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December 2025 – City Haiku
City Haiku curated by David Green
our cab fare
in a musician’s case
starry night
– Millicent Bee
what it takes city bird
– Keith Evetts
on the subway someone meditating
– Daniel Shank Cruz
city sunset
the pace of traffic
the pace of clouds
– Ben Gaa
late lunch
the wobbling wheels
of the delivery bot
– Richard Mavis
wild geranium
next to smokestacks
the dreamgirls’ club
– Rowan Beckett Minor
green web
Venetian canals entangle
a city
– Sophia Conway
tunnel traffic
the start-stop-start
of rain
– Paula Sears
a fox
trots by
the “dogs on leash” sign
– kjmunro
city park –
through bare trees
the hum of traffic
– Valentina Ranaldi-Adams
thrift shop vinyls
Ella Fitzgerald
fl-fl-fl-flickers
– Joshua St. Claire
blood moon
the color of asphalt
outlined in white
– Peg Cherrin-Myers
slow night
the cabbie
reads rilke
– John Pappas
city crows
with a lot to say
salted sidewalk
– Agnes Eva Savich
winter shadows
his long trudge back
to the subway grate
– Colleen M. Farrelly
city reservoir
a toddler on the lookout
for sharks
– Deb Koen
Lakeshore Drive cemetery
I can’t afford
to rest here
– Randy Brooks
tourist sight
mist photobombing
the cityscape
– Mona Iordan
last day of radiation –
at every block
a red light
– Kelly Barnes Sargent
day after …
nevertheless at the cat cafe
chocolate cake
– Deborah Karl-Brandt
ides of march
snowmelt down the drainpipe
floods the alley
– Chad Henry
urban planning
the free jazz
of building permits
– Peter Jastermsky
the thickened fur
of the beggar’s dog –
first flurries
– Lew Watts
subway stares
we encircle the woman
in a hijab
– Lorraine A Padden
where things stand tent city
– Christopher Patchel
arcadian hour
the city narrows
to a semicolon
– Shloka Shankar
i am i am not the darkness between subway stations
– Frank Dietrich
leaving the city a thunderstorm on broken neon
– Ron C. Moss
morning rush
pigeon outside my window
doing nothing
– Vandana Parashar
all over the city
windshield wipers remove
dogwood petals
– David Oates
Times Square
waiting for
the other shoe to drop
– Paul David Mena
November 2025 – Haiku About Daily Objects
Haiku about Daily Objects curated by Ayushi Dubey
sun not up yet
the shower steams
the day open
– Dian Duchin Reed
cold toilet seat
this broken economy
keeps biting
– Robert Kingston
th_ w_rds w_ f_rg_t d_ _ ly cr_ssw_rd
– Nivedita N.
flash in the pan redwing blackbird
– Allyson Whipple
music two centuries old
the color flows
out of the teabag
– Gary Hotham
first apartment
squeaking tulips
into a water glass
– Alan S. Bridges
spring narcissi
the hallway mirror
checked again
– John Hawkhead
one button missing who we were together
– Sharon Martina
spring sorrow-
it escapes through a hole
in my sock
– Emiko Miyashita
wide open sky
the sweep of her
white cane
– John Pappas
spring breeze…
the jungle-green
of a plastic bag
– Hemapriya Chellapan
midday laundry
my bra cups filling
with sky
– Nalini Shetty
white picket fence
so much ordinary
to explode
– Peter Jastermsky
lunch hour
the snap-pop of umbrellas
unfurling
– Bob Lucky
climate change
the chill
of a stainless straw
– Keiko Izawa
(im)patience
reprogramming his brain-
hearing aids
– Norma Bradley
realizing
my full potential
the rubber band snaps
– Shrehya Taneja
broken bike
tree sparrow chicks climb
the rear wheel
– Christer Hansson
crochet hook
pulling the sun
through the lacebark pine
– Laurie Greer
garden quiet
ceramic fish circle
in the creeping jenny
– David Green
a phoebe’s cry . . .
