Family Haiku

Welcome to the November 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This month's theme is: Family.

Contributors are from: Australia, Brazil, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, Ecuador, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Nigeria, Philippines, Poland, Singapore, Turkey, the U.K., and the United States


banana moon
my son asks me
the way to it
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

like father before
sitting outside
fogbathing
    - Alan Bern

praying mantis
resting on the cake —
family raise an argument
    - Amauri Solon

thanksgiving picnic a family of fire ants joins us
    - Angelee Deodhar

lying side by side
soft intake of breath, then out —
i could strangle him*
    - Barbara Mink

warning signs
hidden in plain sight
grandpa's keys
    - Barbara Tate

hot air
dad tells his stories
again
    - Barbara Tate

Father's Day
my daughter confirms
my Facebook friend request
    - Billy Antonio

sibling rivalry
my brother takes a selfie
with the latest iPhone
    - Billy Antonio

four generations living
the youngest nine days old
the eldest ninety-one
    - Bre

daughter stops
to help a snail
cross the road
    - Caroline Skanne

grandmother
on her old red bike
with the comfortable seat
    - Caroline Skanne

dreamcatcher . . .
with both hands my baby grasps
the spring sunlight
    - Chen-ou Liu

one year gone
on her side of the bed
winter moonlight
    - Chen-ou Liu

sit down christina
the only thing my grandmother
can say in english
    - Christina Martin

always first
my brother running off the pier
life jacket
    - Christina Martin

dad's frail shoulders
that once carried me
arctic mountain
    - Christina Sng

sunday best
mother's sharp perfume
stings my nostrils
    - Christina Sng

Aqua Velva . . .
watching dad shave
in the mornings
    - Claire Vogel Camargo

she takes his hand
picking eggs
with grandma
    - Dan Schwerin

my tiny nephew
already fluent
in dinosaur
     David J Kelly

grandma's chocolates
locked in her drawer
now expired
    - Debbi Antebi

second servings
I criticize my mom
for criticizing me
    - Debbi Antebi

we hover around our mother hummingbirds
    - Debbie Strange

tangled fish line
my sons tug
their grandfather
    - Deborah P Kolodji

Canada geese
my mother doesn't renew
her driver's license
    - Deborah P Kolodji

ivory smile
with one gold tooth
nine grandchildren
    - Dottie Piet

bitter cold
my late brother's scent
in his own bedroom
    - Emmanuel Jessie Kalusian

both of them with white hair
mother and son —
which is old, which is young?
    - Frank Robinson

leaving school
hiding from chaos theory
our younger son
    - Goran Gatalica

throwing down the lettuce
Big Sister calls me
slug girl!
    - Helen Buckingham

the cousins i never hear from black ice
    - Jennifer Hambrick

golden leaves
the pocket watch
of the grandfather I never met
    - Jennifer Hambrick

trembling lilacs
this Mother's Day —
the weight of bees
    - Jo Balistreri

snow
softly ends
dad's slowing breath
    - Jo Balistreri

rain
on the window
mother's tears
    - Joanna M. Weston

my son plays
the violin —
screech owls
    - Joanna M. Weston

fashion twist
I share hair elastics
with my son
    -kjmunro

she taught me
to draw birds
my little daughter
    - Kath Abela Wilson

once a day
he makes me laugh hard
our wedding vows
    - Kath Abela Wilson

early morning sun
reveals in motel mirror
my grandmother's face
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

I call mom
my brother gets the credit
dementia
    - Lance Robertson

hairy caterpillar
crawling in milkweed dew
father's mustache
    - Laughing waters

her mother's pearls
around my daughter's neck
lie warm
    - Madhuri Pillai

the jungle book —
my grandson removes his clothes
in the cinema
    - Marta Chocilowska

thin ice —
her comment about her
mother-in-law
    - Martha Magenta

waning gibbous
grandmother smaller than
she used to be
    - Martha Magenta

almost 10
thinking about death
daddy buried in his cowboy boots
    - Marty Blue Waters

my older sister and I
dance a hobbled two-step —
the bar crowd cheers
    - Marty Blue Waters

reading aloud
the scent of her head
so close to me
    - Mary Hohlman

moon flowers —
my son shows me
how they unfurl
    - Mary Kendall

losing my mother
is somehow more difficult
than finding her was
    - Mimi Foyle

picture postcards
my father's greetings
on the fridge
    - Nina Kovacic (translated by Durda Vukelic Rozic)

grandma's birthday
she asks why
people are singing
    - Pat Davis

only child . . .
i dream of the sister
that might have been
    Pat Geyer

august birthday . . .
my father a leo
always lionhearted
    - Pat Geyer

cloud watching
I find
my father's face
    - Phyllis Lee

first snow
the roses still bloom . . .
grandma's wallpaper
    - Phyllis Lee

nightingale call . . .
mother rises at midnight
to sit with him
    - Pris Campbell

my aunt's birthday —
dinner runs headless
out back
    - Pris Campbell

drifting smoke
the pipe cleaner men
my uncle once made
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

