haiku happiness

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

This month’s collection focuses on Things That Make Us Happy … small things, major things, long ago memories, and current moments.

Poems arrived from Australia, Brazil, Canada, Denmark, Ecuador, Ghana, India, Italy, Japan, Pakistan, Poland, Romania, Singapore, Switzerland, the Netherlands, the United Kingdom, and the United States

Wishing you a sense of peace and happiness as you read the following haiku . . . .



dusk
the village lit up
in fireflies
    Adjei Agyei-Baah

sparklers
on the birthday cake
the smiles
    ai li

your proposal
the clouds
under my feet
    ai li

playing soccer
in the alley at night
nearly noiseless
    Alan Bern

pillow fight
a feather escapes
to the moon
    Alan Summers

I starch my crinolines
in the bathroom sink
spring in bloom
    Alexis Rotella

morning geese
I eavesdrop on
their conversation
    Alexis Rotella

hand in hand we go
whistling our song
wedding anniversary
    Amauri Solon

nothing more beautiful
than to hold you in my arms
little baby
    Angela Giordano

to stay at home
with books and good music —
sweet at night
    Angela Giordano

black and white goat
takes apple slices carefully
from my fingers
    Antonia Matthew

morning stroll
I hum a tune
to my old dog
    Barbara Tate

cotton candy
the taste of a rainbow
at the fair
    Barbara Tate

cloudburst!
running for shelter
laughing
    Bill Waters

out in the rain
that girl who twirls
her umbrella
    Bill Waters

big sister
sipping warm beer through a straw
the life of the party
    Blue Waters

summer days
turning the crank
on the ice cream churn
    Brad Bennett

moss between
maple tree roots
I wriggle my toes
    Brad Bennett

line cast
I settle into
the rhythm of waves
    Bryan Rickert

the same poem
I write every year
first snow
    Bryan Rickert

my brother called . . .
speaking of simple things we
felt our connection
    C. Robin Janning

hyacinth
a second stem of flowers
fills the pot
    C. Robin Janning

in the hemlocks
last year’s ceramic rabbit
stands tall
    C. Robin Janning

four days alone
silent journey . . . who knows
what may be found?
    Carole Johnston

wren song
at dawn the dog and I
stop to listen
    Carole Johnston

mud on your face leaning over the dahlias
    Caroline Skanne

as if seeing yellow for the first time primrose
    Caroline Skanne

in dim light
the silence between us
her heartbeat against mine
    Chen-ou Liu

knots of green
each day a little bigger
my apple tree buds
    Christina Martin

dad and my daughter
popping bubble wrap together
my best memory of him
    Christina Sng

curled up safe
under my duvet
small dumpling
    Christina Sng

holiday playlist
dancing in the kitchen
with a spatula
    Christine L. Villa

graduation
daring to pick
a yellow car
    Claire Vogel Camargo

blue waves
loosening my hair
in the wind
    Daniela Misso

prairie winter
a rainbow of tulips
at the market
    Debbie Strange

country school
tumbleweeds race
us to the bus
    Debbie Strange

a blue kite
meets the sky
running girl takes flight
    Deborah Burke Henderson

twin boys
discover belly buttons
and each other
    Deborah Burke Henderson

split open —
sweet potato
wakes me
    Donna Fleischer

autumn moon —
“I love you” escapes
from my lips
    Elisa Allo

plum picking
head-to-head
with a squirrel
    Helen Buckingham

as if from nowhere honeysuckle
    Helen Buckingham

first sight
of the crescent moon
baby’s smile
    Hifsa Ashraf

a child is born
family members rejoice
rain and fog have cleared
    Isabelle Loverro

inked diary
the self assured strokes
of my younger self
    Jackie Chou

violets . . .
any time
anywhere
    Jill Lange

robin
for a moment
on my Adirondack chair
    Jill Lange

alone at the window
i await
kingfisher’s return
    Jim Mazza

wind-slanted rain
with a great swoosh
my hair blooms pink
    Jo Balistreri

bluebird returned today
to the house we built him —
a welcome neighbor
    Joan Leotta

blackberries
with yogurt
for lunch
    Joan McNerney

alley behind my book shop
the feral cat accepts
its first pet
    John J. Dunphy

online discovery
the book I thought worthless
earmarked to pay my utilities
    John J. Dunphy

