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 © 2007-2017


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
         bleeds



   
     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:
blood
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
sting
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
tonight



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)




hydrangeas
nodding off …
afternoon heat

           by Nancy Nitrio






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




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


                        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





Dancing
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
tadpoles



a long dry spell
tumbleweeds
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


shantytown
children with dirty faces
build a snowman


                  by William Cullen, Jr.


Make a free website with Yola