visiting grandma
the relentless chatter
of the budgie
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

polaroid of woman in a two-piece before she was my mother
    - Ron Scully

old sewing machine
Barbie gains a sexy dress
from grandma
    - Rosa Clement

in my hand
under the hospice blanket
his cool fingers
    - Ruth Yarrow

you loved being slim
Mom, the box of your ashes
so heavy
    - Ruth Yarrow

talking of Saturn
my daughter shows us
the hula hoop
    - Simon Hanson

new generation
my son asks me
to put the fish back
    - Simon Hanson

family reunion
i tried in my way
to be me
    - Sondra J. Byrnes

tea time
with the aunties —
mahjong clatter
    - Theresa A. Cancro

longed for child
I never did say
thank you
    - Tim Gardiner

fallen leaves . . .
a fresh quilt
for mother
    - Tom Clausen

when my wife asks
what I did today . . .
look at autumn trees
    - Tom Clausen

mother's birthday
a friday the thirteenth
104 years ago
    - Tricia Knoll

family talk
phone line and a white lie
connect us
    - Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

water painting
just enough colour to
remember mother's flower
    - Vibeke Laier

wild roses
the memories i share
with my sister
    - Vibeke Laier

the Beatles —
I screamed once
my father slapped my face
    - Yvonne Fisher

in daddy's fedora
and her own pink tutu —
sister's sixth birthday
    - Zee Zahava

pinning a dandelion to her lapel
she calls this gardening —
my dear mother
    - Zee Zahava


===


*  Barbara Mink — lying side by side — "Exposure to a trigger sound elicits an immediate negative emotional response in people who have the condition called Misophonia."

haiku written on September 22, 2016

Welcome to the October 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This month's collection features poems that were written on a single date: September 22, 2016.

Contributors are from: Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, England, Ireland, Northern Ireland, Poland, Singapore, Turkey, the U.K., and the United States



before dawn
lights switched on
opening doors to let light out
    - Alan Bern

morning hesitates — deep fog lingers
    - Alan Catlin

new season
aubergine pimpernels climb
the bedroom wall
    - Alan Summers

not a single leaf left
on the guava tree —
hard work sweeping the yard
    - Amauri Solon

equinox
the sun halfway
to my winter chair
    - Barbara Kaufmann

Walmart
first day of autumn
Christmas garlands
    - Barbara Tate

season of change . . .
leaf by golden leaf
the sweet gum
    - Bill Waters

grandma hangs quilts
on the line —
I bring fall leaves
    - Brenda Roberts

lost in the clouds
what happened
today
    - C. Robin Janning

6 months missing
i start feeding a cat
that looks like mine
    - Caroline Skanne

excuse for my new shawl open window
    - Christina Martin

this delicate dance
of avoiding each other
scenic route
    - Christina Sng

rotten posts
the barbed wire leans
on a milkweed
    - Dan Schwerin

when did clothes
go out of fashion?
naked mannequins
    - David J. Kelly

dancing alone
I embrace
my flaws
    - Debbi Antebi

the bleached husk
of a small crayfish . . .
summer wanes
    - Debbie Strange

moonlight walk
a ghost wind rearranges
the fallen leaves
    - Dottie Piet

after fifty years —
sex is not sex anymore
it's life itself
    - Frank Robinson

back from vacation
a voicemail message
what's my password
    - Glenn Ingersoll

afternoon migraine —
because of left-handedness
chaos in the guest room
    - Goran Gatalica

snooze alarm
the cat and I
close our eyes again
    - Hannah Mahoney

autumn equinox
the eye of the storm
blazes down
    - Helen Buckingham

scudding clouds
under a bridge the fitful
flap of bats
    - Jan Benson

grocery run —
a stand of mums
with a hundred tiny harvest moons
    - Jennifer Hambrick

the cat interrupts my nap— a fat grasshopper
    - Jim Roser

an apple blossom breeze . . .
longing for something
i cannot name
    - Jo Balistreri

first day of autumn
put sunscreen lotion away
take out blankets
    - Joan McNerney

traffic jam
at the 4-way stop
7 a.m.
    - Joanna M. Weston

leftovers again half a day moon
    - Julie Warther

mournful lights of night —
aurora borealis —
green veils, white shrouds
    - Karla Linn Merrifield

two canna lilies
you and I bloom today
in the garden pond
    - Kath Abela Wilson

hummingbird poses
on spiky autumn flowers —
but my pen is too slow
    - Katya Taylor

fall hike
ziploc bag in a pocket
for cranberries
    - kjmunro

one smaller maple
down the street
always turns first
    - Madeleine Cohen Oakley

plane window
so close yet so far
day moon
    - Madhuri Pillai

urban walk
the tractor trailer's shadow
runs me over
    - Marianne Paul

at your graveside
oblivious to the rain
sunflowers
    - Marion Clarke

autumn equinox —
my plane flies to the southern
hemisphere
    - Marta Chocilowska

half moon
the things I meant
to say
    - Martha Magenta

long drive into fall
Kiri Te Kanawa
sings colors to the trees
    - Marty Blue Waters