the blue shadows
on the dinner plates
– Anita Virgil
actuarial table…
a firefly escapes
from the jar
– Shloka Shankar
cloud cover to cover old paperback
– Edward Cody Huddleston
deafening sky
the ping of hailstones
off patio chairs
– Randy Brooks
autumn coat pocket ⸺
my late mother returns
my lost sunglasses
⸺ Robert Epstein
fine rain ⸺
the edge of the welcome mat
beginning to curl
⸺ Michael Dylan Welch
a winter butterfly⸺
my first marriage
in the jewelry box
⸺ Fay Aoyagi
snow…
the known world
under a desk lamp
⸺ Shawn Blair
fool’s gold
my notebook
of haiku
⸺ Valentina Ranaldi-Adams
his and her
bookmarks
leapfrogging
through Bly
⸺Julie Schwerin
October 2025 – Haiku About Autumn
Haiku about Autumn curated by Surashree Joshi
autumnemonic
– Richa Sharma
breaking dawn
the brumby’s breath
mists the moon
– Gavin Austin
hint of autumn
I rewind
a Kurosawa film
– Fay Aoyagi
autumn equinox
the yeast dough
heaves a sigh
– Marilyn Ashbaugh
brushing lint
her hand in the light
of autumn
– Shawn Blair
autumn leaves my first combover
– Raghav Prashant Sundar
where birds become leaves hunter’s moon
– Norma Bradle
milky way sky as many wishes
– Arvinder Kaur
home birth the moon out
– Agnes Eva Savich
umbra sumus there is no single word for blue
– Alan Summers
autumn
a dead butterfly
on the conscience
– Sèbastien Revon
the cloud i can be autumn dusk
– Thomas Powell
autumn salvo this rain of forgotten
– Beverly Acuff Momoi
October rains
Ravan refuses
to burn
– Vidya Premkumar
autumn dusk opening our cathedral mind
– Stephen Toft
come what may have been autumn twilight
– Christopher Patchel
some leaves
have to fall before
they can touch
– M. R. Defibaugh
grandfathering time the wisdom of aspen
– Shloka Shankar
golden larches
the sky bends low
to kiss the lake
– Ganesh R.
autumn dusk
a spider weaves
a Bagua map
– John Zheng
leaves blowing into a sentence
– Robert Boldman
my half
of the conversation
autumn crow
– Sandi Pray
autumn evening-
my sternum still marked
by the cello’s rim
– Philip Rowland
autumn drizzle
the faces that look like
faces I used to know
– Seth Friedman
two autumns…
a child’s birthday
atop the headstone
– Connor McDonald
deep autumn
now I am
the oldest
– Bill Kenney
your absence-
a cut apple continues
to brown
– Nitu Yumnam
the pond
holds a half moon
theology of bones
– Jan Benson
dry leaves
the versions of myself
I leave behind
– Vidhi Ashar
last of autumn
a prescription bottle
filled with sepia
– Ron Scully
autumn night
everything so far
a preface
– Susan Antolin
September 2025 – Haiku About Mother Nature
dripstone cave
the world is not the same
as two drops ago
– Roman Lyakhovetsky
so light it falls up spring snow
– Sondra J. Byrnes
changing soils
the price I paid
to bloom
– Teji Sethi
crossword puzzle
mom travels the world
faster than me
– Nairithi Konduru
weeding the garden
I pull out
spring, too
– Ikuyo Yoshimura
tea garden
the Dr. Doolittle in me
whispers to a turtle
– Fay Aoyagi
always one fencepost ahead canyon wren
– Scott Wiggerman
late summer heat
walking in the pine forest
a butterfly fans me
– Tejendra Sherchan
first petrichor after learning the word petrichor
– Saumya Bansal
gray day
smoke from a mill meanders
over the river
– an’ya
a new world
pulling at the face mask
the newborn
– Minal Sarosh
feather in the grass . . .
