haiku about the year 2020

Welcome to the January 2021 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal

“How did you experience the year 2020?” That is the question I posed to a number of haiku poets. Here are some of their responses … a collective portrait of the ordinary, as well as the extraordinary, moments from the year that has recently ended.

Poems arrived from Australia, Brazil, Canada, England, Japan, the Philippines, Poland, Singapore, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, and the United States


a fly
on jam
my day begins
    ai li

learning to cross arms
again
and hug myself
    Alan Bern

overgrown bamboo the cat masks up
    Alan Summers

rainy thursday
no flowers, no meetings
the year ends
    Amauri Solon

leaves soften
the wind
almost lilac time
    Anne Elise Burgevin

on my walk I greet
my neighbor’s goats and hens
the goats stare from their strange eyes
    Antonia Matthew

sunrise
I forgot to remember
to forget
    Barbara Tate

winter night
— from out of our wreath
a wren
    Bill Waters

quarantine days
no one to chase away
the pigeons
    Billy Antonio

apple blossoms
a child chalks hello
on her friend’s stoop
    Brad Bennett

winter again
I read poetry and
remember
    C. Robin Janning

days rewind
a furious music box
in a minor key
    Carole Johnston

the edge
of winter twilight . . .
masked old man
    Chen-ou Liu

wearing old glasses
optometrist
not open
    Christina Martin

movie night
every night
lockdown
    Christina Sng

doggy day care closed
sophie barks me away
from the computer
    Claire Vogel Camargo

solo hike
I lose track of myself
in the forest
    Debbie Strange

zoom party
guests arrive
half-dressed
    Deborah P Kolodji

the DNA
of distant summers
shared in waves
    Helen Buckingham

no cicada buzzes
around the red cloister . . .
this ancient temple
    Hideo Suzuki

last mile
a silver thermos
of hot apple cider
    Huck Tritsch

leaves masquerading
as birds on snowy branches
deceive me once more
    Jack Goldman

online
meeting more people
I will never meet
    Jane Williams

longing for a time
when there isn’t so much
longing
    Jim Mazza

in winter’s deep freeze
the green thrust of amaryllis
kitchen table
    Jo Balistreri

dark clouds
smudged
against grey sky
    Joan McNerney

bedroom quarantine —
I rearrange the furniture
in my mind
    Julie Bloss Kelsey

inventing
poinsettia pose
zoom yoga
    Kath Abela Wilson

an ordinary wednesday
except for these purple leaves
and the burial of my father
    Kathleen Kramer

sheltering in place
my blonde hair
turns white
    Marianne Paul

one by one
friends become avatars
self-isolation
    Marietta McGregor

hospital garden
a day lily opens
to the light
    Mark Miller

lone birthday
the skin of party balloons
so thin
    Marta Chocilowska

isolation my inner landscape
    Olivier Schopfer

doing jigsaws by myself
my sister’s chair
empty this year
    Sue Norvell

ipad screen . . .
my fingerprint across
the face of the moon
    Theresa A. Cancro

dust gathers
for once i am
fine with that
    Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

crab apples in bloom
a masked man tells me they
bring tennessee warblers
    Tina Wright

the sight
of people
turning away
    Tom Clausen

waiting for snow to arrive
that’s how much i miss
having company
    Zee Zahava

Brass Bell is taking a rest

The brass bell online haiku journal is resting now. It might 
wake up at a future date, and new issues might appear. But presently the best way to enjoy haiku on this site is to look through the archives. I hope you will, because there are so many lovely issues to read (or re-read). Wishing you all PEACE in this new year.
Zee

haiku about the ways we experienced November 18, 2017

Welcome to the December 2017 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

The theme is a single date . . .   all the poems were written on November 18, 2017


Poems have been received from Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Italy, Pakistan, Poland, Singapore, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States

noon heat
two lizards
in a battle of tails
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

long-distance call
the fog outside
thickening
    - Adrian Bouter

i am lonely today
my breath
my friend
    - ai li

two crows hop
one up a driveway
the other in the road
    - Alan Bern

late in the year . . .
I buy bright padlocks
for a backpack
    - Alan Summers

seeking shelter
the others
enjoy the rain
    - Almila Dukel

family gathering
there is one missing
around the table
    - Amauri Solon

watery eyes
lackluster leaves
tumble in the wind
    - Amy Losak

minted tea
my neighbour describes
his trip to Morocco
    - Andy McLellan

shorter day —
between bare branches
the first star
    - Angela Giordano

plaid blanket on the beach —
onion cake
and tangerines
    - Angiola Inglese

Saturday morning
cleaning house
I startle a mouse
    - Ann Christine Tabaka

happy angry goofy scary pumpkins in a row
    - Anne Elise Burgevin

meditation studio  . . .
the scent of basil
surrounds me
    - Archana Kapoor Nagpal

tornado warning
submitting poetry before
the electricity goes out
    - Barbara Tate

an afternoon
of windy rain
— and a migraine
    - Bill Waters

flu season
I kiss you good night
on your forehead
    - Brad Bennett

watching for snakes
finding instead two fat toads
in the hemlocks
    - C. Robin Janning

a standoff between
rain and snow
my mind as muddled
    - Carol Dilworth

daughter searches
for a unicorn
on ebay
    - Caroline Skanne

patches of fog
the things I remember
to forget
    - Chen-ou Liu

a painting day
how many colours
in orange
    - Christina Martin

grocery bags
the heaviness
of my heart
    - Christina Sng

waking thought:
two weeks ago
choosing dad's casket
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

dinner party
all the broken pottery
swept together
    - C.R. Harper

another night
without you
the unlit wick
    - Dan Schwerin

hunger moon
my shadow lingers
on the path
    - David He

breakfast with the birds
we watch each other
eat our oatmeal
    - David J. Kelly

ice-laden trees
a thousand brass bells
tinkle your name
    - Debbie Strange

new moon —
my bitter experience
left inside that suitcase
    - Doris Pascolo

way back home
the same clouds
as yesterday
    - Eufemia Griffo

someone with an artist's eye
must have scattered these leaves
on the brookside walk
    - Frank Robinson

reading the usual bad news
cat on my shoulder
fussing
    - Glenn Ingersoll

for a moment
her birthday candles
in the dark
    - Hannah Mahoney

hazy moon . . .
the fog reshapes
a street lamp
    - Hifsa Ashraf

uncertain haiku
discussed with my editor
let's just forget it
    - Jack Goldman

a spider crack
in the camera lens
shifting scenes
    - Jan Benson

trivial pursuit —
they say our team
gets all the easy ones
    - Jill Lange

lace curtains
sift moonlight . . .
mother makes pumpkin pie
    - Jo Balistreri

waiting at the clinic to hear my name
    - Joan McNerney

cutting his hair
in the kitchen —
how many years?
    - Joanna M. Weston

London gloom
my commuter train
enters the underworld
    - John Hawkhead

dusting off
the world atlas . . .
one perfect sycamore leaf
    - Julie Warther

haiku workshop
I act out an apple
doing a pirouette
    - Kath Abela Wilson

at the library
the boy helps his tiny sister
choose a book
    - Kathy Kramer

suddenly night comes
I have to turn on the light
to do the crossword
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