shortening days
same amount
of writing time
    - Michael G. Smith

yellow chamisa, purple asters — every year your yahrzeit
    - Miriam Sagan

dog
on an old chair
a toy and a bone
    - Nada Jacmenica

night sky
Ursa Major
with extra red star
    - Nancy Brady

garden parrot
calls us into
the tropical greenhouse
    - Pat Davis

no passersby
my mind wanders . . .
this acorned street
    - Pat Geyer

crickets singing —
already the hydrangea heads
are bent with dew
    - Phoebe Lakin

dark attic
no place for a doll
that used to need me
    - Phyllis Lee

downhill racer
my good eye no longer
my good eye
    - Pris Campbell

hard rain
the difference between knowing
and not
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

windless afternoon
in my wind chimes
a baby gecko
    - Rosa Clement

mid-morning
the floral carpet blooms
in the sunroom
    - Simon Hanson

city park
brown circles
where trees were
    - Skaidrite Stelzer

wild asters push
through bleached branches —
september light
    - Sondra J. Byrnes

alone on the lake
hearing whispered confessions
from the red lighthouse
    - Stacey Murphy

unable to write
i look up from my page—
a robin watching me
    - Stephen Page

september heat —
woolen sweaters
hibernate under my bed
    - Sue Norvell

suspended in time
softly fallen leaf
in the spider's web
    - Susan Lang

pillow talk —
daybreak in the curl
of a rose petal   
    - Theresa A. Cancro

until I see you again palace swans
    - Tim Gardiner

all this pretty day
i think of the forest walk
i will take then don't
    - Tina Wright

coming to morning light
beetle hieroglyphics
on a log
    - Tom Clausen

the bower birds'
choice of blue
buttons and sky
    - Tricia Knoll

parallel motion —
the train car
and a blue heron
    - Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

keeping stars alive
on rice paper
autumn calligraphy
    - Vibeke Laier

wrapping the house
in a polka dot scarf —
i wake up laughing
    - Zee Zahava

kitchen haiku

Welcome to the September 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This month's theme is Kitchen Haiku.

Contributors are from: Australia, Brazil, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Nigeria, Philippines, Poland, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Tunisia, Turkey, U.K., Ukraine, and the United States



kitchen cleaning
the sudden eruption
of spiderlings
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

kiss me again by the saucers
    - Alan Bern

summer sun . . .
a big tomato
in the empty sink
    - Ali Znaidi

woodpecker pecks
on the kitchen windowpane —
no more crumbs on the sill
    - Amauri Solon

baker's yeast —
from the kitchen window
a full risen moon
    - Angelee Deodhar

double salt
I forgot
what he said last
    - Aparna Pathak

morning alarm . . .
clink of mother's bangles
as she chops onions
    - Archana Kapoor Nagpal

thanksgiving
my son makes it to
the big table
    - Barbara Tate

sunlight on the counter —
one yellow banana
in a green ceramic bowl
    - Bill Waters

first date the silence of spoon and fork
    - Billy Antonio

wind chimes . . .
tossing bell peppers
into the salad
    - Brad Bennett

searching online for
old-fashioned cannisters —
a rooster crows
    - Brenda Roberts

kitchen
it was my mother's room
her hands
    - C. Robin Janning

kitchen drawer
the lacquered chopsticks
i can't use
    - Caroline Skanne

my hopes deflated
the cake
flat again
    - Christina Sng

morning's angry face buttering toast
    - David J. Kelly

under the sink
so many neglected
appliances
    - David Oates

on my napkin
the crumbs
of a new poem
    - Debbi Antebi

fingerprints
on yellowed recipes
she is here, still
    - Debbie Strange

empty nest
no more cheetos
on the pantry shelf
    - Dottie Piet

cardboard shelter
the homeless man whistles over
a boiling pot
    - Emmanuel Jessie Kalusian

all moved in
nothing in the kitchen
where it used to be
    - Ferris Gilli

a healthy dinner —
eating my salad
reading my poems
    - Frank Robinson

sweeping broken bowl into cracked dustpan
    - Glenn Ingersoll

dirty dishes —
the past two weeks
waterless
    - Goran Gatalica

the space inside
the yellow pepper
my inner life
    - Hannah Mahoney

kitchen garden
window~ 
garlic two ways
    - Helen Buckingham

skillet cornbread
crumbled into buttermilk
first frost
    - Jan Benson

sterilizing
mason jars . . .
mom's peaches this winter
    - Jo Balistreri

my shelf has room for
two serving plates, five bowls
and one square of sun
    - Joan McNerney

together —
he washes
she dries
    - Joanna M. Weston

kitchen skylight
I decide to make
mooncakes
    - Kath Abela Wilson

crossword puzzle time
on Sunday morning table
coffee, sharp pencil
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

winter morning —
mist of her breath fills
the tea cup
    - Kumarendra Mallick

kitchen junk drawer archeological dig
    - Lance Robertson

I could never
convince my mother
that dishes dry by themselves
    - Madeleine Cohen Oakley

