Sunday, June 1, 2014

Flower haiku


Welcome to the June issue of brass bell: a haiku journal . . . this month, devoted to flowers.

You will find work here by 54 contributors, from Bulgaria, Canada, Denmark, India, Israel, Japan, Poland, Romania, Singapore, Sweden, United Kingdom, United States. 

I hope you will enjoy this bouquet.
zee


the last rose
an old gardener looks
away
- Anna Mazurkiewicz

fall anemones
my nighttime worry
about mortality
- Anne Burgevin

green mayapple leaves
tenderly hide the round fruit
under a shelter
- Anne Wexler

among pink spirea
golden torch
— bold dandelion
- Antonia Matthew

summer twilight —
a waft of jasmine
from her fan
 - Asni Amin

rose flowered tea cups
offering up
steeped chamomile blooms
- Barbara Most

magnolia
holding water for bee
and butterfly
- C. Robin Janning

daffodils in the woods
someone lived here
once
- Cady Fontana

my street clotted
with apple blossoms
pale scent of stars
- Carole Johnston

summer rain …
i bathe in the scent
of wildflowers
- Caroline Skanne

long-stemmed roses
now she tells me
she's allergic
- Carolyn Coit Dancy

mother's diary —
 between two blank pages
a pressed snowdrop
- Cezar-Florin Ciobica

rose petals
in the ditch
gathering my thoughts
- Chen-ou Liu

in your Dixie cup
mother's day morning glory
turns toward the sun
- Chris Bankert-Wray

lights and shadows
in wild orchids –
preparing sumi e brushes
- Daniela Lacramioara Capota

fewer tulips than yesterday —
motionless rabbit
eyes me through the fence
- deanna tiefenthal

wisteria . . .
we step in puddles
of confetti
- Debbie Strange

an arroyo filled
with Matilija poppies . . .
your guitar
- Deborah P Kolodji

oh my peonies
dressed in your fragrant tutus
your dance much too brief
- Edna Brown

on the waterfront 
a cluster of activity
white yarrow
- G. R. LeBlanc

lilacs in bloom
some violet, some white —
who decides?
- Gabrielle Vehar

late summer flowers . . .
the joy
of a good sneeze
- Helen Buckingham

morning mist
forsythia petals
under a robin's wing
- Isabel Loverro

probably another 5 billion times pear blossoms
- johannes s. h. bjerg

cut flowers . . .
arranging the bouquet
to hide what's missing
Julie Bloss Kelsey

sweeping up after 
your birthday
cherry blossoms
- Kath Abela Wilson

light lessens itself
tulip trees drop their blossoms
soften the path home
- Kim Tedrow

in her purple hat
on the way to the bus stop
a pause for clematis
- kris moon

unknown flower . . .
just picking
our silence
- Lech Szeglowski

rhododendron buds
open: firework explosion —
very slow motion
- Margaret Fisher Squires

blue sky –
only a poppy  thread
in bloom
- Maria Tirenescu

evening primrose —
caressed by moths at sundown —
unfurl their skirts in moon glow
- Mary Carter Ginn

first yellow crocus . . .
i release
my winter heart
- Pamela A. Babusci 

early June begin
looking for elderberry
umbels in grass
- Patricia Coleman

I remember scilla
bloomed a carpet of blue twinkles —
I miss them
- Peggy Miller

thunder and crickets —
from beyond the window screen
the scent of lilacs
- Phoebe Lakin

amidst drowsy rain
just in time for the heat waves
crabapple blossoms
- Phoebe Shalloway

dusky moon —
wilted flowers
on the footpath
- Pravat Kumar Padhy

cemetery visit
the forget-me-nots
in full bloom
- Rachel Sutcliffe

neighboring balconies —
our flowers don’t speak 
to each other either
- Radka Mindova
(translated by Maya Lyubenova)

checkpoint at dawn —
the field of sunflowers
facing darkness
- Rita Odeh

ruins of a castle
wild flowers
in the ballroom
- Robert Kania

snowflakes 
on the window pane . . .
poinsettias
- Shloka Shankar

butterfly
a sunflower droops
under it's weight
- Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy

longer days
the dogwood blooms —
i release my grip
- Sondra J. Byrnes

raucous blue jay!  your
rough landing — our last magnolia
blossom shatters
- Sue Norvell

peony — your petticoats
flash in the moonlight — 
tarantella dancer
- Susan Lesser

rhododendron buds
unexpected pink surprise
like candy lipstick
- Susan Lytle

yellow roses in
bloom — a scraggly bush grandma
planted way back when
- Tina Wright

pending her return
a bunch of carnations
on the table
- Vessislava Savova

finding rose petals
in an old book . . .
wings of memory
- Vibeke Laier

mother's garden
flowering still
after her passing
- Wendy Smith

angel's trumpets
ecstatic hymn
in my father's garden
- Yvette Rubio

honeysuckle decadence
sweet like candy
almost, almost too much
- Yvonne Fisher

breezy morning
as I pass them  
pansies shake with laughter
Zee Zahava


previously published:
Helen Buckingham — late summer flowers — The Heron's Nest 11.3
Radka Mindova — neighboring balconies — World Haiku Review April 2014 
Pamela A. Babusci — first yellow crocus — Basho Haiku Festival Anthology Japan  1997
Rita Odeh — checkpoint at dawn — from her collection of haiku Buds of Dreams
Robert Kania — ruins of a castle — 42nd Caribbean Kigo Kukai May 2013

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Edible Haiku


Welcome to brass bell: a haiku journal. The theme of this second issue is Edible Haiku.