minus twenty
jump-starting the old car
with the old truck
    - kjmunro

middle of November
the first Christmas card
from far away
    - Lucia Cardillo

little linden
increasingly bare
don't you feel cold?
    -Lucia Fontana

snowflakes
cabbage butterflies
flicker past
    - Madhuri Pillai

after nap time —
angel food cake
and fairy tales
    - Maria Laura Valente

new moon —
deer hunters
at crack of dawn
    - Marilyn Fleming

a greeting card
from the one who got away . . .
wind-blown leaves
    - Marion Alice Poirier

among falling leaves la petite mort
    - Mark E. Brager

father's memory . . .
looking at the
distant stars
    - Marta Chocilowska

beautiful morning
the postman and the milkman
whistle the same tune
    - Martha Magenta

tall recycling bags
so much of my life
toss, toss
    - Marty Blue Waters

the soft light of dawn
moves from window to desk . . .
I must sit very still
    - Michael Flanagan

sun soaking my skin
I sit outside the kitchen
just enjoying life
    - Mimi Foyle

waiting . . .
among raindrops
his steps
    - Nina Kovacic  (translated by Durda Vukelic Rozic)

listening to Elvis
my body remembers
the fifties
    - Pat Davis

bright sunlight . . .
the beauty
of dust motes
    - Phyllis Lee

mid-afternoon
I stop surf gazing
to type this haiku
    - Pris Campbell

old scarecrow
losing himself
in the wind
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

silver anniversary
sky of brushed pewter
I leave for you
    - Ron Scully

highrise
mirrored windows
all sky and drifting cloud
    - Simon Hanson

we fall silent
to listen to it . . .
November wind
    - Sanjuktaa Asopa

out for breakfast
my cousin and I
spill laughter on our pancakes
    - Sue Norvell
 
catching up . . .
teaspoons clink
in unison
    - Theresa A. Cancro

untouched placemats
a trail of crumbs
around the tv
    - Tia Haynes

hallelujah!
good hair
on a rainy day
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

long lane
the jogger
short of breath
    - Tim Gardiner

all day rain only a sparrow's call
    - Vibeke Laier

washing yesterday's dishes
thinking about
nothing
    - Zee Zahava

falling leaves
among Japanese signs
my haiku
    - Zuza Truchlewska

family haiku

Welcome to the November 2017 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal

This month's theme is: family haiku

Poems have been received from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, Croatia, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Italy, Nigeria, Pakistan, Philippines, Poland, Singapore, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States


family pictures
in each generation
a little height is added
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

grandma's dimple
her only treasure
she never passed on   
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

birthday dinner
the joking uncle
has a dull knife
    - Adrian Bouter

sunbeams
my mother's silence
and mine
    - Agnes Eva Savich

family hike
leaves turned
leaves unturned
    - Agnes Eva Savich

my aunt's garden
better than mine
soft grass
    - Agnes Eva Savich

father gone 
but his wristwatch 
still ticking
    - ai li

mother old on my birthday
    - ai li

the chill of grandmother’s jade bangle
    - ai li

water ripples
my son smiles
at his reflection
    - Akor Emmanuel Oche

my father's farm
yellow maize leaves —
sign of drought
    - Akor Emmanuel Oche

family meeting
delayed by phone calls
and high-pitched barking
    - Alan Bern

mermaid
green strands streak my granddaughter's hair
one step from the sea
    - Alan Catlin

mapping planets 
my nephew quotes
 from Star Wars
    - Alan Summers

tying shoelaces
 my mother taught
 those life skills
    - Alan Summers

photos in sepia
 my parents regain
 their sandcastle
    - Alan Summers

i caress
my barbecue knife
gaucho uncle's gift
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

sadness
dreaming of my son
all night long
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

a kiss from 
my daughter the taste of raspberries
    - Andy McLellan

snow falls —
my newborn son
cries out for me
    - Angela Giordano

a long journey —
the loving embrace
of sisters
    - Angela Giordano

faded inscriptions
in family bible
names of the dead
    - Ann Christine Tabaka

movie night
my children
run for the popcorn
    - Ann Christine Tabaka

Aunt Effie's
hand-sewn quilt —
first cold day
    - Anna Cates

siblings scattered wide
making dinner now for my
urban family
    - Barbara Mink

dementia
grandpa talks to his
invisible friend
    - Barbara Tate

Christmas eve
the unexpected essence
of Aunt Dorothy's perfume
    - Barbara Tate

reflection
in the mirror I have a chat
with mother
    - Barbara Tate

monsoon rains
even the instant noodles
taste like mother's
    - Billy Antonio

ironing clothes —
the wrinkles on
mother's forehead
    - Billy Antonio

father/son talk
the sound
of shifting clouds
    - Billy Antonio

mother taught me
to notice the smaller things
shadows on the wall
    - C. Robin Janning

sisters
passing like overhead clouds
never stopping
    - C. Robin Janning

buds and leaves alongside
twigs and branches
cousins on my family tree
    - Carol Dilworth

my son tells me
about the barley
in Bashō's haiku
    - Caroline Skanne

mum, mum, mum?
son just needs to know
i'm here
    - Caroline Skanne

goddess pose
daughter shows me
the way
    - Caroline Skanne

my daughter
draws a present
on the present
     - Caroline Skanne

the departure gate
between mother and me
the Pacific
    - Chen-ou Liu

a yell when granddaughter drops the spoon on my toe
    - Christina Martin

my brother calls
the only thing we never say
I love you
    - Christina Martin

forgotten loves
in mama's journal
pressed roses
    - Christina Sng

summer camp
missing my children
on day one
    - Christina Sng

my step-mom asks me
to be her facebook friend . . .
murky water
    - Christine Villa

even our puppy
hides under the bed . . .
grandma's visit
    - Christine Villa

granny's coiffed hair, dress,
stockings, pumps, and jewelry —
nursing home attire
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

thanksgiving dinner
first holiday to mourn
my niece
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