old wok
the smooth patina
of its swollen belly
    - Madhuri Pillai

mashed potatoes
all those words
I wish I said
    - Malintha Perera

last year's wishbone
still on the windowsill
with Mother's wedding ring
    - Margaret Chula

natural organic local
judgment
in my soup
    - Margaret Jones

ticking clocks —
not allowed to speak
at meal time
    - Marianne Paul

gathering dusk . . .
the last sip
of pine-needle tea
    - Mark E. Brager

coffee cream on the kitchen table cat licks its whiskers
    - Marta Chocilowska

red wine punch
family reunion
round one
    - Martha Magenta

disconnected stove
no more cooking
flowers everywhere
    - Marty Blue Waters

snow squall . . .
dancing in the kitchen
to keep warm
    - Mary Kendall

nothing as mysterious as someone else's kitchen
    - Miriam Sagan

mulled wine
sweet smell of cinnamon
leaves through the kitchen chimney
    - Nada Jacmenica 

the diswasher
has its own
mantra meditation
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

chilly morning
three small suns sizzling
in a frying pan
    - Nina Kovacic (translated by Durda Vukelic Rozic)

then i bought a new teacup now i have a cuppa dust
    - Pat Geyer

cooking brussels sprouts
knowing
you won't be home
    - Phyllis Lee

my father's blue robe . . .
just the two of us gobbling
fried green tomatoes
    - Pris Campbell

dinner for one
still cooking
your favourite meals
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

kitchen mirror
she checks her lipstick
on a pan lid
    - Rosa Clement

spring pantry
grasping the last apple
my fingers ooze in
    - Ruth Yarrow

firing up
the old wood stove
best bread ever
    - Simon Hanson

every morning
that perfect white orchid
with coffee
    - Sondra Byrnes

morning coffee —
pigeon ripping petals off
kitchen sill bluebells
    - Stephen Page

the hem of my dress
taking the sweat from my brow
canning fresh snap peas
    - Susan Lang

23rd anniversary —
thawing frozen
blueberries
    - Theresa A. Cancro

evening mist again I forget the boiling pasta
    - Tim Gardiner

autumn chill —
some crickets seek asylum
in the kitchen
    - Tomislav Maretić

kitchen table dust
the screen door open
to the east wind
    - Tricia Knoll

evening light rain
i open the kitchen door
for the cats
    - Vibeke Laier

sitting in the kitchen
sad
for the world
    - Yvonne Fisher

heating leftovers friday night jazz plays on the radio
    - Zee Zahava

small things

Welcome to the May 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This month's theme is Small Things.

Contributors are from: Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, England, Ghana, India, Ireland, Japan, Philippines, Poland, Romania, Scotland, Switzerland, Tunisia, Ukraine, and the United States


first sail
inside his paper boat
the weight of water
    - Adjei Agyei-Baah

years ago born on a short street
    - Alan Bern

the teddy bear
and a change of clothes
I plan a journey
    - Alan Summers

crashing waves . . .
a small crab still having fun
beside the pebbles
    - Ali Znaidi

rusty fishhooks —
I still carry with me 
dad's wooden box
    - Amauri Solon

new born's cry full moon
    - Ana Drobot

finally together . . .
family reunion
in dollhouse
    - Anna Goluba

thinking about you
I crack open
a walnut
    - Anna Mazurkiewicz

the ecstasy
of butterflies
upon milkweed
    - ayaz daryl nielsen

earthquake swarm —
cherry blossoms and others
tremble
    - Barbara Hay

pointillism — I follow the dots
    - Barbara Tate

square by square
by square, the beetle
scaling the screen
    - Bill Waters

hometown visit father's untrimmed bonsai
    - Billy Antonio

making wishes
the first star tonight
and dandelion fluff
    - Brenda Roberts

mermaid tooth!
child holds up
a seashell piece
    - Caroline Skanne

tiny mice
nibblers and chewers
of new parsley
    - Chandler Hennessy Scott-Smith

bacon sizzling . . .
I whisper those three words
in her right ear
    - Chen-ou Liu

marching beside
the boy scouts . . .
a line of ants
    - Cliff "kawazu" Roberts

every morning —
my cat shows me
the way to the kitchen
    - Daniela Lăcrămioara Capotă

spiderweb
I brush aside her
little traps
    - Dave Read

white berries
by the picket fence
freshly painted
    - David J. Kelly

dust motes
drift between sunbeams
your last letter
    - Debbie Strange

rolled-up sleeves
button holes shrink
with age
    - Dottie Piet

unfinished patchwork
my eye cannot see
the eye of a needle
    - Đurđa Vukelić Rožić

a hummingbird nest —
hibiscus leaves conceal
two eggs
    - Elena Malec

the morning’s promise:
every day is new
every day is the same
    - Frank Robinson