I grieve for a friend
I never met
– Sabine Miller
blood moon suddenly she matters
– Elisa Theriana
visiting day
the faint scent of antiseptic
from mother’s paper fan
– Keiko Izawa
of the red
planet the shadow
and substance of my mood
– Ernesto P. Santiago
the coffee
left on the table
was it a bee
– Nadejda Kostadinova
fish kill
they decide against
children
– Kala Ramesh
outdoor shower
a shiver in
the cricket’s song
– Terri L. French
melancholy forest half of it underground
– Kat Lehmann
perfect storm…
sounds of relief
the day after
– Ed Bremson
starrynightlenteryourmirror
– Alexis Rotella
pesticide spray
a black moth clings
to my hand
– Hifsa Ashraf
stepping stones
a damselfly invites us
to change course
– Debbie Strange
cells rearrange
at a burl’s heart
my quiet child
– Mark Harris
never before
never again
this shooting star
– Ram Chandran
the fog digests itself
– Mirela Brăilean
clusters of blue
the birch and I
how we have aged
– Madhuri Pillai
particles decaying at the speed of lilac
– Melissa Allen
winter trees
each day
more sky
– Sheila Windsor
closed eyes …
voices of leaves and birds
in my hair
– Daniela Misso
August 2025 – Haiku About The Colour Yellow
Haiku with Colour Yellow curated by Arvinder Kaur
winter solstice
pale sunlight reaches
the piano keys
– Hilary Tann
a flare of forsythia bursting out of my winter funk
– Kim Klugh
golden hour
a cat’s worth of sun
through the curtain
– Marilyn Ashbaugh
full moon
a mimosa flower
gathers more yellow
– Ram Chandran
highlighting
a key passage
forsythia
– Kimberly Anderson
tinting
the forest breeze
an oriole’s song
– Sanjuktaa Asopa
holy week
the doxology
of daffodils
– John Pappas
four notes a finch rises yellow into blue
– Deborah Bowman
sunflowers
so many reasons
why
– Angela Terry
within our somehows ylang ylang
– Shloka Shankar
breakfast alone
eating a banana
bruises and all
– Stephen Colgun
sun cupped
in the melon baller
better days
– Elizabeth McMunn-Tetangco
two years
is not too long to wait
first lemons
– Robert Epstein
even as yellow iris bloom those that suffer
– Norma Bradley
suburban marigolds preparing for anarchy
– Susan Beth Furst
hugging the ground a nest of yellowjackets suddenly
– Jo Balisteri
mango seller
the many shades of ripe
in his cart
– Geethanjali Rajan
trickling down
the moss-laden trees-
Melei Leishna
– Milan Rajkumar
yellow mangoes
again I play
the psychiatrist
– Richa Sharma
breezy night
the corn seller’s coal
bursts into fireflies
– Adjei Agyei-Baah
petal by petal the yellow rose on her inner thigh
– S. M. Abeles
lamplight yellows my midnight skin
– Brad Bennett
through seeds of willowherb the warblers’ yellows
– John Barlow
yellow tulips-
what if I don’t want
to just be friends?