“now, when I were poor . . .”
the crisps me mum adds to her sandwich
complete the sentence
    - Danny Blackwell

garden hose . . .
my son sprays
the heat
    - Dave Read

snowdrifts . . .
grandpa’s hair falls
where it may
    - Dave Read

late autumn —
my aunt on the creaking porch
calls to her lost cat
    - David He

phone call from beyond
as I speak my uncle hears
my dead father's voice
    David J. Kelly

birthday cake
my older sister's
bigger slice
    - Debbi Antebi

bare branches
grandpa's hands
thinner than mine
    - Debbi Antebi

dark cavern
glow-worms where
my sister was
    - Debbie Strange

bedridden
my aunt only smiles
at birds
    - Debbie Strange

empty apartment
we fold mother's shadow
into boxes
    - Debbie Strange

green tomatoes
my son's new
silk tie
    - Deborah P Kolodji

pumpkin pie
my mother whispers
it's sugarless
    - Deborah P Kolodji

new mother-in-law
the thick skin
of an acorn squash
    - Deborah P Kolodji

visiting sister
the past that is always
present
    - Devin Harrison

my brother
knuckling pots in the kitchen
his early jazz years
    - Devin Harrison

video memory
my baby's first steps
on the beach
    - Elisa Allo

family dinner
under the table
ants line up for crumbs
    - Emmanuel Jessie Kalusian

battlefront
in a tin box
grandfather's postcards
    - Eufemia Griffo

my wife puts her hand in mine
like a butterfly
visiting a flower
    - Frank Robinson

my sister-in-law says
her mother's now next to my mother
on the shelf
    - Glenn Ingersoll

at the family reunion
almost nobody
I've ever met
    - Glenn Ingersoll

watching tv —
daughter's doll wears
bridal veil
    - Goran Gatalica

evening walk —
my stepfather steps
on my shadow
    - Hifsa Ashraf

my grandfather's cane
came with him from the old world
it supported us
    - Jack Goldman

when my mother died
my father made spaghetti
that tasted salty
    - Jack Goldman

my talented aunt
wanted to be a singer
we kids thought she was
    - Jack Goldman

the story of her life my daughter’s tattoos
    - Jane Williams

my sister’s news I want to invent a ringtone for it
    - Jane Williams

the doll’s clothes my mother sewed making ends meet
    - Jane Willliams

monarch migration
the older sister
i never see
    - Jennifer Hambrick

blood oranges
wearing my thick skin
to the family picnic
    - Jennifer Hambrick

the old willow
and daddy's flowers
gone
    - Jill Lange

mama's gone —
snow-laden hydrangeas
her funeral bells
    - Jill Lange

our old photograph —
mother-daughter pinafores
with orange tiger lilies
    - Jill Lange

lemon dream bars
falling apart
mother's cookbook
    - Jo Balistreri

dad's rocker . . .
only the wind
swings now
    - Jo Balistreri

warped door
in an old wall —
mother’s bent back
    - Joanna M. Weston

a barn owl
flying into dusk                                                
my mother’s last words
    - John Hawkhead

bringing her teacup
back into balance
granny’s shaking hand
    - John Hawkhead

red fingers
mom's mid-life passion
was pistachios
    - Kath Abela Wilson

dad's departure
how he made our world
instant mashed potatoes
    - Kath Abela Wilson

waiting for my son to call
I forget to call
my mother
    - Kathy Kramer

my husband runs
while reciting sufi mantras . . .
comes home all sweaty
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

grandma's diary
dusty skeletons
in the attic
    - kjmunro

visiting mother-in-law —
not a dirty dish
in the kitchen
    - kjmunro

graduation day . . .
mother thinks I am
still in the cradle
    - Kumarendra Mallick

doing laundry
my son chases the worlds
in soap bubbles
    - Kwaku Feni Adow

sister-in-law
in her happy place
burning leaves
    - Lance Robertson

orange peels
crackling in the fireplace —
grandpa snoozes
    - Lucia Cardillo

early autumn leaf
eaten by caterpillars —
my father's denials
    - Lucia Fontana

snowing gently
on father’s grave —
that kind of light
    - Lysa Collins

grandma knits
a baby shawl
she will never tuck
    - Lysa Collins

my clumsiness
a twitch
on mother's lips
    - Madhuri Pillai

first school day —
a loving note from my father
on the breakfast table
    - Maria Laura Valente

old wool shawl —
grandmother's hug
even now
    - Maria Laura Valente

police raid
grandpa runs a gambling ring
out of the kitchen
    - Marianne Paul

rusty trike
my uncle nicknames me
Annie Oakley
    - Marianne Paul

distant thunder —
not remembering why I'm afraid
of my father
    - Marianne Paul

the two of us
telling ghost stories
my mother shivers
    - Marietta McGregor

back from the hairdresser
grandmother's hair
with violet hues
    - Marina Bellini

another autumn —
in the mud room Dad's boots
still drying
    - Mark E. Brager

cloudspotting
my son's eyes
widen
    - Mark E. Brager

Dad's lawnmower
all those twilights
cut short   
    - Mark E. Brager

my grandfather's smile
from beneath
the scarecrow's hat
    - Marta Chocilowska

teen son
adjusting a new voice —
raven's song
    - Martha Magenta

white butterfly . . .
the blank pages
of mum's diary
    - Martha Magenta

grandma searches
for her reading glasses
dwindling sunset
    - Martha Magenta

my brave big sister
stared multiple sclerosis
in the eye and laughed
    - Marty Blue Waters

my scared big brother
born-again church showing him
heaven's only path
    - Marty Blue Waters

sisters baking bread —
even the butter
can't wait
    - Mary Kendall

the droop
of grandpa's shoulders —
weeping beech
    - Mary Kendall

covering my head
ashamed now at my silence
father left us
    - Michael Flanagan

dwindling days of August
I sort the lids and rubber seals
Ma stirs the cherries
    - Michael Flanagan

we all said
we enjoyed
godmother's fruit salad
    - Michael G. Smith

sis a cat
me a dog
gerbil compromise
    - Michael G. Smith

of my three mothers
two are remembered with love
and one with longing
    - Mimi Foyle

my mother's cousin
swept me off my feet at four
to dance the charleston   
    - Mimi Foyle

the most precious gift
born just before my birthday
grand-daughter roselle
    - Mimi Foyle

old-age stories
her music box plays three waltzes
over and over
    - Nancy Shires

tall skinny stranger
i greet the coatrack
wearing mom’s hat
    - Nancy Shires

in my father's book
yellowed by the years
a pressed daisy
    - Nina Kovacic

remembering
every outfit . . .
mom's button box
    - Pat Davis

florida beach house
the maine rocks
on auntie's table
    - Pat Davis

nursing home
mother still elegant . . .
in sleep
    - Pat Davis

father and daughter
wedding dance together . . .
the polka tells our story
    - Pat Geyer

garden buddha smiles —
my grandchild places white stones
in an open palm
    - Peter Ladley

grandson falls asleep
atop my shoulders —
dreaming of horse rides?
    - Peter Ladley