You will find work here by 49 contributors, from Bulgaria, Canada, China, India, Israel, Japan, Poland, Romania, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Some have been writing haiku for decades, others have just discovered (and embraced) this form. 

Around the fourth week of each month, an invitation will be sent via e-mail and Facebook,  announcing the theme for the next issue. If you want to receive these notices send me a Facebook friend request or an e-mail note <zee@twcny.rr.com>

I hope you will enjoy what you find here.
zee


extra fish and chips . . .
I dribble more vinegar
on the newspaper
- Alan Summers

a year of string cheese and tuna fish
the low hanging fruit 
of grief
- Amy E. Bartell

smoke from a chimney
above the moon
the smell of gingerbread
- Anna Mazurkiewicz 

peach season
cutting away
our soft spots
- Anne Burgevin

minced raw garlic
eat it with your partner
or sleep alone
- Annie Wexler

sparrow pecking a bagel   
slowly    slowly
it disappears
- Antonia Matthew

raspberries
winter's preserved
memories
- Ben Mitchell

small things
remind me of my mother
huckleberries
- C. Robin Janning

dirty knees, warm sun 
planting seeds I hope will grow
summer vegetables
- Cady Fontana

cutting apples with 
mother's old paring knife
how sharp the blade
- Carole Johnston

a pool of sunlight
at the foot of my bed . . .
the smell of fried dough
- Chen-ou Liu

in-laws visiting
a smoke-filled room
I burned the muffins
- Dani Fanelli

early morning –
she’s sharing her croissant
with a dove
- Daniela Lacramioara Capota

blood moon . . .
one ripe strawberry
in a black bowl
- Debbie Strange

harvest moon
a quince glimmers
on the table
- Diana Teneva

the same chocolate
but this time
no effect
- Gwen Guo

salt spray . . .
holding a Pringle
to the moon
- Helen Buckingham

unpicked raspberries
the summer covered up
with snow
- Hristina Pandjaridis
translated from Bulgarian by Vesisslava Savova

garlic mustard
first sign of spring
makes pesto for my pasta
- Joan Victoria

scrambled eggs
the kids start talking
in code
- John McManus 

my first kimchee —
veggies he grew before we kissed —
vinegar, sweet ginger
- Judith Sornberger

choking down our goodbye . . .
eating the very last cookie
my grandma ever baked
- Julie Bloss Kelsey

turtle's eye view
of my barefoot walk
berries
- Kath Abela Wilson

long afternoon . . .
dandelions become an excuse
to bake cookies
- kris kondo

still giving comfort
peanut butter
and jam
- Lance Robertson

birthday —
the same mouse from yesterday
around the cake
- Lavana Kray

goji berries
hiding in my oatmeal
will I live forever?
- Linda Keeler

fettuccine —
when I was a child
we called it spaghetti
- Margaret Chula

heirloom tomatoes
tucked safely away
in the sterling silverware drawer
- Margaret Dennis

the sprawling vine’s leaves
hide cherry tomatoes like
autumn Easter eggs
- Margaret Fisher Squires

candy covered
gingerbread house —
how have your dreams turned out?
- Michael Ketchek

I can taste my home 
even broken glass glistens
in almost May
- Nicola Morris

slicing a lemon in half the bitterness of parting            
- Pamela A. Babusci

Andes mints
green and silver foil
in the sled at Christmas
- Paula Culver

banana cheese pie
encrusted with granola
whispers almond scent
- Peter Ladley

the desperate purple
veins of thin-skinned drooping figs
beg to be broken
- Phoebe Shalloway

since he eats
the burnt heart cookies
he loves me
- Radka Mindova
translated from Bulgarian by Diana Teneva

back to sleep,
dreaming of the same
small grape
- Rita Odeh

olives –
my summer memories
from a jar
- Robert Kania

I eat my words
tamarind, soursop, guava
childhood memories
- Sharon K. Yntema

fishing trip . . .
his hands smell
of canned tuna
- Shloka Shankar

crows gather
together we lunch
in silence
- Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy

thank you —
the fruitcake never
stops giving
  - Sondra J. Byrnes

ripe melon
soft as butter
juice slips off the spoon
- Sue Perlgut

fruit flies —
tossing them out
with the fruit
- Tom Clausen

funeral service
the priest glances
at the widow’s pie
- Vessislava Savova

one girl eats an orange
and the whole room is perfumed
- Weiwei Luo

out of work
toasting bread
nothing to put on it
- Wendy Smith

my mother and a hot pretzel
long ago 
mustard stains her new blouse
- Zee Zahava


previously published:
Helen Buckingham - salt spray - Original Plus Press, 2010
Robert Kania - olives - 9th International Kukai, December 2012