This poetry page is devoted to haiku and senryu. A haiku is a short poem that uses imagistic language to convey the essence of an experience of nature intuitively linked to the human condition. In Japanese a typical haiku has seventeen on (sounds) arranged in lines of five, seven, and five sounds. On has often been translated in English as syllablest. Most haiku in English consist of three unrhymed lines of seventeen or fewer syllables. Haiku have no titles, although this is optional.
A senryu is a poem, structurally similar to haiku, that highlights the foibles of human nature, usually in a humorous or satiric way. The originator of senryu was Karai Haciemon (1718-90), born in Edo (Tokyo) who took the pen-name of Karai Senryu (river willow). Early anthologies of senryu did not record the poets’ names. The anonymity allowed ordinary people to write satiric poems aimed at important people.
The distinction between haiku and senryu has been blurred and many haiku in English are really senryu.
Reading the paper
he doesn’t look up anymore
still lonely inside
Remembering when
impregnated overnight
she glowed at breakfast
She sets the table
eggs for him, toast for her
he just wants coffee
Cold eggs congealing
she sits sipping English tea
remembering sex
Bill Freyer
*****
Insular Being
Solitude offers
The poet inner rest—a
Welcomed loneliness.
Sleep
Watching Mama cat
Curled asleep round her babies
The garden at dusk.
Writing Haiku
It’s not like finding
Bright diamonds in the sand,
It’s “seeing” the sand.
The Apple
Red skin streaked by sun
Clean crispness like celery
Orchard-scented globe.
Solitude
Like being alone?
Support group available
Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Covid Etiquette
Now the “new normal”
Requires the “old virtues”
Patience and Courage.
Fleeting Presence
The haiku poem
Passes in a flash—quick stay
Like the humming bird.
Heavenly Mansion
Choose one room in your
House of eternity, then
Dwell there from within.
Someone Once said…
I’ve lived with many
Zen masters over the years—
All of them cats.
Garden Wall
The lavender wall
Is the color of my soul
I greet it at dusk.
Haiku Now
What is haiku but
The sting of just one moment
And gone before thought.
Transformation
Rather than die of
A broken heart—I soar
Remembering him.
Soundless Winter
Beauty of quiet
Pure naked absence of noise
Hush of falling snow.
Mexican Countryside
The dove’s fluted coo
Echoes, haunts this rural place—
Opens the bound heart.
Ironing Shirts
First, press the collar
Carefully iron the sleeves
Aah, the hell with it!
Chris Small
*****
blue-crested hummingbird
kisses jacaranda blossoms
azure apparition
dining with our dead
by flowery ofrendas
Día de Muertos
invisible in the fog
Berkshire memories
night air tastes like home
Ken Salzmann
*****
summer’s blossom
gone with the rainy season
her scent in the sheets
raining blossoms
in the season of no rain—
golden shower tree
shrill cicadas—
at hibiscus’ sanguine center
pollen-laden spear
red umbrellas
open against noonday sun
tulipan raining
his old refrain
autumn heart seeking solace
insinuates itself
orchestra
leaves of music blown away
ear game
shorter days
desiring night to hurry
wanting you to stay
how could I not say
I forgive
when he asks on his death bed
so wise in poems
now says he’s learned nothing
this earthly stint
anticipates
Death in a miniskirt
his last tango
he traveled far
to explore
his inner geography
limo driver
asks me urgent questions
in his own language
the urgent clop
of horse hooves on cobblestones
this autumn morning
my friend rejoices
her journey almost over
suitcase empty
no cure
the bee man
must have his honey
Margaret Van Every
*****
no moon
the unspoken beauty
of parting
moonless evening
under the star filled sky
fireflies guide me
summer sandcastles
even the smallest of waves
erases a dream
pushcart vendor
scent of oranges
in his call
migrant children
in cages
not terrorists – yet
crossing the tree stump
the ant stops
at the Civil War
the funeral home
she bends to straighten his tie
for the final time
the kite
of my departed friend
no string
antiques
covered by the dust
my childhood
silver track
life line
of a snail
daisies
welcome morning
erasing yesterday
the river changes
yet remains the same
journey
Anasazi mud wall
a hand print
my size
opening a kilo
of Peruvian coffee
mountain memory
jacaranda
purple majesty
sweeps the sky
Mel Goldberg
*****
After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
- Poetry Niche – December 2024 - November 30, 2024
- Poetry Niche – November 2024 - October 31, 2024
- Who Will Board The Silver Boat - October 30, 2024