black-and-white memory
the bridge of my first
kiss
    - Gergana Yaninska

the huge black bee
comes back in the window
I didn't close
    - Glenn Ingersoll

undulating
underthestairs
flyingants
    - Helen Buckingham

in blue
small things bloom . . .
forget-me-not
    - Hideo Suzuki

cold water on an african violet ghosts bloom
    - Jan Benson

sparks
from the bonfire . . .
cicada song
    - Jo Balistreri

amazing how many stars fit inside my windowpane
    - Joan McNerney

pine trees a layer of used needles
    - Joann Grisetti

bite my lips in the car a wasp
    - Joanna M. Weston

one candle —
the beginning
of understanding
    - Karen O'Leary

hemlock and cedar
needles soften each footfall:
stealth in the forest
    - Karla Linn Merrifield

awake all night
the flower
in my hair
    - Kath Abela Wilson

invisible mystery the perfume of the sea
    - Katherine May

one tiny green shoot
bathed by a drizzly sky
cucumber to be
    - Katya Sabaroff Taylor

engagement ring —
opening and closing
the little box
    - Krzysztof Kokot

narrow passage —
moon squeezes
between the clouds
    - Kumarendra Mallick

scattered showers
i too jump around
the puddles
    - Lovette Carter

last year's nest
I'll never
know
    - Margaret Jones

first day of school —
the girl hides her doll
in a satchel
    - Maria Tirenescu

fruit flies
circling the peach
soft bruises
    - Marianne Paul

damselfly . . .
this rain puddle
your universe
    - Mark E. Brager

old wardrobe
in grandma's purse
casino chip
    - Marta Chocilowska

preschool graduation
a yellow monarch
flies ahead of us
    - Mary Hohlman

bell flowers —
silence deep
inside
    - Mary Kendall

counting syllables
I haven’t heard a word
you’ve said   
    - Miriam Sagan

snowglobe hopefully I can dance tonight
    - Nicholas Klacsanzky

a dent in the pillow — memory
    - Nina Kovačić

last blackbird song
before nightfall
over-steeping tea
    - Olivier Schopfer

fast whir as if the drone of a didgeridoo tiny hummingbird
    - Pat Geyer

these are things I need:
cat food, carrots, cream, coffee
things that start with "C"
    - Patti Witten

two wasps
in the pet shop window
are they for sale?
    - philip d noble

overnight
six edible mushrooms
break ground
    - Phyllis Lee

meditation hall —
the falling nail reveals
deep silence
    - Pravat Kumar Padhy

pins on a map
that long shadow
of memory
    - Raamesh Gowri Raghavan

old notebook
only the shadow
of a poem
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

today the bud
at the end of the gray twig
whispers red maple
    - Ron Scully

broken mirror
my face carefully
collected
    - Rosa Clement

it ends
with a ladybug
moonlit poem
    - Sandi Pray

eucalypt seed
the forest
held in my hand
    - Simon Hanson

her gossip
how the dust motes
rise and resettle
    - Sondra Byrnes

on this page
green blood —
crushed gnat wing
    - Stephen Page

pomegranate seed
on the tip of my tongue
an apology
    - Theresa A. Cancro

river riffles
a tiny bullhead
goes with the flow
    - Tim Gardiner

setting sun
geese rising from
the still lake
    - Vibeke Laier

lilies of the valley gather in their cups morning dew
    - Virginia Popescu

stretching my ears
I listen for your breath
coming from upstairs
    - Zee Zahava


With thanks to Yu Chang, whose haiku collection "Small Things Make Me Laugh" provided inspiration for this month's theme.

April issue: one-line haiku

Welcome to the April 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This month there is no particular theme but each poem is just one line long (sometimes only one word!)  . . .  revealing beauty and depth in a deceptively simple form.

Contributors are from Australia, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, England, France, India, Ireland, Philippines, Poland, Romania, and the United States



folding café napkins between lunch and early dinner
    - Alan Bern

desk top with snow globes, storm clouds locked inside
    - Alan Catlin

not yet light the wall and its black cat
    - Alan Summers

cloudy her evening eyes after washing off her makeup
    - Ana Drobot

over under beyond green mountains spring mist
    - Angelee Deodhar

sea waves returning to the empty snail shells
    - Archana Kapoor Nagpal

you smile I pretend not to notice
    - Barbara Cartwright

weeping cherry mother always loved you best
    - Barbara Kaufmann

on the seventh day birds sing in the garden
    - Barbara Tate

ancient well the bucket has no reflection
    - Billy Antonio

horse whispering daughter apple blossoms in her smile
    - Caroline Skanne

green ferns rustle big paws
    - Chandler Scott-Smith

winter rain the scent of mourning
    - Christine L. Villa

the common language we don't speak to each other
    - Dave Read

( ( ( (frog) ) ) )
    - David J. Kelly

a curl of eyelash on your pillow crescent moon
    - Debbie Strange

david bowie the genie returns to his lamp
    - Devin Harrison

so many bracelets so little time
    - Gabrielle Vehar

this dagger in my heart last night's empty sugar
    - Helen Buckingham

driving home the white breath of buffalo across the plains
    - Jo Balistreri

all the greens of spring opening our eyes
    - Joan McNerney

empty elevator her perfume tarries
    - Joann Grisetti

homebound the excitement of mail
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