water boiling
my father strips garden corn
on the run
    - Pris Campbell

decluttering day
mother's best blouse clutched tight
in my lap
    - Pris Campbell

empty in-box
the childhood cousin I thought
would dream on with me
    - Pris Campbell

scent of tobacco 
on a passing stranger 
my uncle's pipe
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

snowed in
shaking the moths
off grandmother’s shawl
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

cold winds
when father first taught me
to light a fire
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

prodigal son
your room's now a museum
where nothing has been moved
    - Ron Scully

birthday party
nobody asks how old
my aunt is
    - Rosa Clement

making jam
my mother's mind needs time
to wander
    - Rosa Clement

leaping from the car
more afraid of a spider
than my father’s wrath
    - Scott Wiggerman

purple glow
on the mountains
my parents hold hands
    - Scott Wiggerman

in dewdrops 
my daughter cartwheels 
across the lawn
    - Simon Hanson

my son bemused —
dark side of the moon
on vinyl
    - Simon Hanson

family album
my father as a boy
with my son’s smile
    - Simon Hanson

warm sun on my back —
the way Dad always left
his hat by the door
    - Theresa A. Cancro

milking at sunrise —
I recall
mom's warm hands
    - Theresa A. Cancro

at the altar
the tremble
of daddy’s hand
    - Tia Haynes

honeydew
the memory
of mother’s perfume
    - Tia Haynes

squiggles on paper
my niece says
it's a dinosaur
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

sisters
after all these years
friends
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

spring cleaning
the first violets in
mother's herbarium
    - Vibeke Laier

spring silence
i still see mother's dress
on the washing line
    - Vibeke Laier

still cold
my sister's new dolls
sitting in the window
    - Vibeke Laier

listen
our laughter in this old photograph
my sister and me
    - Zee Zahava

in another time zone my mother also washes her hair
    - Zee Zahava

my eyes deceive me . . .
i thought i saw grandma
crossing the street today
    - Zee Zahava

familiar view
forget-me-nots
on my grandmother's apron
    - Zuzanna Truchlewska

Body Haiku

Welcome to the October 2017 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal

This month's theme is: body haiku


Poems have been received from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, Croatia, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Italy, Pakistan, Poland, Singapore, Sri Lanka, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States


bare brown —
the teeth
of the kola seller
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

grazed elbow —
he knows it's nothing
'cause I told him so
    - Adrian Bouter

drawn into
the starry sky
of her thumbnail
    - Adrian Bouter

wiggly tooth
magnolia petals
in the wind
    - Agnes Eva Savich

heartbeat filling an empty room
    - ai li

by his sick bed
my hands
as cold as his
    - ai li

cardboard and hand
indistinguishable
old woman in the blue recycle bin
    - Alan Bern

never quite counting
but moving fingers
as if there were numbers
    - Alan Bern

a drop on my face —
not raining at all
our goodbye
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

flying like a bird
my weightless body
hangs from the glider
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

morning snow
she places her footprints
in mine
    - Andy McLellan

shelter from the storm
my hands make
shadow puppets
    - Andy McLellan

moonlight
reflected in the mirror —
my wrinkled face
    - Angela Giordano

making plum jam
my hands turn
violet pink
    - Angelee Deodhar

sommelier —
a drop of red wine
colors his white glove
    - Angelee Deodhar

juicy pear
the taste of autumn
runs down to my elbow
    - Angiola Inglese

silk babushkas
cover graying heads of
old world stories
    - Ann Christine Tabaka

old farmhouse
a pale hand draws back
the lace curtain
    - Anna Cates

country road . . .
the hand that curbs the kudzu
rules the world
    - Anna Cates

extracted teeth —
my smile
in the trash
    - Antonio Mangiameli

without warning
the tickle of a butterfly
on my shoulder
    - Barbara Tate

December wedding
a sprig of mistletoe
in her hair
    - Barbara Tate

hitchhiker:
this ladybug
on my hand
    - Bill Waters

pointing —
the little girl follows
her finger
    - Bill Waters

breaststrokes
a hot sun
on my back
    - Caroline Skanne

rubbing mugwort
between fingertips
between worlds
    - Caroline Skanne

hot pebbles
licking the salt
off your lips
    - Caroline Skanne

the warm nuzzle
of my week-old baby . . .
rosy cheek
    - Celestine Nudanu

on my tongue
the taste of wild strawberries
the look in her eyes
    - Chen-ou Liu

feeling like
an alien incubator
long pregnancy
    - Christina Sng

knitting
my fingers learn
on their own
    - Christina Sng

our bodies
never quite forgetting
the art of bicycling
    - Christina Sng

memorizing mother's face . . .
her eyelashes
the shape of her neck
    - Christine McNamara

hard landings
at gymnastics practice
my bruised coccyx
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

at 90, cooking
and caring for dad
her perfect eyebrows
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

so many little tomatoes
you ripen
as I blink
    - Dani Bates

the girl
selfying her face
cocks her leg anyway
    - Danny Blackwell

late innings
the manager chews
his nails
    - Dave Read 

into stardust
the astronaut
trims his beard
    - Dave Read

a breeze
ruffles her hair . . .
open casket
    - Dave Read

harvest moon
my mother's face
in the mirror
    - David He

on horseback . . .
butterflies circle the rose
in her hair
    - David He

keeping my mouth shut
straining tea leaves
through clenched teeth
    -David J. Kelly

baby sleeping
the heat of her breath
on my shoulder
    - David Oates

after vacation
the feel of long pants
on legs
    - David Oates

first light
a baker's fingertips
pressing the dough
    - Debbi Antebi

morning dew
the galaxies between
our toes
    - Debbie Strange

fiddleheads
the curled ears
of newborns
    - Debbie Strange

snow mounds
the growing roundness
of her belly
    - Debbie Strange

yoga positions
this climbing
out of dry skin
    - Devin Harrison

to absorb
the pressure of her heart
hyacinth
    - Devin Harrison

morning tai chi —
on his face
serenity
    - Doris Pascolo

autumn breeze —
on bare shoulders
a yellow leaf
    - Doris Pascolo

bowed in silence
four young heads
lost in cyberspace
    - Dottie Piet

toothache . . .
the first leaves fall
from the maple
    - Elisa Allo

bare feet
the damp kiss of a snail
in the grass
    - Elisa Allo

freckles
a child writes the first words
on his mother's face
    - EufemiaGriffo

as if she were pregnant
with it . . .
her body wraps around the cello
    - Frank Robinson

zombie chic
kids compare
missing teeth
    - Helen Buckingham

first monsoon —
an earthworm wobbles
under my feet
    - Hifsa Ashraf

name day feast
a thumb-press of oregano
in papa's palm
    - Jan Benson

mountain fog
my hand on his
hand on my breast
    - Jennifer Hambrick

celebrating
the day of the dead . . .
dad's stomach rumbles
    - Jo Balistreri

the sun
in her eyes —
his funeral
    - Joanna M. Weston

rain trickles
down my neck —
muddy path
    - Joanna M. Weston

scratching her back
between pillars of sunlight
the slow fall of dust
    - John Hawkhead

