Welcome to the September 2021 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal, featuring new haiku written in the last days of August.
Contributing poets are from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Indonesia, Israel, Italy, Malaysia, New Zealand, Pakistan, Poland, Romania, Singapore, Switzerland, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States
empty beach
the wet track of a tortoise
filled with moonlight
Adjei Agyei-Baah
darkening sky
i’m home alone
with shadows
ai li
hanging moss . . .
somewhere above my head
a buzzing wasp nest
Al Gallia
local park
three koi i know
by name
Al Peat
big toes damaged
my wife and I
old ones with old toes
Alan Bern
sun into moon
the first sit-down
with neighbours
Alan Summers
back from Vegas
the neighbors
florescent
Alexis Rotella
light breeze —
left undisturbed
my shadow
Ana Drobot
laughter
bursts the soap bubbles
my grandchildren
Angela Giordano
sun on the terrace —
a screen of roses
between me and tomorrow
Angiola Inglese
high winds far away
my heart rate
in its resting zone
Ann Carter
in this long drought
like pale withered squash flowers
my words
Antonia Matthew
heart shaped leaves
a pair of doves land
together
Barbara Kaufmann
lazy afternoon
counting the rotations of the
ceiling fan
Barbara Tate
bathing in the lake
not once
thinking of you
Barrie Levine
watermelon sunset . . .
I spit a seed
into the sky
Bill Waters
wandering mind returns home
counting steps cars birds
squirrels leaves breaths
Blue Waters
a summer of trails
the slug reaches
a mushroom
Brad Bennett
bluff overlook
losing a bookmark
to the wind
Bryan Rickert
wet garden gloves
dye my fingers yellow . . .
sunny
C. Robin Janning
on my porch
we find a watermelon . . .
good fairies
Carole Johnston
dappled path —
a squirrel scampers
into my shadow
Carole MacRury
early stars
three kinds of miso
in the fridge
Caroline Skanne & Violet Akalu-Skanne
zazen . . .
thoughts of my ex
come and go
Chen-ou Liu
pinned
on the silk sash
a jewel beetle
Christina Chin
unable to forget
your words
the tartness of tangerines
Christina Sng
biological clock
I start to consider
pup parenting
Christine L. Villa
a walk with friends
waving
brown-eyed Susans
Claire Vogel Camargo
our discussion
on the quality of one haiku . . .
carrot snap
Daniela Misso
whir of the fan
my heart pounds
sitting in stillness
Deborah Burke Henderson
papers in boxes
shredding
my past
Deborah P Kolodji
the rain —
verticality
flowers
Donna Fleischer
summer twilight
a moth flies
in the shade of poppies
Eufemia Griffo
power outage
through the mosquito net
a shooting star
Florin C. Ciobica
stifling heat —
the day’s vapors
in an incense swirl
Geethanjali Rajan
chasing the last berry
around the bowl
morning fog
Glenn Ingersoll
fairy tale
stuck in the castle
my niece’s imagination
Hifsa Ashraf
a bed of flowers
requires cultivation
or else it’s a flop
Jack Goldman
busy sidewalk
a yellow butterfly’s
soundless flutter
Jackie Chou
twilight now
folk music
on the radio
Jill Lange
surrounding
a rogue sunflower
impatiens
Jo Balistreri
I dream of my mother —
she seems distant
yet close enough to kiss
Joan Leotta
laundry comes out
piping hot . . . zippers
burn my fingers
Joan McNerney
could this
be our moment
blackberries
Joanna Ashwell
old pond —
frog up to its neck
in sunset
Joe Sebastian
resale shop
a child’s backpack
with bullet holes
John J. Dunphy
crackling fire
slowly the moon
disappears
Jorge Giallorenzi
mountain drive —
at the end of the curve
acacias in bloom
Julia Guzman
one crumpled sock left
on the worn bedroom carpet —
college move-in day
Julie Bloss Kelsey
kept in cold storage
in the library archive
petals between leaves
Kath Abela Wilson
the coyotes
are howlling again tonight . . .
i open the window wider
Kathleen Kramer
is time standing still
or passing like a comet
each day I wonder
Katya Sabaroff Taylor
my shy neighbor
on a nodding acquaintance
with her sunflowers
Kristen Lindquist
black-capped chickadee
my father no longer alive
to whistle back
Laurinda Lind
summer clouds —
reddish green apples
hanging on the blue sky
Lisbeth Ho
still a few
of these days . . .
red hibiscus
Lucia Cardillo
evening rainbow
a cockatoo screech
settles on a gum tree
Madhuri Pillai
chocolate
licking the corners
of your mouth
Margaret Walker
yellow cowslips
in a dung pile
this hope for change
Marietta McGregor
seagulls
pull back the sky
beach sunset
Marilyn Ashbaugh
soulful surge
of the night wind
bamboo chimes
Marilyn Fleming
cloudless night
the owl moon’s
unblinking eye
Marilyn Humbert
fresh laundry
forgotten in the pocket
dyer’s madder
Marta Chocilowska
sitting beside him
needle slips in so smoothly
I can’t help but wince
Masha M.
reading Issa
this bubble
in my cup of tea
Maya Daneva
at the convent door . . .
don’t look at the clothes line
and knock . . . just the once
Michael Flanagan
cappuccino
new art
at the coffee shop
Michael G. Smith
never knew how much
i missed distant family
until I saw them
Mimi Foyle
his slightly
spicy words —
the hot dog vendor
Mirela Brailean
intermission
a meteor streaks over
the opera house
Miriam Sagan
isolation —
a cicada’s cry
fills the gap
Neena Singh
bedroom bookshelves
the meaning
of my dreams
Olivier Schopfer
buttercups
another way to feel
the sun
Pat Davis
sunset . . .
rods on tripods
father and son pull fish
Paul Beech
planning ahead
I print my obituary
on a t-shirt
Pris Campbell
truck stop
a stack of poetry books
under the counter
Roman Lyakhovetsky
urban hummingbird
the next flower is
three blocks away
Rosa Clement
pesto in freezer
the basil lingers
on my fingers
Ruth Yarrow
mini skirt
I no longer own . . .
zoom speech
Sherry Grant
the air is still thick
our fight like a too-short storm
remedies nothing
Stacey Murphy
rude tomato!
this morning’s bright white shirt
red polka dotted
Sue Norvell
more black clothes
perhaps they’ll make me
an honorary crow
Susan Burch
summer clouds . . .
spider silk clings
to my fingertips
Theresa A. Cancro
tugboat nosing a
barge up the Hudson
quiet as the fish
Tina Wright
alone
my shadow
mimics me
Tom Clausen
a couple of sparrows
in the old oak tree
a kiss in the morning
Vibeke Laier
the scarecrow
darker from year to year
grandfather’s hat
Wieslaw Karlinski
toddler
painting her lips
with a red marker
Wilda Morris
unwrinkling my wrinkles
your hand on
my face
Zee Zahava
Wednesday, September 1, 2021
new haiku
