Daily Haiku: Nov. 18, 2019

senryu

deep winter

enough snow

to hide the neighbors

 

by Ignatius Fay (Canada)

A Moment’s Longing

Haiku Society of America Members’ Anthology, 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 17, 2019

games at twilight–

I am given away

by my shadow

 

by arvinder kaur  (India)

Poetry Blog

lilliput review, Oct. 12, 2012

Daily Haiku: Nov. 16, 2019

day moon
out of the subway entrance
a saxophone solo

 

 

by Olivier Schopfer  (Switzerland)

Robert Spiess Memorial Award, 2017

Daily Haiku: Nov. 15, 2019

the leaves

all fallen

it is so easy

 

David Käwika Eyre, Author

not a one

Red Moon Press, 2018

Daily Haiku: Nov. 14, 2019

November . . .

a crisp leaf

for my hat

 

by Tucker Taylor (USA)

Daily Haiku: Nov. 13, 2019

woodpecker–

wondering who

the neighbors are

by Steve Smolak (USA)

Ershik, #14,  2017

Daily Haiku: Nov. 12, 2019

autumn deepens . . .

a passenger squirrels away
his season ticket

Alan Summers (UK)
Bacopa Literary Review, June 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 11, 2019

senryu

 

sorting darks and lights

my love note

in his pocket

by Robyn Hood Black (USA)

A Moment’s Longing

Haiku Society of America Member’s Anthology, 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 10, 2019

senryu

 

foggy day–

back down from the attic

with more memories

by Tom Clausen  (USA)

A Moment’s Longing

Haiku Society of America Members’ Anthology, 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 9, 2019

a slight rock
of grandma’s chair–
porch shadows

by arvinder kaur (India)

Asahi Haikuist Network, March 31, 2017

Daily Haiku: Nov. 8, 2019

autumn clouds

slow down

dawn

David Käwika Eyre, Author

not a one

Red Moon Press, 2018

Daily Haiku: Nov. 7, 2019

senryu

my tumor

the size of no fruit

the doctor can think of

by Marsh Muirhead, Author

last night of the carnival

Daily Haiku: Nov. 6, 2019

november woods

the trail peppered

with turkey tracks

by Mike Stinson

A Moment’s Longing

Haiku Society of America Members’ Anthology, 2019

Special: Hen Eggs by Stephen Page

Hen Eggs

by Stephen Page

 

 

I wake up late in the morning, ten o’clock,

to the shouts of children in the living

room. I feel like sleeping more, but stir and robe

 

myself to stumble to the kitchen to pour

my first cup of coffee. The smell is rich

as bramble, but before I can sip into

 

lucidity the screams of my three-year-old

grandchild and four of her friends headache me to

shower where I wash away last night’s dream.

 

I dress and backpack and ready to tramp

to the Wood to find the Myth, but my wife,

who is watching the kids, is called

 

by the capataz to come look at the cows,

so she asks me to babysit until she returns.

I never asked to be a grandfather, nor responsibly

 

a father, but here I am, married to a woman

I love, a widow, a mother whose daughter

has children: I am a grandfather by default.

 

We watch a Disney movie and sing and march

around the coffee table—I intervening when

their tags becomes shoves: I bore quickly.

 

My wife enters the back door and I bolt out

the front, not making three strides across the lawn

before she yells and asks that I start the asado

 

for her daughter and son-in-law who will arrive

in three hours. I glance at the mottled

trees at the edge of the Wood, realizing how easy

 

it would be to just say ‘no’, to go to my real work,

Myth finding, but I set my backpack down on a white

wooden bench and set fire to the kindling.

 

Four hours later, full of meats, wine,

and exhaustion from bending over a grill,

I drink a double espresso and ready myself to hike

 

alone, restart my day, discover truths, but

my oldest grandchild grasps my hand and pleads

“please, take me to pool, show me chickens,

 

walk me,” her lake eyes large as sky.

I walk with her, show her the covered pool,

explain to her that it is too late in the year

 

to swim, too cold; walk past the reddening

lawn oak, take her to the hen house, find a fresh

egg still warm for her to carry back to her mother.

 

 

 

2.

 

It is exceptionally cold this morning for autumn;

a tenuous fog clings to the frost.

I don corduroys, a wool jacket, a belt knife

 

and ready myself for adventure—Indian

fighting, puma killing; but today

my youngest grandchild clasps my hand.

 

I lift her and step outside the kitchen

door.   She is one and walks well already

but I have to carry her because the collies

 

frighten her: they are mountainous dragons

with fire-wet tongues and hot breath

and teeth like jagged sun-bleached rocks.

 

She is armored in full-body polar fleece

and peers through the visor with wood-green

eyes and sees that the collies lead us

 

through the mist guarding us from trees;

she smiles down at them from her throne

but will not allow me to set her upon

 

her booted feet as we head toward

the chickens, or the “kaw-kaws” as she has named

them as early as this morning’s breakfast.