sighs after long illness
in her stiff palm
a five leaf clover
    - Justice Joseph Prah

another friend's chemo —
more of my hair
comes out
    - kjmunro

dust on my fingers
tracing your name
carved in stone
    - kjmunro

exposed
the skin where my ring
used to be
    - kjmunro

chin in hand
and elbows on the table
my listening pose
    - Kath Abela Wilson

lavender and sage
she uses her head
to carry flowers
    - Kath Abela Wilson

bare foot, hard pebble
a yin/yang moment
before I shout ouch
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

dream sequence . . .
I clap to the song
she didn't sing
    - Kumarendra Mallick

walk-the-talk . . .
miles of silence
hand-in-hand
    - Kumarendra Mallick

harmattan
the pain of laughter
in cracked lips
    - Kwaku Feni Adow

fingerprint
on the hand-waxed car
maple leaves shiver
    - Laughing waters

September rain —
for twelve years
I have not seen his face
    - Lucia Cardillo

end of September —
my mouth holds the sweet taste
of ripe persimmons
    - Lucia Cardillo

spring river
flooded by peace
my right brain
    - Lucia Fontana

always a ballerina my daughter on tippy toes
    - Madhuri Pillai

temple bell
a raindrop hanging
from Buddha's nose
    - Malintha Perera

seagull wings—
the shape of summer
in her eyebrows
    - Maria Laura Valente

shattered bone
overnight I've become
elderly
    - Marianne Paul

arm in a cast
the itch that remains
un-scratched
    - Marianne Paul

hand resting
on a holster —
the curve of her hip
    - Marilyn Fleming

the weight
of the muddy river
jerry-can on her head
    - Marilyn Fleming

summer dusk —
palms to the earth
praying for rain
    - Mark E. Brager

lightning flash the next contraction
    - Mark E. Brager

gibbous moon her stretch marks glistening
    - Mark E. Brager

produce market
in the arms of the young lovers
orange pumpkins
    - Mark Miller

gentle breeze
removing the wig
from my head
    - Marta Chocilowska

city zoo trip
a mother's hair clutched
in a tiny hand
    - Martha Magenta

snipping
baby's toenails . . .
cherry blossoms
    - Martha Magenta

bloodroot . . .
my ankle veins
begin to surface
    - Martha Magenta

pulling my wagon
such a busy four-year-old —
strong arms and legs
    - Marty Blue Waters

baby raccoon
my fingers stroke his belly
he thinks I'm his mom
    - Marty Blue Waters

mostly right-handed . . .
my iMac challenges me
to be left-moused
    - Marty Blue Waters

new knees —
I learn to walk again
no longer afraid
    - Mary Kendall

arm in arm
we dare the street traffic
snowy day
    - Mary Kendall

in hospice
skin so thin
breath so slow
    - Mary Kendall

woke by the noise
of old bones complaining
oh!      they're mine
    - Michael Flanagan

my hands
I remember their strength . . .
only pain remains
    - Michael Flanagan

on all fours
nose to nose
with my dog
    - Michael G. Smith

my knobbled fingers
strain to untangle the knot
i've made of my life
    - Mimi Foyle

crunchy autumn trails
ankle-deep in curly leaves
i kick their colors
    - Mimi Foyle

throwing out the book —
the author obsessed
with her fat
    - Miriam Sagan

old as I am
I still fondly regard
my feet
    - Miriam Sagan

asphalt afternoon
the traffic cop takes off his hat
wipes his bald head
    - Nancy Shires

morning air
on my arms —
just being alive
    - Nancy Shires

butterfly garden
a painted lady alights
on my friend's nose
    - Nancy Shires

hidden stream —
the kundalini rises through
each of my chakras
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

sticky lips
her tiny fingers remove
a cherry pit
    - Nina Kovacic

your new hairstyle
no one notices
but me
    - Olivier Schopfer

cold morning
clouds
out of my mouth
    - Olivier Schopfer

overcast day
dirt under
my fingernails
    - Olivier Schopfer

a train whistle deep
into the night —
your back towards me
    - pamela a. babusci

after the mammogram going braless
    - pamela a. babusci

deep autumn . . .
walking barefoot
on my mother's grave
    - pamela a. babusci

mom on her phone
the tug, tug, tug
on her leg
    - Pat Davis

dyad moon tonight our lips touch in a full kiss
    - Pat Geyer

both asleep . . .
holding hands
we dream   
    - Pat Geyer

an artery blocked —
opens —
blood courses again
    - Peter Ladley

so serious
carving Grandpa's nose
in the pumpkin
    - Phyllis Lee

kitty
against my belly . . .
midnight moon
    - Pris Campbell

discarded ring
my finger has no room
for memories
    - Pris Campbell

a head higher
than my ninth grade classmates —
sunflower season
    - Pris Campbell

returning home
more tremors
in mother's hands
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

autumn brambles
the school children's
inky fingers
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

the sting
as the needle breaks skin
waiting for it
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

self diagnosis
my blood runs backwards
nobody knows
    - Ron Scully

muscle memory
but bones hold a grudge
my tackled right knee
    - Ron Scully

windy day
the beggar combs her hair
with her fingers
    - Rosa Clement

toeing circles in the sand —
what to say
what not to . . .
    - Sanjuktaa Asopa

candlelit wall
my hand
a heron
     - Sanjuktaa Asopa

paper cut
the taste of metal
on my tongue
    - Scott Wiggerman

shadow of a bird
on my shoulder —
I worry about shit
    - Scott Wiggerman

catching my breath
the valley
from the mountain top
    - Simon Hanson

dozing on the lawn —
a dandelion seed
tickling my nostril
    - Stephen Page

the flap of a bat wing —
a praying mantis
drops in my lap
    - Stephen Page

trying to sit still
while a yellow jacket
circles my bare feet
    - Stephen Page

Chinese buffet —
in my stomach
the dragon
    - Theresa A. Cancro

hula hoop —
the twirl
of her braids
    - Theresa A. Cancro

surprises
in old age
green eyes turned blue
    - Tia Haynes

red-handed —
on the wall
her finger painting
    - Tia Haynes

drawing circles
with my nose . . .
yogic indecision
    - Tia Haynes

quiet storm
I close my eyes
to listen
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

giant puff ball
only slightly bigger
my head
    - Tom Clausen

lying in bed . . .
reviewing the variety
of my most recent symptoms
    - Tom Clausen

my involuntary eye closure . . .
the Netflix series
she loves
    - Tom Clausen

in my hand
i hold this heart rock . . .
my heart is in my hand
    - Yvonne Fisher

cracked sidewalk keeping me on my toes
    - Zee Zahava

daisies
under our bare feet the earth
sun-warmed
    - Zuzanna Truchlewska

water haiku

Welcome to the September 2017 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal

