Japanese Short Form Poetry 2012 - 2013
Page 4.
"We shall never understand one another until we reduce the language to seven words."- - Kahlil Gibran (1883-1931)
Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine © 2007-2019
2013
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
HAIGA
HAIGA
sunrise . . .
sliding down a blossom's
wetness
by robert d. wilson
children laugh
in a snowball fight
food bank line
Schubert~
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
Meditation
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
Miranda
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
lichen
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
themselves.
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
whispering
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
clouds
(First published in Simply Haiku, 2012)
by Ramesh Anand
cat on the fence
again
a moon song
crow on a branch
disses the noisy mutt
so beneath him
by ayaz daryl nielsen
mayflies swarm ...
abortion-herb
boiling
what are
our original nature?
snowman and I
I get my head
out of the clouds
lotus pond at dawn
by Chen-ou Liu