| contents: current issue | contents: this issue | submissions | email | archive | about Roadrunner |
November 2007 Issue VII:4
Haiku/Senryu
Click here to hide the author's names.
| this rain on the windows of a hawk's wings |
|
| |
what can hold
what can be held
taproot |
pearl in the oyster I release
|
|
|
mountains and rivers...
the gaping mouth
of a just-born bear
|
Sabine Miller
blood moon
a poppy blooms
in Afghanistan
|
|
akatonbo
do you return each night
to this plum tree
|
Josh Wikoff
out of the blue
a crow coming out of
a crow |
|
a death
in the mirror
my eyes are closed
|
Peter Yovu
| in the bag of crickets an inexplicable blue feather |
on the dry part of the napkin floating in the bowl a moth |
| your panties soaking in the sink today the crocus bloomed |
held together by grass coat hangers of different colors in the pond
|
Chris Gordon
| |
new moon
I use one cell phone
to find another's |
|
the tang of late summer brine on my lips |
Andrea Grillo
a blood orange cloud the monks march on |
Helen Buckingham
on
the
porch
screen
hatchling walking sticks
could
there
possibly
be
more
|
|
|
driving
home
alone
no not alone
the
grass
hopper
re-
minds
me
|
Lee Gurga
my father's broken worry stone
|
Allan Burns
| |
the taste of dust
vultures circle
a lost star
|
|
N.C. Whitehead
vexing laughter
the equanimity of things
that just aren’t
|
|
retrogression’s onus
an arcane moral code
must be followed
|
Jeff Winke
i can't find the time destroyed by the past
|
out of nowhere isn't |
| sadness sneaks into a poem about the red gladiola |
a pond turtle rises from 200 million years
|
marlene mountain
fading tan a peso in the penny jar
|
Bob Lucky
| nothing matters how green it gets |
rather listen to night with nothing on |
bird me catch me |
John Stevenson
| |
walking among the dead
all the flowers I avoid |
|
Karen R. Porter
| |
a barge ascends
within the lock
spring dusk
|
|
Matthew Paul
| |
after
the boiling point
a robin's song
|
|
Laryalee Fraser
|
mountain pass
the pressure of silence
fills my being |
|
erect sunflower the shadow shrinks into itself |
Kala Ramesh
| in deep woods the darkness around your voice |
mountain view one thought builds upon another |
all those stars one nipple then the other
|
winter I call a tree by name
|
Gregory Hopkins
morning breeze garden oak throwing shadows into itself
|
not knowing its name who am I to the wild grass
|
blue metals fastening the air dragonflies
|
John W. Sexton
This scar I've come to love the autumn badlands |
|
| |
Dumplings steaming in the face I've lost
|
Grotesque hands stroke the withered grass to life |
|
| |
Perfect skies
crossing the Tropic of Cancer
early for work
|
Paul Pfleuger, Jr.
|
in dress uniform
Death offers up
his seat
|
|
Jason Sanford Brown
| |
Haiku Sequence in the Sufi Spirit
In which chamber
of your heart, beloved,
is our bed?
your breast
against the moon
induces prayer
not letting go
a piece of honey
on your lip
withered grass
on a dry plain--
rain on me
|
|
William Ramsey
|
Copyright © 2004-2007 by Roadrunner Haiku Journal. All rights revert to the authors upon publication.
|