weeping willow . . . another widow's rain
    - Karen O'Leary

worm and robin wrestle with complexity
    - Karla Linn Merrifield

above the kitchen sink an older woman's reflection
    - Kat Lehmann

even the night bird is sleeping low wind
    - Kath Abela Wilson

always a garden betrayal of truth
    - Katherine May

tire chatter on the long highway
    - Lance Robertson

vast sky features single hawk
    - Leah Grady Sayvetz

crocuses bending low so cold
    - Linda Keeler

hot air all through the night his lies
    - Lovette Carter

despite the budding trees my mind remains in winter
    - Margaret Dennis

we waited until we met
    - Margaret Jones

hangingfromathreadbareemotions
    - Marianne Paul

chest deep in sunset the rising tide
    - Mark E. Brager

first dragonfly touching the grass morning dew
    - Marta Chocilowska

greatest love one hug at a time
    - Marty Blue Waters

sudden fog I forget where I've been
    -Mary Kendall

small creek rising flooded basement hurricane season
    - Michael Schaff

dinosaur fossil quarry — my own aching bones
    - Miriam Sagan

yesterday phone calls from both sisters lucky me
    - Nancy Osborn

winter sun a bird plays with its shadow
    - Nicole Pottier

a field of orange hawkweed gentle monarch breeze
    - Pamela A. Babusci

the cane alone in the corner will we soon partner
    - Pat Geyer

seed catalog she finds a name for her baby
    - Phyllis Lee

fragments of poems emerging my dog's damp nose
    - Pris Campbell

dusting old family photos winter sun
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

strangers before small favor
    - Rob Sullivan

found letters fed into the flaring hearth unread
    - Ron Scully

spring stars just enough to match her age
    - Rosa Clement

the color of his eyes a year of grief
    - Sara Robbins

softly softly bluebells in the mist
    - Simon Hanson

we are only spilling ink
    - Sondra Byrnes

the place of stones instructions from the dripping moss
    - Stacey Murphy

I collect them — folding bookcases and dust bunnies
    - Sue Crowley

putting on mittens and muffler — searching for the first crocus
    - Sue Norvell

paws on his shoulder ownership
    - Sue Perlgut

snow drops — a child calls here are some more
    - Susan Lesser

a mosquito in my ear the midnight train
    - Theresa A. Cancro

still in denial fortune teller
    - Tim Gardiner

the time it takes to shape shift . . .
    - Tom Clausen

mother's room one lonely candle burning out   
    - Vibeke Laier

babies — ha ha ha
    - Yvonne Fisher

quick before it's too late ripening avocado
    - Zee Zahava

Haiku by and About Women

Welcome to the March 2016 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal.

This issue showcases small poems by and about women. March 8 is International Women's Day and we write in  celebration of women and girls.

You will notice the way certain themes and references appear in more than one haiku, like threads connecting women to one another.

Poems have been received from Brazil, Canada, Denmark, England, Poland, Romania, and The United States.


cherry blossoms —
a daughter tries on her mother's
wedding dress
    - Ana Drobot

November evening
I unbraid in front of the mirror
the moon's shine
    - Anna Mazurkiewicz

the soles
of her work boots
cherry petals
    - Anne Burgevin

all eyes
following the brides
a swallowtail
    - Anne Burgevin

first anniversary
adding touches
to grandma's recipes
    - Barbara Tate

rocking chair
grandma's metronome
toc   tic   toc
    - Barbara Tate

gnarled fingers
her cello sold long ago
she can't hear the crows
    - Carole Johnston

I'm still that girl
who scandalized my mother
barefoot in rain
    - Carole Johnston

my daughter
we smile when she dances . . .
wild honey
    - Carole Johnston

mum do you colour
your hair to look more
like me, asks daughter
    - Caroline Skanne

childhood music box
now my daughter
sings for me
    - Caroline Skanne

porcelain doll
putting a broken childhood
back together
    - Caroline Skanne

first blossoms
her laughter startles
the calf
    - Chandler Hennessy Scott-Smith

day moon
(dis)appearing
sister's thin face
    - Debbie Strange

first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair
    - Debbie Strange

old books the oddments of my past lives
    - Debbie Strange
 
the scent of jasmine
curls around me
a breath so soft
    - Donna DiCostanzo

her voice bigger than she is
Grandmama calls the cows home
winter dusk
    - Ferris Gilli

familiar words . . .
my daughter helps her daughter
light the Hanukkah candles
    - Ferris Gilli

Mama's recipe  . . .
all the times I've held this card
just to touch the writing
    - Ferris Gilli

