|
Curtis Dunlap
wind gust—
my children's breath
while they sleep |
| family reunion—
wild turkeys
among the headstones
|
| Christmas Eve—
my children pretend
to snore
|
sand speckled
by autumn rain—
her hand in mine |
| midnight—
the window fan dices
a train whistle
|
| late summer drizzle—
evening walkers
slow their pace |
fallen rose petals—
a Japanese beetle tries
to right itself |
| between innings—
the joy of the game
on my son's face
|
a sweat bee
stings my hand—
summer heat
|
Click this link to go to Curtis's personal site: haikai
from tobacco road.
Publication Credits
[Top]
Kate MacQueen
half
way across
why rush past
this warm dry rock |
| between goodbye
and her disconnect
his silence |
| leaves turn over
in the wind
the scent of rain |
pale moon
the
wood stork
rising
higher and higher |
| fireflies
in the darkening treeshade—
evening thunder |
| birdsong in the garden water falling |
light rain
in the vielle ville
summer tourists |
| sunlit reeds
the slender line
of the bittern's beak |
nightfall
wingbeats of blackbirds
deep in the thicket |
| storm's end
a solitary willet
stares out to sea |
| bright Venus
two hawks settle
deep in the pine |
Click this link to go to a page on the haijinx site, then
scroll down to see Kate's haiga: new
direction.
Publication Credits
[Top]
Lenard
D. Moore
in the doghouse
the hound's hoarse bark—
winter thunder |
| Homecoming parade—
waxing my convertible
under the sparrow's nest |
| tick-tick
of late night sleet—
dog licking its paws |
I open the door
to this morning's snow
its silence |
| bobbing and bobbing
on the jazz club wall—
the bassist's shadow |
| Watching the woman
who pulled back her braids—
summer sunset jazz |
farmwife's marigolds
surging with the wind
the bee's shadow |
| a hummingbird shadow
in and out of window bars
mimosa fragrance |
hot gust of wind
carpenter nailing sunset
into the plywood |
| A pile of rocks
shifting in spring rain
the stiff old man |
| the old woman
looking into the stars
sky all snowy |
a black woman
breastfeeding her infant—
the autumn moon |
| farther and farther
into the mountain trail
autumn dusk deepens |
Publication Credits
[Top]
Dave
Russo
All through the meeting,
your calm face by the window.
Bright, darkening trees |
| It's late, the office
almost empty. Your bare feet
whisper by my door |
| Caught on a branch,
sways with the new leaves:
dead snapped
limb |
springs well up
deep snow sinking
to dark pools |
| sun steams the rain
from the reservoir walls . . .
your laugh drifting by |
| summer's end—
cicada buzz caught
in the black cat's mouth |
laughs at herself—
kitchen light through the grin
in her xray |
| into the earth;
starflowers and her note
in his pocket |
Publication Credits
[Top]
Rebecca
Ball Rust
a dry maple leaf
rattles across the patio
smell of rain |
| first day of fall
the snuffed candle's last wisp
spirals crazily |
| Halloween pumpkin
beyond the flickering grin
the stars |
stepping on something
slippery in the ocean
clouds scatter |
| living nativity
the donkey flicks his ear
in new snowfall |
| in the headlights
all the black snowflakes
suddenly white |
frozen pond
a lone skater spins
around the moon |
Publication Credits
[Top]
Richard
Straw
lilacs in bloom . . .
at the long hike's end
pausing in shade |
| trash bag in hand—
moonlit woodlot muffles
a hound's bark |
| pine grove in fog --
horses' necks curved
to morning hay |
dark shoreline --
one last cast
with the wind |
| a few red leaves --
strokes of the rower
quicken near the dock |
| tackle box
collecting dust
all summer |
fallen maple leaves
on distant relatives' graves --
car door left open |
| turning a corner --
candles in windows
closed to winds |
| footsteps
splintering
puddles |
black horse
noses frosted grass stems—
year's end |
Publication Credits
[Top]
Nina Wicker
caught in a storm
the stilled mole's paws
filling with snow |
| partly cloudy—
a yellow cat taking her time
through the cemetery |
| the scent of cereus
again and again a moth
tries the screen |
Winter clouds
neck-deep in snow
an old gourd |
| church steps in spring . . .
the child fills her purse
with
cicada shells |
| corn on the cobb—
my husband complains again
of coon tracks |
winter wind—
sound of a skill saw
through the broken window |
| first day of fall
a train takes the
hound's howl
deeper
into the night |
Publication Credits
[Top]
|