 

There are no fresh eggs in the coop; her eyes

worry, and I assume a ranch-hand bandit

must have robbed them, but as I step out

 

of the gate I notice a possum print

in the mud.   The mist has lifted

and the sun burnt off most of the frost

 

so we journey around the yard, I showing

her how to smell the sharp-scented jacaranda

leaves, to touch and name the autumn

 

flowers, to discern the silhouette

of mockingbird from ratbird;

her weight, her weight, strengthening my arms.

 

Stephen Page is the author of A Ranch Bordering the Salty River.

 

Daily Haiku: Nov. 5, 2019

starless night —
an older man’s shoulders
crown the dusk

 

by Goran Gatalica (Croatia)

Hedgerow, #27, spring 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 4, 2019

garden journal
through the seasons
every photo a prayer

by Ellen Grace Olinger (USA)

Daily Haiku: Nov. 3, 2019

lifting my eyes

from her letter

falling leaves

 

David Käwika Eyre, Author

not a one

Red Moon Press, 2018

Daily Haiku, Nov. 2, 2019

gulls cry–

someone’s ashes

pass by

 

by arvinder kaur (India)

Modern Haiku, 50.2, 2019

Daily Haiku: Nov. 1, 2019

magnolia sometimes between his cigar smoke

by Steve Smolak  (USA)

Failed Haiku, #10,  2016

Friday Surprise: A Poem by Maureen Weldon

THE EMPTY CITY

No city, just rubble.

Soldiers in black play hide-and-seek,

We are East, West, North, South, they shout.

So we packed him away, our precious boy,

our precious child; packed him away

for a better life in a better place.

No city, just rubble.

and me an old lady, a widow wrapped in weeds,

wrapped in tears.

Daughter, daughter sit by my side.

‘Where are they mother?’

Walking, walking. Gone – all gone.

by Maureen Weldon (Wales)

Lifejacket, Summer 2016

Double-Feature –The Daily Haiku: Oct. 31, 2019

halloween twilight

army helicopters

fill the sky

 

by Roberta Beary (Ireland/USA)

Shiki Kukai Halloween Haiku Contest, 2001

all souls’ day

no one i care

to see again

by Roberta Beary (Ireland/USA)

Frogpond, 37:1, Winter 2014

Daily Haiku Special: Two Poets, Oct. 30, 2019

 

Halloween

a child giggles at the old lady mask

I’m not wearing

 

by Valorie Woerdehoff (USA)

 

 

fall mist . . .

the buzz and flicker

of the motel’s ‘M’

 

by Ignatius Fay (Canada), Co-Author

Breccia

 

Double Senryu Special–The Daily Haiku, Oct. 29, 2019

country market—

the pumpkin rides home

in the front seat

 

by Carole MacRury (USA), Author

In the Company of Crows, 2008

 

Halloween–

the witch next door

doesn’t have to pretend

 

 

by Chad Lee Robinson (USA)

Prune Juice: Journal of Senryu and Kyoka, Issue 1, Winter 2009

 

 

A Poem by Paul Beech

Homemaking

Gulls tumble screeching

in the raw estuary blow

as we pop the radio on.

 

There are those who frown still

but here on our windy Welsh hill

we’re making a home together.

 

She bends to the curtains

as I open a flatpack

resinous wood-tang wafting.

 

Berlioz, Mahler, Miles Davis:

hours fly in the sheer joy

of making,

 

her needle and thread

my screwdriver and mallet

in harmony.

 

On the fence outside

a robin sings

his winter song.

 

We’re done:

her beautiful curtains hung

my chest of drawers looking good.

 

Come the spring

we’ll plant our small garden

and maybe fresh smiles will bloom.

 

 

 by Paul Beech (Wales)

Daily Haiku Senryu Special: Oct. 28, 2019

All Hallow’s Eve––
a ghost spirits away
her prized pumpkin

 

by Robert Epstein (USA)

New England Letters, #101, 2019

 

halloween party

I meet a zombie who smells

of lilac perfume

 

by Mike Stinson  (USA)

Frogpond, Spring 2019

 

Daily Haiku: Oct. 27, 2019

last train–
I take the stars
home with me

by Carol Raisfeld (USA)

Haiku Windows

The Haiku Foundation, April 25, 2018

Special to This Blog

A Muddy River

by Stephen Page

 

You are red-breasted, your song flute-like,
Your wings brown, your sharp eyes whitely circled.
A common day your voice makes remarkable;
So rare, you laid a single light blue egg.
As your mate vanished in northern flight,
Not perceiving reason, you cawed alarm
Plummeting before an olive-drab truck;
Callused-index-fingered riders caged you.
Escaping, you darted directly to a lawn
And plucked a burrowing worm; starving, you bore it
To your nestling, ravenous for her breath.
Your albino fledgling shudders on the edge
Of the nest, as summer winds sway the tree,
And below, a muddy river roars silently.

This poem was originally published in “The Timbre of Sand.”