I wear two watches
for memories
and practicality
    - Gabrielle Vehar

when I am home
I am
night-clad
    - Gabrielle Vehar

International Women's Day —
he rolls his eyes
like a rattled doll
    - Helen Buckingham
(originally appeared in Presence 49)

she waits for news . . .
the scrawl of twigs
in the gunmetal sky
    - Jo Balistreri

the click of bamboo
in the wind . . .
grandma's rosary
    - Jo Balistreri

at her easel the sea's changing face
    - Jo Balistreri

green new leaf fits
her hand perfectly — the future
waits in this girl's palm
    - Joan McNerney

sisters . . .
another spat
to forgive
    - Joann Grisetti

the tug
a child sent out to rake
"come too, mommy"
    - Joann Grisetti

tough love
closing the door
on his lies
    - Joann Grisetti

tall grass
gone to seed
her friendship
    - Joanna M. Weston

toffee apple
with sprinkles —
my lipstick   
    - Joanna M. Weston

scudding along with the clouds my mind adrift again
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

trying to discern
this phase of my life
— daytime moon
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

my baby doll
in my daughter's arms . . .
my baby dolls
    - Julie Bloss Kelsey

empty desk . . .
office light dim
without her
    - Karen O'Leary

Egyptian hands
to soothe she taught me
baby bellydance
    - Kath Abela Wilson

family photos
of mom before I was born
flowery hat
    - Kath Abela Wilson

butterfly pajamas
chosen for this
her last night
    - Kath Abela Wilson

orphanage room —
children call me:
mom!
    - Lavana Kray

I said
when we have kids
I need to live near my mother
    - Leah Grady Sayvetz

picking flowers
on the beach
shells
    - Linda Keeler

two together
wherever
whenever
    - Linda Keeler

scattered leaves
this time she'll dance
by herself
    - Lovette Carter

still waters
a child pretends to
feed her baby
    - Lovette Carter

talking too much
she makes me blush
reminder of myself
    - Margaret Dennis
 
mother sews a kite
onto my little apron —
blue sky
    - Maria Tirenescu

wide-eyed pansies
everywhere little girls worshipping
big girls
    - Marianne Paul

twin sisters
the one who gave birth
to the moon
    - Marianne Paul

my euphonium
cradled in my arms
deep breath deep sound
    - Marty Blue Waters

motherhood
my daughter finds comfort
rubbing my belly
    - Mary Hohlman

early spring
she finally learns
to ride her bike
    - Mary Hohlman

full moon
the shadow of her breasts
on the silk curtains
    - Mary Hohlman

barren lilac . . .
a silence I once
knew
    - Mary Kendall

the doubts you had
when I married your son . . .
broken pearls
    - Mary Kendall

each year
a pressing appointment . . .
mammogram
    - Mary Kendall

my west coast cousin
we share poems
as if we lived next door
    - Nancy Osborn

spring arrives
my sister and I
buy new sandals
    - Nancy Osborn

the small box
holds my Brownie pin
and memories of an eight year old
    - Nancy Osborn

vining branches
weaving thoughts of my mother . . .
wisteria tree
    - Pat Geyer

sing at dawn sing at dusk when women were birds
    - Pat Geyer

weeping on the bed
distraught
no ring
    - Paula Culver

I walk in late winter:
sunset gilds the windows
wind dusts the bricks
    - Phoebe Lakin

one tear
she yields to the term
terminal
    - Phyllis Lee

yo! hey! what's up?
how she used to answer
the phone   
    - Phyllis Lee

another blizzard
when will
my winter end?
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

memory box
all the roles
I've played
    - Rachel Sutcliffe

old photograph
I wonder which girl
is my mother
    - Rosa Clement

apple tree in bloom
my mother's aged bones
rest for a while   
    - Rosa Clement

just married
she shakes rain drops
from her jacket
    - Rosa Clement

baking two pies
at once —
I plan to share
    - Sara Robbins

I carry firewood —
my Russian grandmother
had the same big arms
    - Sara Robbins

Laurie's laugh is magical
like a bell
in a long conversation
    - Sheila Dean

new widow's lips
set in a thin line —
winter horizon
    - Theresa A. Cancro

restringing
my mother's pearls —
light snowfall
    - Theresa A. Cancro

family scrapbook —
great-grandma at the edge
of a photo
    - Theresa A. Cancro

she asks
for wind chimes
her 80th birthday
    - Tricia Knoll

silent night rain
mother's voice still fills
the empty room
    - Vibeke Laier

forgotten adventures
my childhood in a
basket of toys
    - Vibeke Laier

lime trees in bloom —
on watch at the window
girl and moon
    - Virginia Popescu

since my last birthday bigger and noisier dreams
    - Zee Zahava

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

my aging hands more beautiful right now
    - Zee Zahava

Night Haiku

Welcome to the December issue of brass bell: a haiku journal. This month's theme is night.

Contributors come from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Bulgaria, Canada, Croatia, Denmark, England, France, Ghana, India, Ireland, Japan, Nigeria, Poland, Romania, Scotland, Switzerland, Tunisia, Ukraine, and the United States

moonlight absorbing fireflies

- Adjei Agyei-Baah

bunk beds —

the moon shifts silently

to the upper lake

- Ajaya Mahala

night walking

the shrieking baby

a fly in his ear

- Alan Bern

in the outdoor sculpture garden carved hands posed to cradle night 

- Alan Catlin

sleeping rough

I make more room

for the Milky Way

- Alan Summers

each page of

Tender is the Night

a sleepless night

- Ali Znaidi

unable to sleep
I amble through the garden —
night blooming cestrum

- Amauri Solon

night time —

even the clock

stops ticking

- Ana Drobot

long night

reading another book

about insomnia

- Anna Goluba

remote home —

more and more gloomy

the new moon

- Anna Mazurkiewicz

sailing with my paper boats a moonbow

- Archana Kapoor Nagpal

rolling blackout

suddenly

these stars!

