✺

Pausing is the doorway to awakening.

—Patricia Donegan

✺

pausing
halfway up the stair—
white chrysanthemums
—Elizabeth Searle Lamb
~
To see Void vast infinite
look out the window
into the blue sky.
—Allen Ginsberg
~
don’t hit the fly—
he prays with his hands
and with his feet
—Issa Kobayashi
~
violets here and there
in the ruins
of my burnt house
—Shokyu-Ni
~
As my anger ebbs,
The spring stars grow bright again
And the wind returns.
—Richard Wright
~
remembering those gone
thankful to be here—
pond of purple iris
—Margaret Chula
~
this spring in my hut
there is nothing
there is everything
—Sodo Yamaguchi
~
a heavy cart
rumbles by—
peonies tremble
—Buson Yosa
~
the warbler poops
on the slender
plum branch
—Onitsura Uejima
~
no flower can stay
yet humans grieve at dying—
the red peony
—Edith Shiffert
~
after the rain
bomb craters filled
with stars
—John Brandi
~
the shell i take
the shell it takes
ebb tide
—Vincent Tripi
~
in the deep fires
I saw the way
a peony crumbles
—Shuson Kato
~
first light
everything in this room
was already here
—Christopher Herold
~
picked
by an old woman’s hand
herbs green and glowing
—Soen Nakagawa
~
ah, in the corner
look again—
winter chrysanthemum, red
—Teijo Nakamura
~
The taste
of rain
—Why kneel?
—Jack Kerouac
~
saying nothing:
the guest, the host
the white chrysanthemum
—Ryota Oshima
~
stillness—
piercing the rocks
the sound of cicadas
—Basho Matsuo
~
Holding the water,
held by it—
the dark mud.
—William J. Higginson
~
pig and i spring rain
—Marlene Mountain
~
farewell—
I pass as all things
the dew on grass
—Banzan
~
letting go
of a slanderous heart—
while shelling the beans
—Hosai Ozaki
~
the homeless man
takes off his shoes before
his cardboard house
—Penny Harter
~
a petal falls
you
across the table
—Steve Sanfield
~
on the patio
the afternoon drifts along
with the butterfly
—Patricia J. Machmiller
~
after the riot—
such a perfect
moonlit night
—Hekigodo Kawahigashi
~
migrating birds—
fields of pampas grass
show the way
—Kristen Deming
~
The gull
giving loneliness
sound.
—Alexis Rotella
~
Ever lingering
in the taste of the walnut:
deep autumn.
—James W. Hackett
~
a sparrows’ nest
perhaps
inside the A-bomb dome
—Kinichi Sawaki
~
drawing light
from another world—
the Milky Way
—Yatsuka Ishihara
~
splitting
the stone of a white peach
with the edge of the knife
—Takako Hashimoto
~
moonlight—
through thin clothes
to naked skin
—Hisajo Sugita
~
shown a flower
the small baby
opens its mouth
—Seifu-Ni
~
in dreams
and in awakening—
the color of the iris
—Shushiki
~
Full winter moon:
the icicle
the icicle’s shadow
—Geraldine Clinton Little
~
bright sun
the sheen of tall grass
when it bends
—Jim Kacian
~
not seeing
the room is white
until that red apple
—Anita Virgil
~
MAROON
suitcase
by
a
garbage can.
My
white
breath
in
air
—Michael McClure
~
lily:
out of the water . . .
out of itself
—Nicholas Virgilio
~
morning glories—
the well-bucket entangled
I ask for water
—Chiyo-Ni
~
he says a word
I say a word:
autumn deepens
—Kyoshi Takahama
~
summer grasses—
the wheels of a locomotive
come up to a stop
—Seishi Yamaguchi
~
calmly
he gazes at the mountain—
the frog
—Issa Kobayashi
~
along with spring leaves
my child’s teeth
are coming in
—Kusatao Nakamura
~
i catch
the maple leaf then let
it go
—John Wills
~
shaking
the packet of seeds
asking, are you still alive?
—Kiyoko Tokutomi
~
when the spade turns
the soil in our garden—
how different . . .
—Ion Codrescu
~
ancient pond—
frog jumps in
sound of the water
—Basho Matsuo
~
After weeks of watching the roof leak
I fixed it tonight
by moving a single board
—Gary Snyder
~
a stick goes over the falls at sunset
—Cor Van Den Heuvel
~
a warm fall day,
learning from this rock
to do nothing
—Paul O. Williams
~
The time it takes—
for snowflakes to whiten
the distant pines.
—Lorraine Ellis Harr
~
across the fields of stubble
flame stalks flame
—David Cobb
~
the wind
forced to blow
on concrete, steel, and glass
—Jack Cain
~
moonlight—
a sand dune
shifts
—Virginia Brady Young
~
the piercing cold—
in our bedroom stepping
on my dead wife’s comb
—Buson Yosa
~
the spirit, the truth
of silent prayer—
just the moon on the road
—Kikusha-Ni
~
after the dancing—
the wind in the pines
and the insects’ cries
—Sogetsu-Ni
~
how easily it glows
how easily it dims
the firefly . . .
—Chine-Jo
~
cherry blossoms fallen—
people’s hearts
serene again
—Koyu-Ni
~
white frost—
the nun’s worn wicker basket
starts the journey
—Sono-Jo
~
the inner tide—
what moon does it follow?
I wait for a poem
—Diane Di Prima
~
closing the gate
alone with the stones
on this beautiful night
—Shuoshi Mizuhara
~
ebb tide
sandpipers skitter
across her ashes
—Jerry Kilbride
~
The sun glitters
on the path
of a snail
—Robert Aitken
~
old posts and old wire
holding wild grape vines holding
old posts and old wire
—Robert Spiess
~
I brush
my mother’s hair
the sparks
—Peggy Willis Lyles
~
reflected
in the sword’s blade
soft summer clouds
—Garry Gay
~
shorter kisses
longer quarrels—
winter solstice
—Eric Amann
~
first crickets—
the pulse
in my wrist
—Adele Kenny
~
terminally ill—
and her nails beautiful
by the wooden heater
—Dakotsu Iida
~
winter morning
without leaf or flower
the shape of the tree
—L.A. Davidson
~
full moon—
shadows of pines
on the straw mats
—Kikaku Takarai
~
beautiful lines
of green run through
the summer dishes
—Tatsuko Hoshino
~
Jasmine
white,
just white,
opening to white space.
—Javier Sologuren
~
dusting off
his father’s sheet music—
spring moon
—Kris Moon Kondo
~
Summer night:
in my eyes starlight
hundreds of years old
—George Swede
~
for everyday clothes
an everyday mind—
peach blossoms
—Ayako Hosomi
~
winds of autumn—
water less transparent
than the fins of a fish
—Takajo Mitsuhashi
~
Your shadow
on the page
the poem.
—Cid Corman
~
shall we die together,
my lover whispers—
evening fireflies
—Masajo Suzuki
~
the vast night—
now nothing left
but the fragrance
—Jorge Luis Borges
~
Derelict with eyes
I settle in a quiet
Carnival of waves.
—Sonia Sanchez
~
the war—
yet
these little birds
—Yves Gerbal
~
clear stars
in the cold night
after the planes’ roar
—Hideno Ishibashi
~
to the one breaking it—
the fragrance
of the plum
—Chiyo-Ni
~
in between
the Kabul bombings—
voices of crickets
—Patricia Donegan
~
raging seas—
lying over Sado island
the Milky Way
—Basho Matsuo

~

Source: Haiku Mind

✺