Japanese Short Form Poetry 2012 - 2013

"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


refugee camp-
sculpting the tree trunk
into a cross
Simply Haiku(Summer 2007, vol 5 no 2)

crowded park-
a couple hugs
in my shadow
Daily Haiku(August 08, 2008)
                  by Rita Odeh  (Israel)

stinging smoke
the bus station waiting room

warm river foam
gracing the ocean tide
hungry gulls

bumble bees
bending the daffodils
morning harmony
                  by Neal Whitman

horse trailer
by curved eucalyptus leaves
that skit in the gutter
previously published in Stylus Poetry Journal, March 2007
                  by Daniel Wilcox

secret garden—
the whisper
of butterfly wings

the feather quilt
... purring
                 by Nancy Nitrio

horses in the fields-
girls fill the stables
with gossip 

planted fir wood
flashing by
slices of sky

winter horizon
   the signatures
   of trees
after rain
sun silvers
the blackened oak 

evening chill
an outbreak
of stars

sudden rain
venetian blind inhales

stumbling beetle
the wrong side of the rug
                 by Robert Davey

in between
double rainbows - 
a space for dreams 
                  by Gillena Cox (Trinidad and Tobago)

afternoon heat
cicada’s sing 
in rounds

thunder peppered dawn
     their dog whining
     at a hurricane sky
silhouette of birds
breaks the spell
    svengali moon
                  by Elizabeth McTaggart

the sky
of star-crossed lovers

muscle car
the guy who gets high
with my wife 
                  by Lucas Stensland

an eagle circling
the stone Buddha

drinking alone...
I scoop the harvest moon
from the river
                  by Chen-ou Liu

barefoot children
wearing the scents of summer
                  by Elizabeth McTaggart
my grandparents' graves
a laughing child
skips between them
tree climbing race
I fall a few more
centuries behind
shrouded moon—
I feed a cricket
to the sungazer
desert heat
she describes the children
they never had
bare branches
over and over
she says it's over
                   by  John McManus
caught in a web
of fingers
                   by  Martin Pedersen

foreclosure sign...
in its shadow
a dollhouse

two men on fire
outside the Jokhang
a fleeting cloud
(note: The Jokhang is located on Barkhor Square in Lhasa,  and it is generally considered the most sacred temple in Tibet)

July 4th fireworks...
ducking the gunfire
in his head

a hunter's moon
high between Pacific shores
...thoughts that go so far

autumn twilight
the raven and I speak
for ourselves

hometown memories...
I wipe the window
clear of frost
          by  Chen-ou Liu

shoreline busy
with cell phone walkers –
migrating warblers
                    by Neal Whitman

distant hill
a river carrying
the spring

watering hole
an elephant sucks
the sundown

* * * * * * *

autumn dawn --
mother serves white rice
on an almond leaf
Asahi Shimbun

rice fields
bent woman reaping
Simply Haiku 9.2
                     by Ramesh Anand

distant bell...
gives a voice to the wind
                     by Sarah Monagle

crow's nest
twine becomes
a world

blue jays
in the morning light
from now on, only love  

hummingbird moth
in purple petunias
the velvet of summer nights
                        by kate s. godsey

autumn sunset ...
koi swim
toward the day's end
                         by Nu Quang


cactus quills
he asks why I always
have to be so honest


the last time
I ever saw you—
red-flowering currant

deepening gales
I give in
to my rage

the last apple out of reach
setting sun

I say snow
he says flowers
long-distance phone call

not so far away
the stars
that I’m made of

 *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

food bank line—
striking up a conversation
with my old boss
 HaikuNews, Vol. 1, No. 3

                          by Seren Fargo




sunrise . . .
sliding down a blossom's

                      by robert d. wilson

children laugh
in a snowball fight
food bank line

accompanied by crows

                      by Belle Shalom


a pine cone fell
and some bird flew off
last day of spring

over white roses
a silky film of dew
first kiss

a crowded beach
with no lifeguard
swell day

                       by Neal Whitman

When one accepts the nothingness, what’s left is not nothingness but acceptance. Whatever we do, whatever our level of consciousness, we rarely have the benefit of another person’s view of us, our own is primary, if skewed.

third bell
we enter
the unknown

                  by Owen Bullock

Exhausted by a heavy week, we take off for Miranda and the bird sanctuary.

when I’m dead
I’ll roll with the dew drops
in the fields

It’s only an hour’s drive away, and we’ve been meaning to visit for years, but it seems a real effort to go. My partner kindly drives.

early spring
in the bare trees

The camp ground is full of families; it’s the school holidays, which we hadn’t counted on.

an old man
needs the hand rail
to leave the hot pool
in my mind I stumble
in sympathy

The camp kitchen has no cutlery; a woman lends us some. We watch her toddler playing with the sink plunger, waving it in the air and chewing on it. The family offer us fresh vegetables from their garden back home.
There won’t be many birds in the estuary, the man at the centre explains, best to go and do something else and come back at high tide. We start the walk anyway and see a kotuku – white heron – at the first bend in the river. The track is lined thickly with fennel. The tide is a long way out. The sand bars are barren, their emptiness draws us on. We sit in one of the hides and talk.
After lunch in nearby Thames and a wander in the market, we return in the late afternoon. Birds mass on the sand bar. As the tide runs in, waders edge closer.

dusk –
pairs of pied stilts
walk on themselves

A full moon rises over the Coromandel ranges. Every now and again the birds take to the air in huge swarms; there are about 9,000 birds here at the moment. In February/ March there will be 15,000, when migrants from the South Island arrive and before the godwits leave.
A man with binoculars gives us a look. Amongst the pied stilts is a rare marsh sandpiper, he says. The man from the centre appears armed with a telescope which he generously makes available to visitors. The estuary is very broad and one can’t discern much detail with the naked eye. Now we can see each bird in their groups, wrybills, godwits, caspian terns and oystercatchers. The godwits have long up-turned beaks that seem comical and yet so well adapted. The sun sets behind us, the sky a bruised dark purple. Inland, a dozen royal spoonbills nest in a macrocarpa tree. Through the telescope I get my first glimpse of those enormous spatulate beaks.

                 by Owen Bullock


how many worlds
await me...
indigo dawn

ripples shape
the water of my mind -
winter heron

not wanting to know
what comes next -
first blossoms

              by Paul Smith

No cats allowed
in our house --
both parents Leo

Garden roses --
they rearrange

                   by Alexis Rotella

bayou sunset -
an egret’s shadow
spears a fish

                   by Jay Friedenberg

a cool breeze
across the asphalt
words for a poem
morning coffee
her scent
upon my bathrobe

              by ayaz daryl nielsen

mushroom gathering
I trust her
with a secret

(first published the Herons Nest VII:4)         
                      by Clive Oseman

hummingbird song
words to forget you

                         by Nancy May


spring --
a fisherman nets
the sunset


autumn sky
patches of twilight
in the falling leaf

(First published in A Hundred Gourds, 2012)

paddy field
the stream carrying

(First published in Simply Haiku, 2012)

                         by Ramesh Anand

cat on the fence
a moon song
crow on a branch
disses the noisy mutt
so beneath him

                            by ayaz daryl nielsen

mayflies swarm ...

what are
our original nature?
snowman and I

I get my head
out of the clouds
lotus pond at dawn

                     by Chen-ou Liu 

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