pace of life
light rain
– Gary Hotham
meadow mist nothing everywhere but here
– Kathryn Liebowitz
ordinary time
the erosion
of Sunday
– Dan Schwerin
plain moth —
no reason
to die indoors
– Tony Williams
the minute hand’s
small movements
towards the new year
– Annie Bachini
dried shiitake
the earth scent
of past lives
– Kathryn Liebowitz
winter bistro
the old chef’s
thinned spatula
– Keiko Izawa
sound of cranes
napping the path
to Han Shan
– Dan Schwerin
autumn woman
a gift of
memento mori mums
– Julie Schwerin
slate creek bed
the marbled shape
of spring light
– Anne Elise Burgevin
evening pond
my shadow shading
my reflection
– Al Williams
running off
the swan’s back
the night-black canal
– Erica Ison
winter ends —
a tapestry of stars
in the village pond
– Hifsa Ashraf
water droplets
from the cormorant’s head-shake
wriggling mud minnow
– Janice Doppler
robin songs
within each other’s ripples
the lough’s raindrops
– a p hywel
the path slowly turns
from enchantment to worry
— deep autumn woods
– Scott Mason
shaded snow
not enough for a snowball’s
chance in hell
– Richard L. Matta
which stage of grief …
Mount Fuji visible
from the hotel window
– Kristen Lindquist
ripples in the pond
I write a poem shakily
in my notebook
– Rob Scott
december dark
lit up like a christmas tree
dad’s scan
– David Green
a rush of color
in her cheeks
winter kiss
– Kelly Sargent
throwing caution
to the wind —
spring birches
– Laurie D. Morrissey
young love
footsteps on moss
wet with dew
– Robert Witmer
village fair
a carousel horse
rides into the sunset
– Arvinder Kaur
her long braids
campfire smoke
and patchouli
– Jeff Hoagland
summer solstice
I concede the quiet game
to the cricket
– Julie Schwerin
smooth stone
I slip once more
into a daydream
– Rashmi VeSa
tonight’s sunset the flavours of our garden squash
– Antoinette Cheung
afternoon nap
the comforting roll
of the laundry dryer
– Jay Friedenberg
the sun hovers
over the horizon
bass solo
– John S Green
porch sunset
the curve of her sickle
chopping firewood
– Rupa Anand
lengthening days
the suddenness
of daffodils
– Katie Montagna
January evening
the changed font
in her last message
– Hynek Koziol
one star remaining
in the morning sky
writer’s block
– Alvin B. Cruz
hot oil in a pan
sunset spreads across
a summer sky
– D. Keali‘i MacKenzie
left behind
for his daughter to find
kamasutra
– Roberta Beary
Jersey girl
her sweet nothing
expletives
– Jon Petruschke
penny arcade
all the bad ones
turn up
– thomas david
wild aster
at age fifteen
my first vodka
– Rowan Beckett Minor
her first grope
deep grooves
in the bedrock
– Maureen Kingston
december solstice
fairy lights lit
in my neighbour’s garden
– Jennifer Sutherland
horseshoe crab spawn
the beach condo party
in full swing
– Christine Wenk-Harrison
cinnamon swirl …
the learning curve
of a new year
– Barrie Levine
dancing outside
penthouse windows
city lights
– Roberta Beach Jacobson
tinsel at the bar
jingle bell
on the rocks
– Sarah Lawhorne
first
to break
through snow
the gnome’s hat
– Scott Mason
millennial server
no worries
with everything
– Tony Williams
fall harvest
the scarecrow
is laid off
– Valentina Ranaldi-Adams
warm day
a carrot and a broom
fallen in the puddle
– Mona Iordan
memory lapse
the pothole
at the turnoff
– Cynthia Anderson
beaters line
entering the canary grass
a bitter wind
– Ben Oliver
a cigarette hole
in borrowed pajama pants —
piercing chill
– Maurizio Brancaleoni
yellow, pink or blue
deciding on my favourite
pain killers
– Patricia Hawkhead
rejection letter
the sound of rain
down the gutter
– Jay Friedenberg
winter wind —
dad doesn’t remember
how many children I have
– Nicoletta Ignatti
the professor’s drone …
underlining passages
with neon pink highlighter
– kei andersen
rally time
a chimera
of facts
– Pat Davis
Mardi Gras
an Anonymous mask
on Lady Justice
– Marie Derley
war news —
the even-keeled, deep voice
of the anchor
– Seth Friedman
nothing but birdsong
and yet and yet
this falsehood
– Engin Gülez
tumbleweeds
I trace the highways
on his cracked hands
– Antoinette Cheung
the warmth
in your hug
sashimono
– Kala Ramesh
setting sun
slowly i sip
gold oolong
– Meera Rehm
not yet winter
her heat-seeking fingers
under my beard
– Randy Brooks
on his grey hair the dusklight I touch
– Mariangela Canzi
attic bookshelf
revisiting
myself
– Mike Fainzilber
SAD
but now at last
knowing
– Christopher Patchel
drowning out
the self-talk …
rainsong
– Wendy Cobourne
new year’s dawn
nobody knows
anything about me
– Maria Concetta Conti
selfie
the street mime mimes
my freeze
– Dipankar Dasgupta
following
in the steps of others
— snow day
– Nancy Brady
another biopsy
the cat’s warm weight
at my back
– Jo McInerney
ashes in the wind somewhere father’s teeth
– x. a. graham
spring planting
a row of stitches
up my abdomen
– Fred Donovan
welsh poppies
yearning for country fields
or suburban rock gardens?