– Susan Burch
golden years
the boy I could have kissed
calls me ma’am
– Pris Campbell
bearded sweet corn
the hound in and out
of the fog
– Randy Brooks
yellow katsura leaves kimono the breeze
– Dylan Stover
river stone
for all things hard
forsythia
– Jamie Wimberly
golden years inheriting a taste for tarnish
– Peter Jastermsky
yellow starthistle
the sound of the sound
barrier breaking
– Chuck Brickley
whatever god it takes forsythia
– Kristen Lindquist
July 2025 – Socio-Political Ku
political election
my application to be
a) human
— Alan Summers
turtles slip
from a crowded log
election year
— Sandi Pray
jabberwocky
confusing a poem
with a presidential debate
— Michael Rehling
election-day hike —
as much fog on the left
as on the right
— Michael Dylan Welch
democratic elections
the crowd chooses
Barabbas
— Keith Evetts
just in time
for Independence Day
an imaginary enemy
— Julie Schwerin
border mountains
the morning sun glints
off spent shells
— Joe McKeon
holocaust museum
a trash can full
of staring cups
— David Kawika Eyre
bureaucracy
of finger pointing
missile launch
— Deborah P Kolodji
the god I warship
— Kelly Sauvage Moyer
guns
love
presidents
love
guns
— Scott Metz
back to school this year’s forever war
— Eric A. Lohman
school bus
blowing an extra kiss
just in case
— Helen Ogden
school shooting
a permanent tooth
halfway in
— David Oates
belfast campus blast
i sift through the remains
of my neutrality
— Marion Clarke
another killing
the gap between
prayer hands
— Terri L. Fench
nihilism
an ice cream truck
with children’s bodies
— Vidya Premkumar
refugee train
small hands starfished
against the glass
— Debbie Strange
leading the primordial clean-up adishakti
— Surashree Joshi
stalemate war
each side deploys
its silent gods
— John Hawkhead
national debt!
and you’re worried
about my credit cards?
— Richard Grahn
newsfeedsandbitesostrich
— Helen Buckingham
urBANization THE opPRESSion of fresh asphalt
— Julie Bloss Kelsey
fall campaign
the incumbent turns over
an old leaf
— LeRoy Gorman
lunar eclipse…
his before hers
on the census
— Kat Lehmann
what she means by blackish half moon
— Aaron Barry
always
the
tallest
white
crayon
— Raghav Prashant Sundar
protest march—
people holding candles ask
what’s it about
— Rashmi VeSa
proxy war chills at Netflix
— Tazeen Fatma
and again
the white horse wins –
merry-go-round
— Joanne van Helvoort
enough
— P. H. Fischer
June 2025 – Haiku About Mother Tongue
International haiku on mother tongue selected by Jim Kacian.
An evening-glory,
And a girl
Speaking the Kyōto dialect.
— Masaoka Shiki
recalling a song
from his first language
apricot blossoms
— Marilyn Appl Walker
mewing of gulls —
my godchild shows she knows
the ancient language
— H. F. Noyes
Native rug —
the language
of several generations
— Zornitza Harizanova
cherry blossoms . . .
we switch to
our mother tongue
— Antoinette Cheung
Old language
they still speak
in whale song
— Garry Gay
In dialect
Grandmother speaks
to the peonies
— Alexis Rotella
winter wind —
a cradlesong sung
in an ancient tongue
— Billie Wilson
birthcry —
the same old language
— Simone Pansolin
this side of winter
death speaks
in our mother tongue
— Marcus Liljedahl
ancient grave —
the rustling of a prayer
in a dead language
— Gabriel Rosenstock
bitter wind
unable to answer
in my mother tongue
— Lew Watts
tumor malignus
that ancient language
not yet dead
— Ernest Wit
homesick
I call my dog
in my mother tongue
— Hilary Tann
chime shop
the dialects
of wind
— Peter Newton
moss-covered graves
only crows speak with
my ancestors
— Barbara A. Taylor
the old gardener
illiterate
in two languages
— Lesley Einer
foreshore erosion —
just a few patches
of our first language left
— Lorin Ford
the cat’s tail
the dog’s tail
different dialects
— Simon Hanson
river mouth
her mother tongue
flows freely
— C. X. Turner
I sit down
in the midst of
my local dialect
— Santōka Taneda
spring melanchology —
no past perfect
in my mother tongue
— Fay Aoyagi
bamboo wind —
she proposes to him
in her mother tongue
— Hifsa Ashraf
home of my ancestors
I download an app
that speaks their language
— Ann Magyar
moonless …
the fall wind whispers
my mother tongue
— Michael McClintock
more rain the sisters slip into their mother tongue
— Scott Metz
darkness …
the mother tongue
we all forget
— Giovanni Malito
ancient river changing dialects at the border
— Nick T
an old song
in our second language
starry night
— Peggy Willis Lyles
departing geese —
he teaches me goodbye
in his mother tongue
— Arvinder Kaur
May 2025 – Haiku About Glaciers
International haiku on the topic of glaciers, selected by Jim Kacian.
