H
A I K U S P
I R I T
Haiku
Spirit Issue #14
JUNE 1998
The first of May ~
yes, yes indeed,
oh yes!
Jim Norton
How to tell all these buds?
A late frost forecast
Gilles Fabre
Pink cherry blossom
heavy snowfall ~
where am I am going?
Sean O'Connor
Just for a moment
they came tumbling down
spring snowflakes
Bill Wyatt
First day of spring
everyone
has time to spare
Ken Jones
spring evening shower ~
back from the maternity
I wash one dinner set
cherry blossoms
all over the pavement, the road:
here come the sweeper
Gilles Fabre
Against this mountain
more and more distinct
~ a rainbow
Patrizia Interlandi
Lighting the stove
I wake up my companion
a sleepy fly
Through the mist
the drumming of little hooves
on frozen pasture
Long beams of roaring light
beneath the dawn moon
the big trucks
Heavy coils of smoke
from new-lit fires
slowly the day begins
Paving stones
those that go clunk!
and those that don't
Oil lamp in each hand
unable to reach the switch
that isn't there
Ken Jones
(taken from a haibun: Spring Solitary)
Rensaku on the Death of a Patient
"I'm okay"
and he promptly died ~
you are, friend, you are.
His death confirmed
beside him, his peg feed~
still feeding him.
We root for pound coins
his dead eyes stare at nurses
~ as usual.
Bright morning sunlight
this room with his naked corpse ~
everything whiter.
Shaving his corpse
how much his beard has grown
since this morning.
This hillside,
the thud of clay on his coffin ~
a lone bird sings
A month since his death
sorting the box of ward socks
~ his name on one.
Sean O'Connor
(A rensaku is not a sequence. It is bringing together a number of haiku
written around the same event or experience.
Each of its haiku maintains its independence and can be sited on its
own elsewhere.)
Neon fish swimming
oblivious
as i cast my vote
Maeve O'Sullivan
On this moonless night
meditating in the dark ~
full moon overhead
Yuri Runov
Sitting silently
doing nothing ~ spring arrives
all by itself
Bill Wyatt
a dog,
scratching at a door
with a wreath on it
Gilles Fabre
Widower's dead
his furniture burnt
only his woodstack left
Ken Jones
Sing, bird, sing ~
help us find
a name for the baby
Gilles Fabre
Fleece bedecked with cherry leaves
she chews her curd
Ken Jones
Where to now?
At the center of the room,
A bug, pauses
Gilles Fabre
Between Kingdom and Republic
a silent pot holed road
Ken Jones