– Anthony Lusardi
airing honeymoon lingerie
the scent
of her neighbor’s pipe
– Eric Sundquist
solar aureole
a ring in the lake
not yet ice
– Evan Vandermeer
bright Venus
from a nearby garden
a neighbour’s whistle
– Françoise Maurice
blazing passion
behind the cottage
mom’s rose bushes
– Stephanie Zepherelli
freezing rain
a scantily dressed girl
on the billboard
– Vandana Parashar
separating red
from yellow roses
friend-zoned again
– Alvin B. Cruz
lingering just
at the edge of your words …
autumn shadows
– Angela Terry
shapes of clouds
all that you and me
could have been
– Ravi Kiran
tangled wind chimes
replaying
last night’s words
– Kelly Sargent
misty morning
the pull and push
of her memory
– Manoj Sharma
awakened
before they fly
birdsong
– Matt Beck
graveyard pond
wild ducks gather
in the ice hole
– Joanne van Helvoort
the peregrine
bites her banded leg
Earth Day
– Ruth Holzer
gale force
the gull’s flight
stalls out
– Marilyn Ashbaugh
city
(wildlife preserve)
cemetery
– Christopher Patchel
writing sins
under my sleeve
fresh scars
– Rowan Beckett Minor
evening rain
the wet couch grass
flavours my moscato
– Madhuri Pillai
flicker of neon
not exactly a firefly
but tonight it’ll do
– Ramund Ro
another year ends
the steady drone
of my air conditioner
– Austin Oting Har
running late
on this rainy morning
Miles’ “So What”
– Bob Stewart
black friday
a crow sorts
through corn stover
– Kathryn Haydon
new year’s eve
the on-call coroner
declines to toast
– John Pappas
New Year’s Day
mother’s walk
getting shorter
– Tuyet Van Do
a thin moon
for New Year’s Eve
his lost smile
– D. Keali‘i MacKenzie
Black Friday
the Christmas cactus
in full bloom
– Bob Stewart
waning gibbous
explaining the dad joke
to dad
– susan burch
high chair
another human
discovers gravity
– j rap
hitting the island full force tourist season
– Gordon Brown
roadside diner
the mosquitoes have me
for dinner
– Srini
winter solstice —
quarrel with the wife
shorter than usual
– Tomislav Maretic
green bananas
still unripe
my haiku
– kei andersen
river ice
breaking up
an emotional logjam
– Bonnie J Scherer
falling in love
with this shade of green …
springtime
– Mary McCormack
thrift shop vinyls
Ella Fitzgerald
fl-fl-fl-flickers
– Joshua St. Claire
cherry blossoms …
the tourist town becomes
faintly pink
– Kanchan Chatterjee
murmuring creek
a poem rises
to the surface
– M. R. Pelletier
from silence
to insistence
the clock’s ticking
– Nathanael Tico
edge of sundown
an owl’s voice emerges
from the forest
– Kevin Valentine
rainlessness
the creek song
long gone
– Jeff Hoagland
dappled sunlight
flickering flickering
of a thrush’s song
– Chen-ou Liu
silent
night
tinnitus
– Ravi Kiran
pueblo dance
feet dangling
from the rooftops
– Frank Hooven
spring equinox
their tug-of-war
for fairy bread
– Maureen Kingston
grass whistle
the sound
tickles my lips
– Suzanne Leaf-Brock
a little girl
plays the hula hoop
sakura breeze
– Mona Bedi
beach walk
throwing a starfish
to the stars
– Edward Cody Huddleston
feeding grain
to a line of ants …
my grandson’s smile
– Neena Singh
homemade bread
saying grace
in the mother tongue
– Susan Yavaniski
wishing
for a grandchild
the silence of stars
– Ann Sullivan
window by window
she made the seasons change —
summer curtains
– Laurie D. Morrissey
volunteer tomato plant
another generation
on the family tree
– Wilda Morris
pawpaw harvest
great-gran’s depression stories
same as mine
– Adele Evershed
memorial lawn
my sister among
the dandelions
– Gavin Austin
in the dark times
birdsong
still birdsong
– Mike Fainzilber
melancholia …
missing the snowdrops
before they’re gone
– Tony Williams
dying mall
the holiday muzak
echoes
– Frank Higgins
daydreams
the necessity
of the subjunctive
– Nancy Orr
understanding
whispers of rustling leaves —
insomnia
– Ram Chandran
Easter cactus
a question of faith
in its one bloom
– Roland Packer
rain’s scatter patterns I almost understand
– C.X. Turner
driving back
into the fog
winter notebook
– Joanna Ashwell
sidewalk heat
a little girl palms the ball
like a pro
– Kristen Lindquist
hatless
the winter whiteness
of my hair
– Maya Daneva
boots and sneakers
by the front door
spring equinox
– Brad Bennett
towards sunset –
opening a new tube
of arnica gel
– Maria Tosti
the big woods
every path returning me
to childhood
– Bryan Rickert
spring morning
a pop-up
Viagra ad
– Shawn Blair
your silver balloon slowly leaking gas happy birthday
– Ruth Holzer
only the pavement puddles
know the color
of her underwear
– Jon Petruschke
press 1 to speak to an agent winter freeze
– petro c. k.
moose rut
the quaking bog
steadies itself
– Debbie Strange
birdwatching
another kigo
in question
– Pat Davis
he speaks softly
everywhere else
the auctioneer
– Gordon Brown
after his cough
the room begins
again
– Gary Hotham
sunset glazes
the cracked window
his half-true tales
– Marilyn Humbert
evading the mower
again
this dandelion
– Bryan Rickert
breaking news
snowflakes filling our silence
with silence
– Gary Hotham
stalag luft 3
the long odds
of my birth
– Stephenie Story
Memorial Day sky …
I never once
saw Grandma cry
– MJ Mello
dad’s old medals
we drop apple seeds
into the grave spoil
– Patricia Hawkhead
straightening nails
the people
I come from
– Dan Schwerin
Haiga – Nancy Brady