This month's theme is: Water

Poems have been received from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Italy, Nigeria, Poland, Singapore, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States


floating leaf
a baby toad rides
the ripples
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

white curtain
on a mountain wall —
waterfall
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

above
an indecisive bike
rain clouds
    - Adrian Bouter

spring rain
a halo of frizz
on baby's head
    - Agnes Eva Savich

rows of whitecaps
salty air warps
my notebook
    - Agnes Eva Savich

flowing water
each rock
changes it
    - Agnes Eva Savich

lena horne
singing stormy weather
my banging shutter
    - ai li

the magician in an ice machine
    - ai li

the kettle
screams without water
we both look down
    - Alan Bern

writing in the rain
sheltered by a leafy tree —
still the words run off
    - Alan Bern

night train
each window carries
its own little rain
    - Alan Summers

watering tulips
I track the canals
of Mars
    - Alan Summers

taking the blues
out of a goodbye
winter river
    - Alan Summers

river beach —
elongated crane's shadow
inspires this haiku
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

riverside walk
my thoughts struggle
to break the surface
    - Andy McLellan

thin rain —
the duck's wings
so heavy
    - Angela Giordano

birdbath —
mynahs wait patiently
for the crow to leave
    - Angelee Deodhar

spring rain
moving in slow motion
the snail's silence
    - Anna Cates

election year
the same pothole
filled with rain
    - Anna Cates

meandering
with the stream
leaf boat race
    - Anne Elise Burgevin

her late start
on weekday wash
summer solstice
    - Anne Elise Burgevin

a child
a spoonful of rice
hot broth
    - Antonio Mangiameli 

twilight
a fish asleep in its
shadow world
    - Barbara Tate

blue moon
rising tide floats
the beach chairs
    - Barbara Tate

summer pond
swimming in sunshine
polliwogs
    - Barbara Tate

melting snowman
bows
to the sun
    - Bill Waters

the parking lot
just wet enough
to smell of rain
    - Bill Waters

edge of a puddle
watching its reflection
blue-tailed lizard
    - C. Robin Janning

tears warmer than rain . . . missing my mother
    - C. Robin Janning

heat wave
my birdbath is the centre
of social life
    - Carol Dilworth

summer storm
hammering down
tent pegs
    - Caroline Skanne

foggy river
the discrepancies
in your story
    - Caroline Skanne

rain on my cheek her umbrella poem lingers
    - Caroline Skanne

insomnia
I toss all night
to the sound of rain
    - Celestine Nudanu

fighting tears
at my graduation
memories of my mother
    - Celestine Nudanu

spangles
where the small fairies
throw the river light
    - Christina Martin

worn stone steps
dawn knocking on the sides
old row boat
    - Christina Martin

torrential rain
washing away
everything
    - Christina Sng

long journey
across the bridge
humingbird
    - Christina Sng

July in Vail
rafting the Colorado
snowmelt
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

green fields flooded the train passing a station without stopping
    - Danny Blackwell

autumn rain
a crunch of snails cling
to fallen leaves
    - David He

twilight —
the lake shares its color
with a dragonfly
    - David He

belly flop
no way to disguise it
new swimming trunks
    - David J Kelly

bleached coral
a clownfish nobody
laughs at
    - David J Kelly

dried water fountain
how long since
we have spoken
    - Debbi Antebi

shredding
all his letters —
steady drizzle
    - Debbi Antebi

waterfall mist
the words at the tip
of my tongue
    - Debbi Antebi

glazed pond
a beaver's tail breaks
the hush
    - Debbie Strange

starfish
in your arms
the sea
    - Debbie Strange

a fever of migrating stingrays summer graces
    - Debbie Strange

that call I wish
I didn't answer
dishwasher
    - Deborah P Kolodji

blue heron —
an invitation
to dally by the estuary
    - Devin Harrison

in the harbor
a squabble of gulls
brawling
    - Devin Harrison

a swallowtail butterfly
sips on a rose — midnight —
the moon is drowning
    - Diane Frank

summer rain
drums on our metal roof
buttered popcorn
    - Dottie Piet

late night shift
men sandbag the river banks
by moonlight
    - Dottie Piet

solar eclipse
a mosquito dives
into a water glass
    - Elisa Allo

glowing fireflies
down by the lakeside
a pile of clothes
    - Elizabeth Alford

beach party
the ebb and flow
of laughter
    - Elizabeth Alford

leaning ladder
a bucket of water
collects the sky
    - Elizabeth Alford

fierce drought —
a brief dream of
abundant water
    - Emmanuel Jessie Kalusian

riverbank
my mother waiting for me
on the other side
    - Eufemia Griffo

waves rush toward the shore
like children running
toward their parents
    - Frank Robinson

the pile of whites
returned to the pile of colors
rainy day
    - Glenn Ingersoll
   
after the swim
sound of water
stuck in my ear
    - Glenn Ingersoll

sunday
rain
on rain
    - Helen Buckingham

backstrokin' last day at the pool
    - Jill Lange

early winter storm —
the silver ring
slips from her finger
    - Jill Lange

drawing from the well . . .
a mooon jiggles
in my pail
    - Jo Balistreri

whitecaps
against the pier —
his angry words
    - Jo Balistreri

bumping my toe
along the wrack line —
yellow sea glass
    - Jo Balistreri

behind our house
a small stream
captures the full moon
    - Joan Leotta

January
dad hoses down the backyard —
my skating rink
    - Joan Leotta

stopping to see the shape of a snowflake
    - Joan McNerney

the two-year-old
waters faded flowers . . .
wallpaper
    - Joanna M. Weston

pulling radishes
in the rain —
a fat worm
    - Joanna M. Weston

November rain
a broken umbrella
holds a puddle
    - John Hawkhead

rain on the roof
through deep sleep
the dog's legs canter
    - John Hawkhead

after the rain —
partly cloudy
with scattered frogs
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

breakdown —
the tow truck follows
my tears
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

rain-soaked
she brews the tea
london fog
    - kjmunro

fish out of water
the strong swimmer steps back
from the ledge
    - kjmunro

moving inland
it was the electric waterfall
that saved me
    - Kath Abela Wilson

