Haiku
John Stevenson
city moon
generations
of renters |
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skating partners —
my sense
of her balance |
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my uncle
was the kind of man
the wind blew away from |
K. Ramesh
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misty dawn —
shutters open
in the tea shop |
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blue sky . . .
she tunes
my guitar |
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spring morning —
the faded cap
of the gardener |
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Laryalee Fraser
the tilt
of the quarter moon —
his empty bottle
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for a moment
the world shrinks —
wild violets |
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driveway puddle —
ripples from last night's
argument |
Dietmar Tauchner
gender god gone deep in the woods
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spring hike —
nothing written
on the trailhead sign |
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sleepless
the moon's
tick |
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Denis M. Garrison
huddled herd-
their breath rises
and drifts
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harvested field
faded mouse trails
follow the rows |
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silence
among the burnt trees
ravens pace |
Gregory Hopkins
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summer ends
deep is the silence
between two friends |
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spider
how I must look
running |
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fireflies
I rake
the ashes |
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Kala Ramesh
cow emerges -
the dry weeds knotted
on his horns
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midnight -
the rains pour
with such fury |
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tapering monsoon
from different sides of the hill
sound of cow-bells |
Bruce Ross
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a junco hops
under the back porch
December chill . . . |
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from icy branch
down to icy branch
the distant moon |
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old frozen snow
the Japanese garden closed
by a simple gate |
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Tom Clausen
night train-
the part of myself reflected
in thought
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sharp curve-
a weathered cross
nailed to the tree |
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the message I sent
from the Dalai Lama
comes back |
Matthew Paul
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winter sunrise
the pavement-sweeper
waits for me to pass |
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another year -
two flights of pigeons
amalgamate |
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finding myself
staring into space -
the shapes of graffiti |
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Dustin Neal
winter
a fly still in
the cobweb
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early thaw—
slowly draining
the baptistry |
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under the willows
fo ot pr in ts
collecting rain |
Andrew Riutta
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early thaw
I imitate myself
as a child |
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it comes and goes
without a sound
evening mist |
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not one fossil
among these stones
graveyard parking lot |
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Allan Burns
pointless thoughts...
the hawk has vanished
beyond the ridge
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leafy breeze
the puddle shows
it's still raining |
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tumbleweed
caught in barbed wire
—circling hawk |
Minerva Bloom
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rainclouds-
no leaf argues
over where to fall |
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Dia de las Almas-
sweeping a gossamer thread
off the offerings |
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winter beach-
the distance between us
as you speak of ghosts |
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Francis Masat
crows –
at home
in right field
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soap bubbles
-
his dreams |
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new bridge –
the old stream
smaller now |
Copyright © 2004-2006 by Roadrunner Haiku Journal. All rights revert to the authors upon publication.
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