haiku about women and girls

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

Poems arrived from Australia, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Italy, Japan, Poland, Singapore, the United Kingdom, and the United States


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

scent of lavender
mother is early
tonight
    ai li

pausing on cool tiles
my old mother’s feet
bare
    Alan Bern

half-sister
do you still drive in Kalgoorlie
those gold mining trucks?
    Alan Summers

another birthday
the only gift she wants . . .
her mother’s voice
    Amy Losak

full moon:
the belly of my daughter
more and more round
    Angela Giordano

mud under my fingernail
my fastidious aunt
gasping turns away
    Antonia Matthew

she understands
the language of frogs
summer wind
    Barbara Kaufmann

party of one
double dipping the salsa
because I can
    Barbara Tate

public library
the little girl skips
to the door
    Bill Waters

my mother-in-law
knows me better
than my own mother could
    Blue Waters

middle sister
resisted rules and boxes…
hung her own stars
    C. Robin Janning

story circle
twelve women conjuring up
our mothers
    Carole Johnston

between dandelions her one-handed cartwheel
    Caroline Skanne

vigil candlelight
flickers in a woman’s eyes
No Means No
    Chen-ou Liu

under the table
small girl is the cat
not coming out
    Christina Martin

kaleidoscope
girlhood memories
of the carnival
    Christina Sng

yellow layer cakes
little me cooking with mom
and Betty Crocker
    Claire Vogel Camargo

on the hill
blooming almond trees . . .
my friend’s lace dress
    Daniela Misso

vole tracks in snow
the tiny handwriting
of my big sister
    Debbie Strange

paperwhites —
mum’s gift of springtime
to me each winter
    Deborah Burke Henderson

kindergartener —
grandmother smoothing her hair
into place
    Donna Fleischer

warm day
grandma still knits
a wool scarf
    Eufemia Griffo

I conjure Mum’s hand
as the snowlit branches
close in around me
    Helen Buckingham

stacked stones
the steps I must climb
to my goddess self
    Jackie Chou

a childhood friend
sends a photo of us —
matching Easter outfits
    Jill Lange

from her rings
now on my hands
my mother’s stories encircle me
    Joan Leotta

my beautiful Irish mother walking
gray streets of Brooklyn
her green island gone
    Joan McNerney

street corner
unkempt panhandler shows me
her Purple Heart
    John J. Dunphy

another shade of red
tangled in my hair brush
my daughter
    Julie Bloss Kelsey

train to catch
shaving just a leg patch
for ripped jeans
    Karen Hoy

from my daughter
I learn to mother
myself
    Kath Abela Wilson

today, needing to be empty
I went to the lake
and wept until I was
    Kathleen Kramer

distant train whistle
water dripping from the eaves
daughter’s empty bed
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

all through the frosty night
in my tiny granddaughter’s fist
my finger
    kris moon

daughter's hands
still hold mine at midnight
her thirtieth spring
    Lakshmi Iyer

my mother’s mother’s
tuneless tune
I sing it too
    Laurinda Lind

sisterhood
my sibling reminds me
who’s in charge
    Lovette Carter 

 

neighbour’s 94th . . .
coffee and cake
and her joie de vivre
    Madhuri Pillai

yesterday’s news
mama cuts out paper skirts
and we hula together
    Marianne Paul

feeding swans
my mother tells me
she mated for life
    Marietta McGregor

mother’s diary
a soft strand of hair
in tissue paper
    Marta Chocilowska

she knows
this wilderness trail
swaying ponytail
    Michael G. Smith

my fearless daughter
walks naked up the river
taming stone dragons
    Mimi Foyle
 
alligator pears —
my mother also
called avocados that
    Miriam Sagan

she consents
to tell her age —
in dog years
    Nancy Shires

job interview
mother’s union pin
on my blouse
    Pat Davis

moving week —
another piece of mother
is given away
    Pris Campbell

seesaw
my daughter rises
into her laughter
    Ron Scully

donut
biting in
her lip ring
    Ruth Yarrow

angry daughter
reflecting
my younger self
    Sherry Grant

nail polish glitter
as if she needed
anymore sparkle
    Simon Hanson

Aunt Shirley’s swear jar
overflows with deposits
when it’s bingo day
    Stacey Murphy

lovely brown eyes
so rarely seen
mom’s ugly glasses
    Sue Norvell

how she folded herself
into a paper crane —
mom’s suicide note
    Susan Burch

flung back
to childhood
my old swing set
    Theresa A. Cancro

motherless
i pull the moon in
a little closer
    Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

arriving by horse
Grandma built a fire in the
schoolhouse stove first thing
    Tina Wright