- ayaz daryl nielsen

new year's eve

turning the corner

I see where I've been

- Barbara Tate

sleepless night . . .

the silence

between my breaths

- Bill Waters

night

lifts her long black skirt

steps into dawn

- C. Robin Janning

so much 

to say

full moon

- Caroline Skanne

moon shadow puppets

her round womb like a balloon

under the sheets

- Catherine Rigutto

midnight bus shelter

the lullaby

of spring rain

- Chen-ou Liu

night fog

I lose my bearings

standing still

- Dave Read

nightwatchman

alone with his dog

and his thoughts

- David J. Kelly

moonlit lake

I brush the silver

from your hair

- Debbie Strange

night blooming jasmine

uncomfortable memories

of us

- Deborah P Kolodji

afterwards

the silence that divides us

sleepless night

- Devin Harrison

night train

letting a tse-tse fly go

through the window

- Emmanuel Jessie Kalusian

2 a.m.

I grip the murder mystery

a little tighter

- Ferris Gilli

moonless night only the echo shows the way

- Gergana Yaninska

wind chimes in the night

a Bedouin caravan

entering my dream

- Jack Goldman

wheeze of night ice

on the windshield 

broken defroster

- Jan Benson

still hissing into the night raging bushfire

- Jayashree Maniyil

the pastels 

of a desert evening . . .

a warbler's song

- Jo Balistreri

that last night

he looked back

I waved

- Joan Corr

what discus player

threw a tangerine moon on

top of Main Street?

- Joan McNerney

snow 

plows through a village

tonight

- Joann Grisetti

sorting buttons

for Grandma

starry night . . .

- Joanna M. Weston

first night alone

rocking back and forth

the clock ticks

- Karen O'Leary

night breeze

the faint scent 

of an unseen lilac

- Kat Lehmann

five languages

at 90 she talks in her sleep

to each child

- Kath Abela Wilson

one night, many stars

one woman, many stories

see how matched we are

- Katya Sabaroff Taylor

night of an eclipse . . .

the scribbling in my diary

means nothing

- kris moon

old barn

through the hole in the roof

the Big Dipper

- Krzysztof Kokot

crescent moon

rocking a boat

in mid-sea

- Kumarendra Mallick

rural highway

our eyes

watching for eyes

- Lance Robertson

blue night another last time to cry

- Lovette Carter

coffee stains 

from that night

you didn't die

- Margaret Jones

so lonely —

even the moon

is not with me

- Maria Tirenescu

white pines

the night humming

of giraffes

- Marianne Paul

quarter moon the milk boils over

- Mark E. Brager

hazy moon

a snowflake thaws

between our lips

- Marta Chocilowska

deep into the night

little owl and I 

contemplate the universe

- Marty Blue Waters

between two
decrepit buildings —
poplar in late evening light

- Nicholas Klacsanzky

black sky —

caught in the electric wires

a captive star

- Nicole Pottier

under a full moon

a couple strides over dry leaves

in search of the dark

- Nina Kovačić

owl song

a moonbeam glides

through the pine trees

- Olivier Schopfer

missing you . . .

this moon abandons

the night

- Pat Geyer

restless night

I count

haiku syllables

- philip d noble

dripping city after dusk —

the interplay

of mist and light

- Phoebe Lakin

on the brick wall

moonlight hangs

lace curtains

- Phyllis Lee

potholes —

a frog jumps into

the scary night

- Pravat Kumar Padhy

unfolding darkness

the chill of the pillow

next to mine

- Rachel Sutcliffe

the moon 

setting early

sleepy seeds

- Robin White

moonlight

her pearl necklace twinkles

from afar

- Rosa Clement

no end

to this empty road

but the moon waits there

- Sandi Pray

counting sheep backwards on loop

- Shloka Shankar

snail

see what the moon makes

of wanderers

- Simon Hanson

midsummer night —

you pick pine needles

out of my hair

- Sondra J. Byrnes

some nights it is just

easier to sleep with my

mute hypocrisy

- Stacey Crawford-Murphy

walking at sunset

a lightning bug lands

upon my T-shirt

- Stephen Page

evening star

snowflakes cling

to the screen door

- Theresa A. Cancro

a plank swing sways

in night wind on rusty hooks

crickets

- Tricia Knoll

raindrops through golden leaves a moon lake

- Vibeke Laier

stars closer to the graves silent cicadas

- Virginia Popescu

starlit night . . .

crocheting

our monosyllables

- Yesha Shah

moon 

why do you follow me tonight?

I am lost

- Zee Zahava