a journey ends
where the glacier melted
a field of stones
— Jane Reichhold
being told
how things are —
glacier debris
— Sandra Simpson
calving glacier
i decide when
to let go
— Debbie Strange
calving glacier
she says she studies
the apocalyptic sublime
— John Pappas
calving glacier
we have the same
last name
— James Chessing
climate change
the slippery slope
of a glacier
— Gregory Longenecker
cognitive slippage
half the grand glacier
already in the bay
— George Swede
end of the ski trail —
in this white silence
only the glacier moves
— Mark Arvid White
Fills up Bow Lake,
gushes out as Bow River,
the glacier thaw
— Tōta Kaneko
Full moon night
Glacier is moving
To meet ocean
— Renuka Bhattarai
glacier
rounding rocks
now a woman
— Jane Reichhold
Glacier passed away
war passed away
pears in full bloom
— Ban’ya Natsuishi (tr. Ban’ya Natsuishi / Jim Kacian)
glacier valley
we share
a lost child
— Bouwe Brouwer
great glacier
not a speck mixed
evenly blue
— Hirahata Seitō (tr. Tadashi Kondo / Kris Kondo)
Great glaciers
of the Rockies
flashing golden
— Okuzawa Nobuko
his arm around me
we watch a piece of glacier
break away
— Kirsty Karkow
Howling, “OH!”
old man glacier greets
the sun again
— Takaha Shugyō
in the crevice
of a receding glacier
edelweiss
— Bruce H. Feingold
microclimate change
my popsicle
calves
— Scott Mason
mountain shadow
the whalesong
of a glacier
— Mark Gilbert
My fetus moves within me
whenever the glacier
glitters
— Tsushima Yasuko
my glacier whittled down to a blue icepick
— Cherie Hunter Day
nothing left to say . . .
the glacier
retreating
— Ben Gaa
over the blue glacier
where the god sleeps:
a cloud peak
— Senda Yõko
retreating glacier —
how long since we’ve heard
the black wolf’s song
— Billie Wilson
returning
to the mountain pass
glacier
— Jim Kacian
Stepped on an Alaskan glacier
with dirty shoes
— Hirahata Seitō
voice admiration
looks up —
rocks and glaciers
— Suzuki Ryosuke
White glacier crow’s-foot,
Alone among the stones.
Frost where the shadow falls.
— Dag Hammarskjöld (tr. W. H. Auden / Leif Sjöberg)
wind off the glacier
the blue of the husky’s eyes
against his fur
— Billie Wilson
April 2025 – Haiku About Food
Haiku about food selected by Sue Courtney.
dawn stars
the scent of bacon
from a roadhouse
—Lorraine Haig
blackberries . . .
the taste
of last night’s rain
—Laurie Greer
Sunday pancakes
flipping from one topic
to another
—Keitha Keyes
maple syrup
who knew the taste
of a tree
—Cindy Putnam Guentherman
the last spoonful
of marmalade you made
bittersweet
—Lyn Reeves
asking for two sugars
in my coffee
Monday morning
—Subhashini Jayalitake
week old newspaper
fish and chips grease
the obituaries
—Neetu Malik
market day—
a basket of strawberries
glows in sunlight
—Sandip Chauhan
fruit shop
her lips the colour
of tamarillos
—Andre Surridge
mango season
licking the juice
to my elbow
—Adjei Agyei-Baah
small town bakery…
returning home with loaves
and stories
—K Ramesh
a poof of powder
from the donut bag
spring petals
—Michelle Schaeffer
ice cream truck
the toddler lets go
of a balloon
—Ravi Kiran
seaside train ride—
we all watch
the rolling onion
—Stella Hatzis
spring walk—
a pocketful
of pistachios
—John Pappas
bush lunch
our boots stir up food
for robins
—Nola Borrell
homecoming…
the waft of grandma’s
sweet dumplings
—Gwen Bitti
her alchemy
remains a secret . . .