windy fells —
the best coffee ever
out of a plastic mug
    Karen Hoy

thumbs up
through each car window
our second dose
    Kath Abela Wilson

vaccinated visit
abracadabra
our grandson’s a foot taller
    Kath Abela Wilson

today my new knee
and I took a walk —
we visited trees!
    Kathleen Kramer

a friend, a scone
a cup of tea —
poem without words
    Kathleen Kramer

into a hot bath
I lay my winter body
and watch the steam rise
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

three cats just sitting
on my summer screened-in porch
with no to-do list
    Katya Sabaroff Taylor

beret borrowed
from an old friend
warm with memories
    kris moon

the warmth of the cup
as i reminisce
by the fire
    kris moon

daydreaming
in father’s loud laughter
I cuddle up
    Lakshmi Iyer

tangerines . . .
I share the sun
with a fisherman
    Lucia Cardillo

soulmates
the quiet intimacy
of our long life
    Marianne Paul

double-dutch
the bigger girls cheer
me on
    Marianne Paul

big wheel —
riding my sister’s
old bike
    Marianne Paul

lifting my mood
the uplifted flips
of a wagtail
    Marietta McGregor

fresh sfogliatelle
the unfolding intimacy
of our layers
    Marietta McGregor

face timing . . .
an iris
opens up
    Marilyn Ashbaugh

hula hoops
she teaches me
again
    Marilyn Ashbaugh

childhood memory
a bag of clementines
on my birthday
    Marta Chocilowska

beach breeze
on my lips the salt
of your skin
    Maya Daneva

bonsai elm’s first prune
anxious days
new leaves!
    Michael G. Smith

mushy banana
just right
for bread
    Michael G. Smith

a day to myself
no responsibilities
taking life easy
    Mimi Foyle

a perfect morning
sunlight dances through crystal
spattering rainbows
    Mimi Foyle

from branch
to heart
blackbird’s song
    Mirela Brăilean

hot springs —
in the ancient tub
my ancient toes
    Miriam Sagan

Grateful Dead
cover concert –
my tie dye dancing
    Miriam Sagan

cajun dancing
at Tipitina’s
washboard rhythm
    Nancy Shires

redone x-ray
shows i’m okay
sweet wine
    Nancy Shires

summer lightning
the first time he placed
his hand on mine
    Nancy Shires

evening snow
the smell
of a newly printed book
    Olivier Schopfer

just a walk
in the park
children blowing bubbles
    Olivier Schopfer

spring splurge
at the supermarket . . .
daffodils
    Pat Davis

spring woods
alone with
everything
    Pat Davis

cobalt blue
my budgie chosen with Dad
I name him Billy
    Paul Beech

three thousand feet . . .
now I bank the glider
and dive
    Paul Beech

late winter . . .
just enough light
for a cuckoo to sing
    Pragya Vishnoi

sha do be do be do
band bus rumbling home
through the night
    Pris Campbell

fried green tomatoes
my father and I snack
late in the night
    Pris Campbell

his old letters
feelings come rushing back
as if yesterday
    Pris Campbell

my new glasses
the landscape is all
updated
    Rosa Clement

spring afternoon
my hammock fills
with me
    Rosa Clement

a new hummingbird
between us a small
conversation
    Rosa Clement

summertime
tiny cold waves
tickle my feet
    Sherry Grant

behind closed eyes
her carousel horse
takes to the sky
    Simon Hanson

spring shower . . .
unwrapping lavender
soaps
    Theresa A. Cancro

perseid shower . . .
the aroma of popcorn
popping
    Theresa A. Cancro

i stop my worries
join my cat at the window
to watch the new birds
    Tina Wright

peepers rise from antifreeze
loud oddly soothing
first warm night the pond
    Tina Wright

giggles back
and giggles forth
tire swing
    Tom Bierovic

scent of neatsfoot
the hand-me-down mitt
makes another catch
    Tom Bierovic

back to my book . . .
the embrace of a world
within a world
    Tom Clausen

no names
but there they are
early greens
    Tom Clausen

zoo yoga
a flamingo poised
on one leg
    Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

dragons glide
through the clouds —
kites
    Valentina Ranaldi-Adams

butterfly
how many ways to touch
a poppy’s heart
    Vibeke Laier

my neighbor’s baby
grabs my nose
laughs out loud
    Yvonne Fisher

three-year-old friend
calls me Yonne
leaves out the v
    Yvonne Fisher

slipping quietly
into your room
YES — you are still breathing
    Zee Zahava

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