Featured Poet – Lenard D. Moore
Homecoming parade —
waxing my convertible
under the sparrow’s nest
a black soldier
breathing into a saxophone
hot desert wind
upturned cicada
we read slave narratives
row by row
quiet rain
a Coltrane tune I know
on the radio
hot afternoon
the squeak of my hands
on my daughter’s coffin
Lenard D. Moore is an internationally acclaimed poet and anthologist. His literary works have been published in more than sixteen countries and translated into more than twelve languages. A U.S. Army Veteran, Moore is the author of Long Rain; The Geography Of Jazz and The Open Eye among other books. He is the editor of All The Songs We Sing; One Window’s Light: A Collection of Haiku, and other books. He was thrice awarded the Haiku Museum of Tokyo Award and in 2020-2021 was the Honorary Curator of the American Haiku Archives at the California State Library.
sunrise to sunset
just the changing hues
of bereavement
– Srinivas S
paddy field —
silhouettes still bent
at day’s end
– Neena Singh
fading light
the self
before diagnosis
– Lisa Espenmiller
winter gusts
caught in the gossamer
diminishing light
– Marianne Paul
black orchid
I enter a darkness
that is not mine
– Ravi Kiran
white pine —
pulling a loose stitch
on his winter cap
– Mark Forrester
tent city
wildflowers
in a rusted can
– Terri L. French
dead of winter
i am where i was
when the snow began
– Jim Kacian
cicada returns
behind new leaves
old moon
– Erin Castaldi
summer night —
I close Peggy’s book
to hear the rain
– Michael Dylan Welch
craquelure
the faces of our friends
at the museum
– Nathanael Tico
a new world
pulling at the face mask
the newborn
– Minal Sarosh
taking out the chill
melting snowflakes looking like
each other
– Gary Hotham
mother’s hair
a trace of winter
in the mirror
– Agus Maulana Sunjaya
sankofa bird
looking back
I find you
– Marilyn Fleming
worn book case —
goldilocks near
the color purple
– Janice Doppler
frozen earth
my wife wears
moon boots
– Stephen Toft
turning to go
the doorknob
tugs his sleeve
– Joseph P. Wechselberger
for everyone but
the schoolteacher’s children
a snow day
– Alexander B. Joy
night pond
the duck takes
a few sips of the moon
– Adjei Agyei-Baah
walking the cliff path
close to the edge
her décolletage
– John Hawkhead
last dance
the stillness
of moonlight
– Laurie D. Morrissey
Orion
on dewy nights
i fall for his mien
– Richa Sharma
pizza crust
what is left of her
at daybreak
– Ravi Kiran
evening sky
a hint of vulnerability
in her laughter
– Max Bindi
patchwork
the stitches that hold
her nights together
– Cynthia Anderson
leaves flutter
between the drips
of morphine
– Chen-ou Liu
the twilight stars
show up one by one —
waiting for biopsy results
– Ram Chandran
thumbing the rosary beads of her sweat
– cain gwynne
plaid with paisley
the patchwork
of her
– Vicki Miko
mansplaining
mansplaining
– Nathanael Tico
flibbertigibbet
mother gets me
heavier shoes
– John Hawkhead
Haiku workshop break …
with focus and precision
I fix my toilet
– Shelli Jankowski-Smith
class reunion
i unpack the red nose
and oversized shoes
– Steve Black
an honorable mention
in the death poem
contest
– John Stevenson
mud on her knees
the gardener’s bride
caught unawares
– Mike Gallagher
morning jog …
the smell of the garbage truck
changes my route
– Adjei Agyei-Baah
tree hole …
all those years
of abuse
– Mona Bedi
book donation
releasing the weight
of what consumed me
– Richard L. Matta
double bass —
a darkness
that won’t let go
– Angela Terry
dappled path
quavers in my voice
not used for a while
– Annie Bachini
blue ice
all those arguments
that never end
– Hifsa Ashraf
snowflakes falling
never seen before
nor since
– Ron Scully
cloudburst
the visible pulse
of a bullfrog’s throat
– Kristen Lindquist
old phone booth
the peeled paint
releases its secrets
– Keiko Izawa
first snow
the weathercock doesn’t idle
any more
– Maria Cristina Pulvirenti
Easter
pine needles cling
to the carpet
– Christine Eales
another high rise
going up —
the changing shape of the sky
– Angela Terry
Jan. 6
halyards slap the flagpole
epiphany
– Caroline Giles Banks
school uniform
camouflage that works
just so much
– Pat Davis
cop26 done
in a stretch of grey pavements
one patch of green
– Diana Webb
clutching virgin soil immigrant songs
– Veronika Zora
hunger strike
by the end of the day
hunger strikes
– Vandana Parashar
Saturday morning
slippers facing
opposite directions
– Jim Kacian
my heart misses a beat —
I revise
my priorities
– Cristina Povero
chipped nail…
i lose the argument
yet again
– Mona Bedi
his plane
becomes a gull
this loneliness
– Deborah P Kolodji
thundersnow —
the price of roses
on Valentine’s Day
– Michael Dylan Welch
summit
the urge to put a stone on top of
another stone
– Owen Bullock
the grandson’s bucket
the ocean’s deep blue
missing
– Gary Hotham
expanding universe
one by one disappearing
my loved ones
– Meera Rehm
beach stroll
I step into
the sea of stars
– Hifsa Ashraf
stars bright
long after you are gone
Van Gogh
– Deborah P Kolodji
far from home
ripening mangoes
in a plastic bowl
– Meera Rehm
lockdown …
a butterfly alights
on the doorbell
– Jeff Leong
always socially distanced
the neighborhood homeless man
– Douglas J. Lanzo
pulling vines
left to seed
in-laws
– Erin Castaldi
butterflies at rest
the jewelry
we bury with her
– Lorraine Padden
saffron tea
the rising sun rising in
my cup
– Minal Sarosh
new
father
new
moon
– John Stevenson
warm winter day
stuck out from her shopping bag
sunlit negi
– Keiko Izawa
blooming lotus —
the news of my daughter’s
pregnancy test
– Milan Rajkumar
solar powered ~
the skylight
left open
– Emily Kane
rainy season
the monotonous patter
of my thoughts
– Mark Forrester
forgetting
checkered pasts
inmates play chess
– Douglas J. Lanzo
April walk
among forget-me-nots
mother’s absence
– Wilda Morris
stuck needle
of mom’s sewing machine …
alzheimer’s
– Keiko Izawa
alone by the pond
a frog jumps
into my mind
– Chen-ou Liu
white pine
the mast of a tall ship
inside
– Peter Newton
the ones
that aren’t monarchs
wildflowers
– Brad Bennett
summer downpour
drowning all sound
but its own
– Janice Doppler
graveside wreath
what remains after
the deer
– Debbie Strange
midnight sun
an inukshuk’s
long shadow
– Veronika Zora
full moon —
searching for a better word
than homesick
– Stewart C Baker
cawing crows
mailing a parcel
of my poems
– Mariel Herbert
snow-on-snow
workshopping
the old haiku
– Richard L. Matta
school reunion
my favourite teacher
forgets my name
– Topher Dykes
rainy morning
the barista sprinkles cinnamon
over my coffee
– Roman Lyakhovetsky
cervical vertebrae
clicking back into place
worn prayer beads
– Kristen Lindquist
becoming
a part of rainfall
my shadow
– Joanna Ashwell
a kink in my neck
light from a dead star
shining on
– Marietta McGregor
recovery room —
the night nurse
wears a halo
– Ruth Holzer
Image by Mariah Sanford, haiku by Agnes Eva Savich