mother’s cookbook
—Jo McInerney
one red fleck
in the egg yolk
partial eclipse
—Marietta McGregor
stirring gravy
mother-in-law and I
remove the lumps
—Elsje Winnubst
potluck—
the bachelor brings
empty containers
—Sally Biggar
olive oil glides
over ripe tomatoes—
lazy evening sun
—Annie Wilson
smoked salmon
their cat befriends
my ankle
—Randy Brooks
barbecue—
the charred smell
of a dad joke
—Graham Bates
their obscene hiss
in the cast-iron skillet:
mountain oysters
—Charles Trumbull
first stars . . .
breaking apart
warm damper
—Leanne Mumford
first stars . . .
breaking apart
warm damper
—Leanne Mumford
we share chocolate
the sweetness
of his tongue
—Peggy Castro
marshmallow toasting
a tender pink heart
falls among flames
—Mira Walker
standing naked
in moonlight —
the taste of nashi
—Sandra Simpson
airport noodles—
wrapped up in thoughts
from last year
—David Cox
March 2025 – Haiku About Passages
Haiku about passages selected by David Oates.
New Year’s Eve –
not liking my fortune
i buy another
–Stanford M. Forrester
bagging mom’s clothes
every pocket
offers a tissue
–Diane Tomczak
unopened rosebud
on a broken stem
miscarriage
–Deborah P. Kolodji
women’s march
the toddler in the crowd shows
her new tooth
–Gail Oare
blackout –
my son speaks a secret
i always knew
–Roberta Beary
Milky Way –
maybe tonight
I’ll conceive
–Brenda Gannam
new to the group –
sitting in back with
the artificial plants
–Jim Kacian
the winter jacket smells
less and less
of my father
–Hugo Alrøe
burial trees
how long
before they hollow
–Helen Buckingham
jurisdictional dispute —
body in the southern hemisphere
brain still in the north
–Louise Hopewell
rainy season
in the bride’s bouquet
a seed sprout
–Marta Chociłowska
autumn rain
I heap more dirt
on the shoebox
–Lew Watts
reading the will
I inherit
his anxiety
–Bryan Rickert
night fall
in my dreams
there’s still time
–Michael Henry Lee.
PhD defense
only my reflection
follows my talk
–Maya Daneva
“Motorcycle for Sale”
the clink of the spoon
in the baby’s bowl
–Steve Hodge
in the car I see
I am number three
on speed dial
–Mark Danowsky
gone too soon
sakura blossoms
my old friends
–Debbie Strange
children’s laughter
a weekend father
with sticks in his hair
–Ron C. Moss
three times I’ve said
“your husband…”
now we can just talk
–John Stevenson
ironing –
all those wrinkles
on my hand
–Duncan Richardson
the windowpane reflects
a tv cartoon
snow falling
–Alan Pizzarelli
roadside stand
a quart of strawberries
between us
–Kelly Moyer
heart rate irregular
somehow it matches
my life
–Michael Rehling
My last day at work
already someone has taken
the stapler from my desk
–Alexis Rotella
snow melting
the village brimming over…
with children!
–Kobayashi Issa, translated by David G. Lanoue
I finish a novel
my daughter’s
first words
–Ronald K. Craig
graduation day—
my son & i side by side
knotting our ties
–Lee Gurga
soft rain . . .
the way the oncologist
says “we”
—Bill Kenney
dried leaves
settling into
menopause
–Rowan Beckett Minor
passing years
our wedding rings
grow snug
–Terri L. French
February 2025 – Issa’s Poems Translated by David Lanoue
A collection of Kobayashi Issa's haiku translated by David Lanoue.