ready
for a new week
my wife’s sourdough
    Tom Clausen

years between
mother’s grave and me
a path of sunlight
    Vibeke Laier

she took my hand
I never felt
so understood
    Yvonne Fisher

circling her thumbs
grandmother keeps
my world spinning
    Zee Zahava

Colorful Haiku

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

Poems arrived from Australia, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Italy, New Zealand, the Philippines, Poland, Singapore, Switzerland, the United Kingdom, and the United States


cherry blossom
carpets the neighborhood
the street sweeper hesitates
    Adjei Agyei-Baah

egg yolks
my
winter sun
    ai li

kelp line
near the edge where sea colors
change blues
    Alan Bern

dried persimmons
we scare away tigers
who come for tea
    Alan Summers

pastel pond
the iris of her eyes
staring back at me
    Amy Losak

new dye —
the orange of the sunset
on my hair
    Angela Giordano

winter oak leaves
brown talons grasp
falling snow
    Antonia Matthew

all aflutter
planning the next trip
yellow butterfly
    Barbara Kaufmann

fog
wrapped in shades of gray
I’m alone
    Barbara Tate

winter rain
pooling
on pewter-colored ice
    Bill Waters

first fairy tale
my daughter refuses
the red apple
    Billy Antonio

red fleece vest
blue shirt beneath
i feel quite purple
    Blue Waters

pitch black
something croaks
in the Florida night
    Brad Bennett

pots of green moss
punctuate the garden . . .
wicked winter wind
    C. Robin Janning

cherry pink
sunrise bites a chunk
out of grey
    Carole Johnston

roses a deeper crimson melting frost
    Caroline Skanne

a red butterfly
from blossom to blossom
her scent lingers
    Chen-ou Liu

grey skies
shouts of fishermen
in orange
    Christina Martin

spider silk
strands of silver
on my skin
    Christina Sng

you are my sunshine
my only sunshine . . . smiling
in mom’s gold chair
    Claire Vogel Camargo

persimmons
golden crowns fill
with snow
    Debbie Strange

raging snowstorm —
framed against the window
a white amaryllis
    Deborah Burke Henderson

expecting a black cat
I see a mouse . . .
the day my luck changed
    Deborah P Kolodji

red onion
sliced into rings
of light
    Donna Fleischer

the long red-earth road
a water buffalo
jangles homeward
    Hannah Mahoney

blackout
in motion
flying ants
    Helen Buckingham

snowflakes are falling
the garden is bare
red tulips asleep
    Isabel Loverro

indigo rain
the blue scribbles
of my life story
    Jackie Chou

burgundy fields
we make a toast
to our golden years
    Jay Friedenberg

istanbul street vendors
sell scarlet pomegranate juice
to sunburned tourists
    Jim Mazza

rusty door springs red-winged blackbirds
    Jo Balistreri

small red boots
splashing
big puddles
    Joan McNerney

in winter’s grasp —
two more inches
of grey hair
    Julie Bloss Kelsey

lavender lipstick
my smile the mix
of mother and daughter
    Kath Abela Wilson

on the deck railing
an orange half & an oriole . . .
suddenly, one flies away!
    Kathleen Kramer

red geranium
green watering can, you are
so sure of yourselves
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

brindle . . .
the dog becomes
one with the bush
    Madhuri Pillai

dinosaur prints
the little one paints
her hands green
    Marianne Paul

rising out
of the wet subway steps
a red umbrella
    Mark Miller

frosty sunup
chimneys send pink puffs
each to the other
    Marta Chocilowska

viridian hue
sweetgrass
waves from the canvas
    Melissa Hamilton

sun-saturated
balls of magenta orchids
punctuate rock cliffs
    Mimi Foyle

glossy black chicken
tow-headed toddler
eye to eye
    Miriam Sagan

winter morning
on the kitchen table
a bowl full of oranges
    Olivier Schopfer

a forest dreaming
in the language of crows
her mauve shawl
    Pragya Vishnoi

wee green snake
my first grade sweetheart
offers his heart
    Pris Campbell

strawberries for sale
their redness vanishes
along the road
    Rosa Clement

rush hour sunset
flower vendor swings red glads
in a slow circle
    Ruth Yarrow

the red kayak
could be anywhere
evening mist
    Sandi Pray

red roses
she feeds to the bin
Valentine’s Day
    Sherry Grant

town fountain
some of the passers-by
in rainbow mist
    Simon Hanson

pink, lavender, orange dahlias
in the snowy mailbox
garden catalog’s cover
    Sue Norvell

skipping stones . . .
remembering the blue
in dad’s eyes
    Theresa A. Cancro

fuchsia twilight
sometimes i
forget to breathe
    Tiffany Shaw-Diaz

her shadow on the
white wall not as black as my
cat lapping water
    Tina Wright

black-eyed pigs
with silver wings —
art deco socks
    Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

water painting
enough color for
the pink roses
    Vibeke Laier

I dream in color
hugs, no masks
blue water all around
    Yvonne Fisher

green light  
holding hands
mother and i skip across the street
    Zee Zahava

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