Wednesday, September 1, 2021

new haiku

Welcome to the September 2021 issue of brass bell: a haiku journal, featuring new haiku written in the last days of August.

Contributing poets are from Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Indonesia, Israel, Italy, Malaysia, New Zealand, Pakistan, Poland, Romania, Singapore, Switzerland, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States

empty beach
the wet track of a tortoise
filled with moonlight
    Adjei Agyei-Baah

darkening sky
i’m home alone
with shadows
    ai li

hanging moss . . .
somewhere above my head
a buzzing wasp nest
    Al Gallia

local park
three koi i know
by name
    Al Peat

big toes damaged
my wife and I
old ones with old toes
    Alan Bern

sun into moon
the first sit-down
with neighbours
    Alan Summers

back from Vegas
the neighbors
    Alexis Rotella

light breeze —
left undisturbed
my shadow
    Ana Drobot

bursts the soap bubbles
my grandchildren
    Angela Giordano

sun on the terrace —
a screen of roses
between me and tomorrow
    Angiola Inglese

high winds far away
my heart rate
in its resting zone
    Ann Carter

in this long drought
like pale withered squash flowers
my words
    Antonia Matthew

heart shaped leaves
a pair of doves land
    Barbara Kaufmann

lazy afternoon
counting the rotations of the
ceiling fan
    Barbara Tate

bathing in the lake
not once
thinking of you
    Barrie Levine

watermelon sunset . . .
I spit a seed
into the sky
    Bill Waters

wandering mind returns home
counting steps cars birds
squirrels leaves breaths
    Blue Waters

a summer of trails
the slug reaches
a mushroom
    Brad Bennett

bluff overlook
losing a bookmark
to the wind
    Bryan Rickert

wet garden gloves
dye my fingers yellow . . .
    C. Robin Janning

on my porch
we find a watermelon . . .
good fairies
    Carole Johnston

dappled path —
a squirrel scampers
into my shadow
    Carole MacRury

early stars
three kinds of miso
in the fridge
    Caroline Skanne & Violet Akalu-Skanne

zazen . . .
thoughts of my ex
come and go
    Chen-ou Liu

on the silk sash
a jewel beetle
    Christina Chin

unable to forget
your words
the tartness of tangerines
    Christina Sng

biological clock
I start to consider
pup parenting
    Christine L. Villa

a walk with friends
brown-eyed Susans
    Claire Vogel Camargo

our discussion
on the quality of one haiku . . .
carrot snap
    Daniela Misso

whir of the fan
my heart pounds
sitting in stillness
    Deborah Burke Henderson

papers in boxes
my past
    Deborah P Kolodji

the rain —
    Donna Fleischer

summer twilight
a moth flies
in the shade of poppies
    Eufemia Griffo

power outage
through the mosquito net
a shooting star
    Florin C. Ciobica

stifling heat —
the day’s vapors
in an incense swirl
    Geethanjali Rajan

chasing the last berry
around the bowl
morning fog
    Glenn Ingersoll

fairy tale
stuck in the castle
my niece’s imagination
    Hifsa Ashraf

a bed of flowers
requires cultivation
or else it’s a flop
    Jack Goldman

busy sidewalk
a yellow butterfly’s
soundless flutter
    Jackie Chou

twilight now
folk music
on the radio
    Jill Lange

a rogue sunflower
    Jo Balistreri

I dream of my mother —
she seems distant
yet close enough to kiss
    Joan Leotta

laundry comes out
piping hot . . . zippers
burn my fingers
    Joan McNerney

could this
be our moment
    Joanna Ashwell

old pond —
frog up to its neck
in sunset
    Joe Sebastian

resale shop
a child’s backpack
with bullet holes
    John J. Dunphy

crackling fire
slowly the moon
    Jorge Giallorenzi

mountain drive —
at the end of the curve
acacias in bloom
    Julia Guzman

one crumpled sock left
on the worn bedroom carpet —
college move-in day
    Julie Bloss Kelsey

kept in cold storage
in the library archive
petals between leaves
    Kath Abela Wilson

the coyotes
are howlling again tonight . . .
i open the window wider
    Kathleen Kramer

is time standing still
or passing like a comet
each day I wonder
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

my shy neighbor
on a nodding acquaintance
with her sunflowers
    Kristen Lindquist

black-capped chickadee
my father no longer alive
to whistle back
    Laurinda Lind

summer clouds —
reddish green apples
hanging on the blue sky
    Lisbeth Ho

still a few
of these days . . .
red hibiscus
    Lucia Cardillo

evening rainbow
a cockatoo screech
settles on a gum tree
    Madhuri Pillai

licking the corners
of your mouth
    Margaret Walker

yellow cowslips
in a dung pile
this hope for change
    Marietta McGregor

pull back the sky
beach sunset
    Marilyn Ashbaugh

soulful surge
of the night wind
bamboo chimes
    Marilyn Fleming

cloudless night
the owl moon’s
unblinking eye
    Marilyn Humbert

fresh laundry
forgotten in the pocket
dyer’s madder
    Marta Chocilowska

sitting beside him
needle slips in so smoothly
I can’t help but wince
    Masha M.

reading Issa
this bubble
in my cup of tea
    Maya Daneva

at the convent door . . .
don’t look at the clothes line
and knock . . . just the once
    Michael Flanagan

new art
at the coffee shop
    Michael G. Smith

never knew how much
i missed distant family
until I saw them
    Mimi Foyle

his slightly
spicy words —
the hot dog vendor
    Mirela Brailean

a meteor streaks over
the opera house
    Miriam Sagan

isolation —
a cicada’s cry
fills the gap
    Neena Singh

bedroom bookshelves
the meaning
of my dreams
    Olivier Schopfer

another way to feel
the sun
    Pat Davis

sunset . . .
rods on tripods
father and son pull fish
    Paul Beech

planning ahead
I print my obituary
on a t-shirt
    Pris Campbell

truck stop
a stack of poetry books
under the counter
    Roman Lyakhovetsky

urban hummingbird
the next flower is
three blocks away
    Rosa Clement

pesto in freezer
the basil lingers
on my fingers
    Ruth Yarrow

mini skirt
I no longer own . . .
zoom speech
    Sherry Grant

the air is still thick
our fight like a too-short storm
remedies nothing
    Stacey Murphy

rude tomato!
this morning’s bright white shirt
red polka dotted
    Sue Norvell

more black clothes
perhaps they’ll make me
an honorary crow
    Susan Burch

summer clouds . . .
spider silk clings
to my fingertips
    Theresa A. Cancro

tugboat nosing a
barge up the Hudson
quiet as the fish
    Tina Wright

my shadow
mimics me
    Tom Clausen

a couple of sparrows
in the old oak tree
a kiss in the morning
    Vibeke Laier

the scarecrow
darker from year to year
grandfather’s hat
    Wieslaw Karlinski

painting her lips
with a red marker
    Wilda Morris

unwrinkling my wrinkles
your hand on
my face
    Zee Zahava