first snow—
blown to the shins
of the samurai
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
the first snow
sticks easily…
wrinkled hands
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
first snow—
the wild god’s little
princess pine
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
first snow—
people today wring
rice field geese
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
buried just now
in the year’s first snow…
graves of chestnuts
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
first snow—
no one sailing
on the houseboat
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
are you striking
more quietly, lightning?
maiden flowers
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
bloom in profusion
on my grave…
maiden flowers
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
the wild wriggling
of maiden flowers…
so soon too much
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
makeshift chopsticks—
bellflower
and maiden flower
—Issa
maiden flowers—
wriggling in the wind
like smoke
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glories—
their job is to bloom
every damn day
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
snaking through
the morning glories…
hot bath steam
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
one after another
among morning glories…
wrinkled faces
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
while I was away—
the wall’s big morning glory
bloomed big
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glories—
blown down by wind
still blooming
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
jointly owned
by morning glories and me…
little house
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
a battle of white
versus red…
morning glories
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
among morning glories—
there’s no
starvation
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
not noticing
the morning glories…
workaday world
—Issa
vanquished
by morning glories…
again today
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
one entwined
mass of morning glories…
house to house
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
a happy fortune
of morning glories…
a rich man
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glories in full bloom—
haggling down
the price
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
a butterfly flits—
off to see
the morning glories
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glories—
today too plucked
by my neighbor
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glories
shine and glisten…
ruins of a house
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
morning glory gazing—
so many false starts
on my journey
—Issa (translated by David Lanoue)
January 2025 – Haiku About Dragons
Corinne Timmer's collection of haiku about dragons.
shadows growing
at the end of our garden
here be dragons
—Michael Dylan Welch
his scary tales . . .
we huddle around the fire
a dragon started
—Pris Campbell
high tide
a driftwood dragon
climbs the stairs
—Kathabela Wilson
ceasefire—
the temple dragon’s eyes
soften
—Nitu Yumnam
anxiety attack
I snapdragon
out of it
—Tomislav Sjekloća
book burning
words find a way
to rise from the ashes
—Vandana Parashar
fog covered mountain
an eighteen-wheeler’s
dragon eyes
—Randy Brooks
phoenix’s feather
a quill dipped
in sunrise
—Nalini Shetty
his dragon tail
parting sidewalk leaves
trick or treat
—Diane Tomczak
bottomless pit
the diamond glint
of the Grootslang’s eyes
—Bob Lucky
a glimpse of
the sundragon’s green eyes
swaying timothy
—Kristen Lindquist
an old flame
never really dies
autumn maple
—Johnny Baranski
Spring Festival drums
the dragon head dancer
grins through the teeth
—Michael Dudley
damsels
redon their chain mail—
year of the dragon
—Julie Schwerin
lunar new year
we throw our wishes
to the dragon tree
—Lori Kiefer
her ellipses take shape dragon tail
—Lorraine A Padden
slaying the open mic dragon
—kjmunro
all the dragons we slew her childhood fears
—Madhuri Pillai
chakra healing
the dragon jawline
of the masseuse
—R. Suresh Babu
rumour of a dragon
in the notch mist
childhood’s keep
—Ronald Scully
from the heat
of its maker’s flame
glass dragon
—Raymond French
fire ash
all the days
I almost quit
—Erin Castaldi
a pearl in the claw
of the waterfall dragon
favorable wind
—Susan Spooner
divorce papers riding the ashes
—Sangita Kalarickal
fiery flame the ebb and flow of a night
—Dorna Hainds
UV rays
the ice dragon’s
kryptonite
—Claire Vogel Camargo
dragon-shaped cloud
a boy names a stick
Excalibur
—Edward Cody Huddleston
meeting the in-laws
the way she positions
her dragon tea pot
—Sandra St-Laurent
a dragon boat
splits the lake in two
postcard from China
—Mircea Moldovan
treasure of techniques
how year of the wood dragon
swirls in sumi-e
—Monica Kakkar
one string
barely enough to tame it
dragon kite
—Bryan Rickert