Santa Fe River
my first ginko walk
melts the ice
    - Kath Abela Wilson

forehead smudges
my girlhood question
about face washing
    - Kath Abela Wilson

at the moment when
a wet breeze enters the porch
my hand smears the page
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

his ship
docking in a puddle —
paper boat
    - Kwaku Feni Adow

another single raindrop
merges into the vast ocean
my father's passing
    - Lance Robertson

on her water glass
the crescent
of her lip print
    - Laughing waters

under a daffodil beside the stream bank a frog sits meditating
    - Lisa Holmes

strolling by the pond a chorus of peepers then a hundred silent ripples
    - Lisa Holmes

garden irrigation —
the red fox tail waves
among the radishes
    - Lucia Cardillo

strong sirocco
a path from the sea
to the clouds
    - Lucia Fontana

rain puddle
the slurp of the stray dog
quenching his thirst
    - Madhuri Pillai

first time
he held me tight —
Niagra Falls
    - Maria Laura Valente

incoming tide —
from afar, the pain
creeps closer
    - Marianne Paul

open water —
a white moth outpaces
my kayak
    - Marianne Paul

humming the same tune the waterwheel and i
    - Marietta Jane McGregor

frozen waterfall
how heavy
her ashes
    - Marietta Jane McGregor

so much to reveal
where shadows fall
koi pond
    - Marietta Jane McGregor

autumn the many colors of rain
    - Mark E. Brager

damselfly this rain puddle your universe
    - Mark E. Brager

fever dreams . . .
the water glass brimming
with moonlight
    - Mark E. Brager

salted wind
all the plastics the tide
gives us back
    - Mark Miller

after rain
crows in the eucalypts
black rags hung out to dry
    - Mark Miller

far away
the rumble of an old lion
morning storm
    - Marta Chocilowska

stone by the river
the flash of rainbow trout
in my hands
    - Marta Chocilowska

skinny dipping
we swim among
the stars
    - Martha Magenta

a killer storm
hammers the town —
umbrella skeletons
    - Martha Magenta

flooded softball field
another rainout —
team goes out for pizza
    - Marty Blue Waters

my elemental name . . .
pure water provides life
in every drop
    - Marty Blue Waters

her waters broken the beginning of the beginning
    - Mary Kendall

what was hidden now emerges water lilies
    - Mary Kendall

near the cattails —
two white egrets
lost in reflection
    - Mary Kendall

through the autumn woods
laughing and chasing its tail
trout stream
    - Michael Flanagan

drought again
magpies find
the leaky hose
    - Michael G. Smith

noisy
the creek
isn't shy
    - Michael G. Smith

overhead clouds leak
grey skies grey mountains grey road
grey wet everything
    - Mimi Foyle

on this clear deep pool
i float like a water bug
released from all thought
    - Mimi Foyle

I cup my hand
the water cups me —
a mountain spring
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

hiking break
my sweat drops
into a stream
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

a beaver marsh
thoughts slip away
one by one
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

deserted garden
from the water pump
seeps a cobweb
    - Nina Kovacic (translation by Durda Vukelic Rozic)

burning incense
for departed souls . . .
evening rain
    - pamela a. babusci

clear waterfall —
not tossing
the coin
    - pamela a. babusci

among the white
one pink water lily
fills the pond
    - pamela a. babusci

high tide
my mermaid
returns to the sea
    - Pat Davis

ice fishing
how long it takes
to fool a fish
    - Pat Davis

back to school
the bright yellow shine
of raincoats
    - Phyllis Lee

late for work
stepping in the shower
a centipede
    - Phyllis Lee

old white barn
in the pond's reflection
needs paint
    - Phyllis Lee

mountain lake
my cousin and I turn blue
eyeing the lifeguard
    - Pris Campbell

thunderclaps
my cat curls next to my legs
and sleeps again
    - Pris Campbell

cliff edge
so close I can taste
the crashing waves
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

breaking waves
I bite
my tongue
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

pouring rain
my spirits
drowning too
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

spring rains
the willow builds
a new river
    - Reagan Brubaker

click of my pen
rain taps at the window
tries to break in
    - Ron Scully

summer sea
the smell of tanning lotion
everywhere
    - Rosa Clement

water fountain
she pays a penny
for a wish
    - Rosa Clement

over the calm lake
circle three cormorants
and their reflections
    - Scott Wiggerman

that point at the lake
where you don't see birds
last night's argument
    - Scott Wiggerman

up close
tiny rivers
in the veins of a leaf
    - Simon Hanson

after the rain —
a woodpecker on sand
spearing ants as they rise
    - Stephen Page

where the stream
meets the river
the trout deciding
    - Stephen Page

backtracking
under the waterfall
the same drip
    - Theresa A. Cancro

morning surf —
waves turn
into dolphins
    - Theresa A. Cancro

gentle eddy —
sleeping otters
hold hands
    - Theresa A. Cancro

bubble bath
we try out
new hairdos
    - Tia Haynes

divorce papers
my hair
still wet
    - Tia Haynes

last wishes
he waters
a dead amaryllis
    - Tia Haynes

ah . . .
hot water
meets the teabag
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

cozy bath
my ally
in healing
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

daydream
to be the river
filled with light
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

runner beans and water
a child's pretend stew
red blooms in July heat
    - Tricia Knoll

light snow falling on the plastic snowman
    - Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

drum solo . . .
jellyfish pulsing
in the aquarium
    - Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

windy rain paper boat setting sail
    - Vibeke Laier

summer rain i share a blanket with the cat
    - Vibeke Laier

sound of water long before i see you white butterfly
    - Vibeke Laier

after a hard rain
puddle-jumping
with my child-self
    - Zee Zahava

that time a wave
pulled off her bathing suit —
or so she says
    - Zee Zahava

autumn drizzle
in a dirty puddle
my son's smile
    - Zuzanna Truchlewska

Haiku about the ways we experienced May 23, 2017

Welcome to the summer 2017 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

The theme is a single date . . .   all the poems were written on/about May 23, 2017.

Enjoy! And please come back in September when brass bell returns from summer vacation.