Daily Haiku: Oct. 26, 2019

prize pumpkins

our hayrack buckles

with light

by Debbie Strange (Canada)

Honorable Mention

The International Contest on the Theme of the Gourds, 2019

Daily Haiku: Oct. 25, 2019

frosted pumpkin

the crows peck

a grin toothless

by Barbara Tate  (USA)

Frogpond, 37:3, 2014

Daily Haiku: Oct. 24, 2019

All Hallow’s Eve . . .

behind us the scraping steps

of a leaf

by Cyndi Lloyd  (USA)

Wild Plum, 2:2, Fall/Winter 2016

Daily Haiku: Oct. 23, 2019

autumn dawn–

the blues come 

with the piano man

by Anna Maria Domburg-Sancristoforo (The Netherlands)

The Mainichi, Nov. 21, 2016

Daily Haiku: Oct. 22, 2019

halloween twilight

again this year my son waits

alone by the door

 

by Roberta Beary (Ireland/USA)

First Place

Tokutomi Memorial Haiku Contest, 2006

Daily Haiku: Oct. 21, 2019

wind chimes

the rocking chair

starts without me

by Steve Smolak (USA)

Hedgerow, #78, 2016

Daily Haiku: Oct. 20, 2019

train window–

moon from home comes along

all the way

 

by arvinder kaur (India)

Asahi Haikuist Network, Jan. 15, 2016

Daily Haiku: Oct. 19, 2019

a chilly dampness

seeping into bags and bones

of Trick or Treaters

 

by Adelaide B. Shaw (USA)

Contemporary Haibun Online, October, 2005

 

Daily Haiku: Oct. 18, 2019

October Moon–

an empty swing

swinging

by Paul Hendricks (USA)

Modern Haiku, 49:1, 2018

Daily Haiku: Oct. 17, 2019

in and out

of the pumpkin’s smile

. . . a spider

 

by Carole MacRury  (USA)

First Place

Shiki Kukai, 2014

Daily Haiku: Oct. 16, 2019

senryu

first trick or treat . . .

the toddler reaches for

her mother’s face

by Barry George (USA)

Third Prize

The Betty Drevniok Award, 2005

Daily Haiku: Oct. 15, 2019

playing checkers . . .

a black butterfly

kings my opponent

by Pamela A. Babusci (USA)

Mayfly, Issue 31, Summer 2001

Daily Haiku: Oct. 14, 2019

fallow fields a light dusting of snow geese

by Debbie Strange (Canada)

Shortlisted for the Touchstone Award, 2018

Daily Haiku: Oct. 13, 2019

pumpkin patch

the Rubenesque curves

of the calabash gourds

by Terri L. French (USA)

Prune Juice, Oct. 28, 2013

Tanka Time

Dear Readers,

I don’t often run tanka–a lyrical poetry form of five lines with 31 syllables maximum– that originated centuries ago in Japan. However, I received two interesting ones from Roberta Beary in Ireland.

I’m sure you will enjoy these as much as I did.

Keep reading and writing in multiple genres, if you can!

Best,

Charlotte Digregorio

a chill night wind
rattles from room to room…
two years dead
and still i am not done
saying goodbye

 

by Roberta Beary (Ireland/USA)

GUSTS/ Tanka Society of America, 2006

 

gone for years
he returns
half hidden
in a ghost cloud
man in the moon

 

by Roberta Beary  (Ireland/USA)

Modern English Tanka, Vol. 1, No. 3, Spring 2007

Daily Haiku: Oct. 12, 2019

senryu

Halloween dance–

the mermaid’s tail

keeps slapping my butt

 

by Chad Lee Robinson (USA)

Haikuniverse, Oct. 31,2017

Daily Haiku: Oct. 11, 2019

senryu

scary at last

the jack-o-lantern

full of maggots

 

by Frank Higgins (USA)

Dragonfly

Daily Haiku: Oct. 10, 2019

tree branches empty
a lone bird
changes everything

 

by Roberta Beach Jacobson (USA)

The Heron’s Nest, Vol. XX: No. 2, June 2018

Daily Haiku: Oct. 9, 2019

woodpecker at dawn rattles off my to-do list

by Matthew Moffett (USA)

Hedgerow, No. 26, April 24, 2015

Daily Haiku: Oct. 8, 2019

senryu

Hallowe’en
letting the inner child
out to play

by Ignatius Fay (Canada)

Sulphur IV, English Arts Society, 2013

Daily Haiku: Oct. 7, 2019

dried field

imagining

butterflies

by David Käwika Eyre (USA)

not a one

Red Moon Press, 2018

Daily Haiku: Oct. 6, 2019

she says it’s a phase

he’s going through

autumn moon

 

by Barbara Tate (USA)

Frogpond, 41:3, 2018

Daily Haiku: Oct. 5, 2019

senryu

 

Halloween past …

the pumpkin’s grin

turns inward

 

by Valorie Woerdehoff  (USA)

Loras College Outlet