H  A  I  K  U     S  P  I  R  I  T
Haiku Spirit Issue #13 




MARCH 1998

 



Stacking winter logs
i rescue a wolf spider
from a fiery end


Bill Wyatt




THROUGH ANOTHER WINTER


First frost of the year -
in my tea
pouring some honey




Morning
through frosty fields:
not a thing moves




"Happy Christmas"
just this the shopkeeper
gives for free




Christmas eve on the farm -
no one's fed the pig
to be fed at dawn




Winter dusk -
limping, an old man
walks a limping dog




Christmas or not:
into the cold sea
gulls diving, on and on




Christmas rain -
two kids
under a bat cape




Christmas wrapping papers
burning in the fireplace -
New Year's Day




First full moon of the year -
and it's trapped
in a bare tree!




Chilly dawn -
on top of a bin
a brush full of grey hair




old wooden park bench,
flaked and broken down:
here's Spring's first day




early Spring sky -
bluer though, the test line
showing she is pregnant




upside down
filled with Spring dew:
empty shell of a snail


Gilles Fabre




Bare candlelit room
three friends at Christmas
coffee perking.


Sean O'Connor




New year's first dinner
not a word at the table
wind in the eaves


Larry Gross




New diary
seven days a page
my life now


Ken Jones




WILD SWAN


Sweaterless -
the thrill
of gooseflesh




the firefly's tickle
as I open my fist
the glow




flood water
half way up its trunk
the cherry tree blooming




joining the river
each stream
its own song




on the wood floor
a coffin shape
full of moonlight




sunset -
the wild swan crying again
to his dead mate




dressing the window
a single violin
hung in silence




the convalescent
letting the candle flicker
in a twilight breeze




a long silk scarf
on this spring afternoon
the breeze coaxing it free


Haiku by Nasira Alma (d. 1997)




Morning tea
offering its fragrance
a pine bough


zuiko




Riverside heron
a glance upstream and down
- away it flies


Sean O'Connor




NEW BOOTS, OLD BOOTS


An old pair of boots.
Take them deep into the woods
and let them root there.




The new ones hurt.
The way, the way alone
will ease them.


Jim Norton




Scamaill ag buiochan thiar
dhà phréachàn aonair
ag eitilt soir


Clouds yellowing in the west
two lone crows
fly east


Gabriel Rosenstock




Where two streams meet
my wife cast a spell
her grey hair


Ken Jones




After a mulled wine evening
the last of the cinnamon
porridge dust


Maeve O'Sullivan




Underlining
pain
the livid blue horizon of the bay




Unsteadied by saké
in my pocket
the corner of my passport




"Green Activist"
standing upright
in the waste bin




Out of the brightly lit house
off to the brightly lit meeting
the moon at the gate


Ken Jones




Even in the spring mists
one hears the sound of water
trickling through the rocks


Sokan




On the telephone
a voice from the distant past -
early winter rain


Bill Wyatt




Strom force gales squalling
in two directions
letters with the same intent.


Maeve O'Sullivan




Winter chill
sweeping the tea room
vows renewed


zuiko



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