H
A I K U S P
I R I T
Haiku
Spirit Issue #13
MARCH 1998
Stacking winter logs
i rescue a wolf spider
from a fiery end
Bill Wyatt
THROUGH ANOTHER WINTER
First frost of the year -
in my tea
pouring some honey
Morning
through frosty fields:
not a thing moves
"Happy Christmas"
just this the shopkeeper
gives for free
Christmas eve on the farm -
no one's fed the pig
to be fed at dawn
Winter dusk -
limping, an old man
walks a limping dog
Christmas or not:
into the cold sea
gulls diving, on and on
Christmas rain -
two kids
under a bat cape
Christmas wrapping papers
burning in the fireplace -
New Year's Day
First full moon of the year -
and it's trapped
in a bare tree!
Chilly dawn -
on top of a bin
a brush full of grey hair
old wooden park bench,
flaked and broken down:
here's Spring's first day
early Spring sky -
bluer though, the test line
showing she is pregnant
upside down
filled with Spring dew:
empty shell of a snail
Gilles Fabre
Bare candlelit room
three friends at Christmas
coffee perking.
Sean O'Connor
New year's first dinner
not a word at the table
wind in the eaves
Larry Gross
New diary
seven days a page
my life now
Ken Jones
WILD SWAN
Sweaterless -
the thrill
of gooseflesh
the firefly's tickle
as I open my fist
the glow
flood water
half way up its trunk
the cherry tree blooming
joining the river
each stream
its own song
on the wood floor
a coffin shape
full of moonlight
sunset -
the wild swan crying again
to his dead mate
dressing the window
a single violin
hung in silence
the convalescent
letting the candle flicker
in a twilight breeze
a long silk scarf
on this spring afternoon
the breeze coaxing it free
Haiku by Nasira Alma (d. 1997)
Morning tea
offering its fragrance
a pine bough
zuiko
Riverside heron
a glance upstream and down
- away it flies
Sean O'Connor
NEW BOOTS, OLD BOOTS
An old pair of boots.
Take them deep into the woods
and let them root there.
The new ones hurt.
The way, the way alone
will ease them.
Jim Norton
Scamaill ag buiochan thiar
dhà phréachàn aonair
ag eitilt soir
Clouds yellowing in the west
two lone crows
fly east
Gabriel Rosenstock
Where two streams meet
my wife cast a spell
her grey hair
Ken Jones
After a mulled wine evening
the last of the cinnamon
porridge dust
Maeve O'Sullivan
Underlining
pain
the livid blue horizon of the bay
Unsteadied by saké
in my pocket
the corner of my passport
"Green Activist"
standing upright
in the waste bin
Out of the brightly lit house
off to the brightly lit meeting
the moon at the gate
Ken Jones
Even in the spring mists
one hears the sound of water
trickling through the rocks
Sokan
On the telephone
a voice from the distant past -
early winter rain
Bill Wyatt
Strom force gales squalling
in two directions
letters with the same intent.
Maeve O'Sullivan
Winter chill
sweeping the tea room
vows renewed
zuiko