Poems have been received from Australia, Brazil, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Italy, Japan, Netherlands, Pakistan, Philippines, Poland, Singapore, the U. K., and the United States


fog —
the train digs
its own tunnel
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

tight on money
the fridge's
funny sounds
    - Adrian Bouter

after the rain . . .
the brightness
of pond lilies
    - Agnes Eva Savich

steaming rice
for the altar
the dead are here
    - ai li

never quite counting
but moving fingers
as if there were numbers
    - Alan Bern

weather forecaster lied — no sun today!
    - Alan Catlin

only the love songs
the wrong shade of blue
in Manchester city
    - Alan Summers

cat and i
what do we have in common
besides silence?
    - Amauri Solon Ribeiro

on the balcony
tonight the moon
so round
    - Angela Giordano

twilight
the full throated tenor
of a bull frog
    - Angelee Deodhar

spring cleaning
another trash bag heads
to Goodwill
    - Anna Cates

birthday —
I feel my bones
heavier
    - Antonio Magniameli

all day drizzle
an earthworm languishes
in the muck
    - Barbara Kaufmann

nap time
the robo calls
keep coming
    - Barbara Tate

head in the clouds . . .
without warning
rhododendrons
    - Bill Waters

rush hour
outside the bus window
a still kite
    - Billy Antonio

a struggle
to keep things in balance
when I am tipping
    - C. Robin Janning

grass nicely trimmed
garden in full bloom
sneezing
    - Carol Dilworth

grey mist
where grief
slips in
    - Caroline Skanne

morning rain
beneath my bedroom window
a wet school child
    - Celestine Nudanu

lost in a shuffle
of second-hand music books . . .
thrush answering thrush
    - Chen-ou Liu

batgirl in training
her cape
a serious matter
    - Christina Martin

spring daydream
my son's stuffed tiger
stares at the sun
    - Christina Sng

evening chatter
my puppy listens
to the buzz of a fly
    - Christine L. Villa

no fighting conch
on my last day of shelling
high tide
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

close to midnight
my muse snoozing
in the next chair
    - David J. Kelly

such variety
in the flavors
blueberries
    - David Oates

weather vane
a horse leads us
toward home
    - Debbie Strange

following the game
from the nosebleed seats
advancing years
    - Devin Harrison

wedding anniversary —
the twenty-third day
of the fifth month
    - Doris Pascolo

noonday sun
an aged bluejay asleep
on the birdbath
    - Dottie Piet

breakfast with kids
no reason to cry
over spilled milk
    - Elisa Allo

kindergarten class . . .
flowers and butterflies
in the children's drawings
    - Eufemia Griffo

walking in the woods
pointing out interesting things
to an absent friend
    - Frank Robinson

crunch
my neck
awakens me
    - Gabrielle Vehar

in the lamp's oblique shadows the back of my hand is strange
    - Glenn Ingersoll

aprons from three generations
whisper to me
when i cook
    - Grace Celeste

having its moment
the orb
of an onion flower
    - Hannah Mahoney

black morel . . .
how complicated it is
to survive
    - Hifsa Ashraf

when i bend over
and kneel down to plant these days
i say my prayers
    - Jack Goldman

café acoustics reaching me the pain in a stranger's voice
    - Jane Williams

wilted peonies
the day she doesn't
make the team
    - Jennifer Hambrick

today —
the mountain laurel
chooses to open
    - Jill Lange

our friendship . . .
the crest and trough
of waves
    - Jo Balistreri

just before midnight
pain ebbs . . . slowly moving
toward recovery
    - Joan Leotta

at the DMV
praying for our number
to be called
    - Joan McNerney

dawn rises
through the kitchen window
insomnia
    - Joanna M. Weston

urban demolition
under a powdering of dust
the promise of flowers
    - John Hawkhead

garbage truck
my dog hides
in the bathroom
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

mooncake
on the wet ground
carving my birthday wish
    - Justice Joseph Prah

Taipei to Shanghai
about the length
of a haiku
    - Kath Abela Wilson

rain thunder lightning
a symphony I can hear
when the lights go out
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

we sort estate papers
the wind
picks up
    - kjmunro

sorting
a lifetime collection
of beads & baubles
    - Kris Moon

clatter of heels —
in my imagination
swaying hips
    - Krzysztof Kokot

hiding behind a tree
I see a chipmunk crack
a nut
    - Kumarendra Mallick

spotlight
the sun through
a leaking roof
    - Kwaku Feni Adow

the best way to cure sleepwalking
she tells me
is to hang upside down
    - Kyle Hemmings

storm clouds
getting closer
my court date
    - Laughing waters

so quiet
at the kitchen table
alone this morning
    - Linda Keeler

starlight —
all that i sing
starts now
    - Lovette Carter

twilight
another day is ending 
first star
    - Lucia Cardillo

one white
cabbage butterfly
on a daisy
    - Lucia Fontana

dinner time —
the bittersweet taste
of ripe apricots
    - Maria Laura Valente

deadlines
writing haiku
at midnight
    - Marianne Paul

out of her shell —
queen-of-the-night blooms
in the terrarium
    - Marietta McGregor

twilight soccer
nudged above the goalie's net
the full moon
    - Mark Miller

my first box
of watercolor paints . . .
trembling brush
    - Marta Chocilowska

wind in the woods
the conversation
of tawny owls
    - Martha Magenta

what a small world
all day and all night
in the same room
    - Marty Blue Waters

a glow in the east
black thins to gray shadows
a cardinal calls
    - Mike Flanagan

i know we are well
by the way your hair lays curled
against my pillow
    - Mimi Foyle

all day I tell
everyone to admire
these roses
    - Miriam Sagan

in the dark
hidden whispers of scent . . .
lilacs!
    - Nancy Osborn

long summer day
i shut my eyes
and it is dark
    - Neha R. Krishna

cold shadow
a sweaty shirt sticks
to my back
    - Nina Kovacic (translation by Durda Vukelic Rozic)

that wondrous feeling —
touring the insides
of the Kotzschmar Organ
    - Pat Davis

world turtle day . . .
at the garden place i find
a box turtle gift
    - Pat Geyer

poppies
my all-time favorite —
tissue paper art
    - Paula Culver

amid wild grasses
a lone asparagus
waves
    - Peter Ladley

mashed potatoes
for lunch and dinner
my throbbing jaws
    - Pris Campbell

busy spider
the tangled web
of my mind   
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

vanilla ice cream
drools into my hand
noon melts down
    - Ron Scully

reading the paper
I share my rocking chair
with a tiny spider
    - Rosa Clement

news of refugees
I separate basil seedlings
ripping the roots
    - Ruth Yarrow

fogged in
rubbing my toes
on the cat's back
    - Sandi Pray

remember it all
write it down
let it go
    - Sara Robbins

midday heat the stiffness of a cotton saree
    - Shloka Shankar

wrong number
nice to exchange
a friendly word
    - Simon Hanson

woman in purple shirt
pointing out tulips —
children clinging to her legs
    - Stephen Page

red-headed woodpecker
young man with a camera
makes me notice
    - Sue Perlgut

children's giggles
under the stairs —
cat's cradle
    - Theresa A. Cancro

meal planning
deciding which night
not to care
    - Tia Nicole

pizza for breakfast
my inner child
giggles
    - Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

for my mood
the clouds spaced out
just right
    - Tom Clausen

more worms
than anticipated
cracked dry soil
    - Tricia Knoll

mother's white
and purple irises —
a stranger's yard
    - Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

spring rain
a flower opens for
a butterfly
    - Vibeke Laier

as you fly west
i walk
into the rising sun
    - Zee Zahava

rain —
drop after drop the lake
steadily overflowing the banks
    - Zuzanna Truchlewska