Japanese Short Form Poetry 2009 - 2010

 "We shall never understand one another until we reduce the language to seven words."- - Kahlil Gibran   (1883-1931)

Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine © 2007-2018

The river
sheds its skin
and glides
into the hills

  The stone house
on the rocks above
  the stone river

                  by    JBMulligan

The Credit Santa --
naughty or nice
you're approved

                by  Richard Stevenson

a drift of leaves
covering the headstone—
deep autumn

spring morning—
brushing the sunlight
into my cat’s fur

                      by  Nancy Nitrio

                     (Wisteria, July 2008;
                           The Haiku Calendar 2010 (Snapshot Press 2009))      

  hunger moon –
the scent of whiskey
   on his fingertips


     road kill –
a patch of snow

     moon set:
   a knife     missing
 from her table

                      by R.D. Bailey
                      (Simply Haiku - Autumn 2009, vol 7 no 3)

her stomach answers
my question first

                   by   Raquel D. BAILEY
                   (Simply Haiku - Winter 2009, vol 7 no 4 (last issue))

harvest moon --
in Satoyama
grandma gnaws the air

                     by Raquel D. Bailey
                     (Mainichi Daily News - Nov. 21, 2009)

the dead of winter
a nameless odor
…slips away

                    by Raquel D. Bailey
                   (International Kusamakura Haiku Competition 2009)

first snow
hides summer lawn furniture
in stillness

                     by  Carl Scharwath

lazy afternoon—
the hawk
drifting in circles

                by  Nancy Nitrio

rustling leaves
the scent of gardenia
on my cat’s fur
                by  Nancy Nitrio
                (The Heron’s Nest, V IX, #3, September 2007)  

fall leaves whirl
stirred by passing cars-
tangle of butterflies

                  by Judi Brannan Armbruster

sweet tea
at the row's end...
I plow my shadow

giggles on the path
back from the creek...
grass burrs at dusk

                      by Darrell Lindsey

flock of birds
low in the valley
whistling wind

                 by Elizabeth Crocket

red roses in bloom:
upon your tombstone

                     by Moonshadow

paper boat
stuck in the current
      ...her child

branches bent
under heavy snow
his tone darkens

                    by Angeline Lim

choosing firm apples
thinking of
men she's dated

              by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen

this already is
an empty sheet of paper
with nothing on it

in such cold cities
we must burn all of our words
to keep ourselves warm

                 by Jason P. Everett

manta ray
of the hoe blade

              by Daniel Wilcox

empty begging bowl––
the moon dripping
off wet leaves

cold summer wind:
the strike of early quince
on the tongue

Halloween bonfire––
a baby raccoon
wearing a mask

             by James Bertolino

her frayed scarf
a comfort
wound three times

a Schubert quintet ––
my black mood lifting

we all look up
a woman walking a donkey
on seashells

           by  Neal Whitman

guest room
your bookmark
still in place

          by Joanna M. Weston

Visitation Hours    

It was a sudden death, the one that finally came to take my son. He’d been sick for some time but some hope always remained… at the doctor’s, at the clinic, at the hospice. And then it was gone.

I can barely remember the endless hours between making the final arrangements and arriving at his viewing. Wracked by grief, I stand here in stony silence; numbed to the soul, yet trying to appear strong for the family. The room we chose is carefully lit, filled with the sight of flowers and the sounds of softy music, yet all I can think of is the pungent smell of the antiseptic and sweat that filled the hospice, and of his final moments. But even that doesn’t last.

With a word from a well-wisher, I am brought back to the present; trapped in this moment, and all of its formalities. Broken, I find myself trying to stand guard – a useless figure still trying to watch over his child as the visitors file past to give their condolences; …an unending line of friends, partial-friends, neighbors and relatives shuffling past his coffin, each trying to get through their own uncomfortable moment as they speak to us, never realizing that half they say is stabbing me through my heart, to my soul, again and again.

winter frost
I start to count the guests who say
he looks so alive

                           by C. William Hinderliter

drought season—
only wind
rushing downstream

           (Mariposa No. 21, Fall/Winter 2009)

nodding off …
afternoon heat

           by Nancy Nitrio

Bus stop-
swiped shopping carts
turned over on their sides
so that they may serve as extra

Bus ride-
a man walking
in the left-turn lane stops,
then uses his cane as a turn

                        by Michael Ceraolo (cinquain)

the swelling bay ––
hovering over the otter
one gull

half a blood-orange sun
over the hill
swaying hollyhocks

              by  Neal Whitman

the sky
in the water
I look down on myself

              by Brett Nicholas Moore

shadow and flutter
on the stonewall
one dove, then another

               by Neal Whitman

autumn dusk
the scent of the fireplaces
as I rush home

dry lightning...
counting the seconds
between raindrops

              by C. William Hinderliter

grass soup
and mudberry pie
dining with my granddaughter

                by Carolyn M. Hinderliter
                     (first published in Frogpond; Winter 2007)

too pretty for the house --
granddaughter's bouquet
of wild onions
                 by Carolyn M. Hinderliter

turning over
a new leaf—
spring breeze

(The Mainichi Daily News, June 22, 2010)

                 by Nancy Nitrio

to the tune of foxgloves
summer breeze

Light rain
the pin drop scent
of jasmine

                   by Claire Everett

saving the web of
an old house-spider
from my wife's broom

almost a pond
almost frogs

a long dry spell
still tumbling

a single man's thoughts -
beneath the ice
a lone mitten

                    by Ayaz Daryl Nielsen

Christian's new tattoo --
organic chem molecule
for l.s.d.

                     by  Richard Stevenson

baseball field
a drifter asleep
on home plate

dusk at Harpers Ferry
a bearded homeless man
shouts out in his sleep

children with dirty faces
build a snowman

                  by William Cullen, Jr.

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