Wednesday, November 1, 2017

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

5 comments:

  1. A beautiful read! Thank you for all your hard work Zee!

    ReplyDelete
  2. Family haiku always bring good memories,, Zee once again you created an enjoyable reading experience,you have a good eye for beauty,,,thank you

    ReplyDelete
  3. Such dedication and love. Much respect for your strength and support Zee. Congratulations for all the poets and their beautiful poems !

    ReplyDelete

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