the nail box:
every nail
is bent
|
Ozaki Hôsai(1885-1926)
|
|
|
|
old pond . . .
a frog leaps in
water's sound
|
Matsuo Bashô(1644-1694)
|
|
warm sun glinting,
thousands
of unexpected pools
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
pausing
halfway up the stair--
white chrysanthemums
|
Elizabeth Searle Lamb
|
|
The river ripples
ice-drifted shores--
coyote glides by.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
Tender willow
almost gold, almost amber,
almost light . . .
|
José Juan Tablada
|
|
willow leaves fallen
clear waters dried up stones
one place and another
|
Yosa Buson (1716-1784)
|
|
|
morning-dewed
morning glories he sells,
rough fellow
|
Kobayashi Issa (1762-1826)
|
|
|
|
Cherry, apple, rose,
blossoms in countless colours--
each one of them pink.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
the misstruck nail
bent its neck
|
Ozaki Hôsai(1885-1926)
|
|
|
|
rain cleared--
for a while the wild rose's
fragrance
|
Takahama Kyoshi (1874-1959)
|
|
fresh-washed hair
everywhere I go
making trickles
|
Hashimoto Takako (1899-1963)
|
|
|
|
Birds chatter
schoolyard kids too
busy cars.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
Chopped off heads fly up,
bodies sliced to tiny bits;
die dandelions!
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
Old man sits reading;
two dogs, alert and friendly,
do all the begging.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
a pair of pigeons
in a mist of spring rain
shoulder to shoulder
|
Anton Gerits
|
|
|
|
Days are long and hot;
every day when I come home
the grass is longer.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
snowflakes--
dust on the toes
of my boots
|
Penny Harter
|
|
|
crickets . . .
then
thunder
|
Larry Wiggin
|
|
|
|
Sign says "no parking";
it wasn't there yesterday;
my favourite spot.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
Sudden harsh honking,
ten geese skim in and settle;
fast moving water.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
Billboards . . .
wet
in spring
rain . . .
|
Eric W. Amann
|
|
They laze in the shade
earning the zoo's room and board;
we pay, stand, swelter.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
Autumn twilight:
the wreath on the door
lifts in the wind
|
Nicholas Virgilio
|
|
Yellow autumn leaves
rustle as I briskly walk
through deserted lanes.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
Cold, dark and early
our breath fog shivers away,
water's sharp glitter.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
Snow falling
on the empty parking-lot:
Christmas Eve . . .
|
Eric W. Amann
|
|
|
|
I kill an ant
and realize my three children
have been watching.
|
Shuson Kato (b.1905)
|
|
The crow has flown away:
swaying in the evening sun,
a leafless tree.
|
Soseki Natsume (1867-1916)
|
|
|
|
You rice-field maidens!
The only things not muddy
Are the songs you sing.
|
Raizan
|
|
Wind howls
pine needles on the walk
outlined in snow.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
|
I want to sleep
Swat the flies
Softly, please
|
Masaoka Shiki (1867-1902)
|
|
first on the trail-
the pull of a spider's strand
across my face
|
|
Michael Dylan Welch
|
|
|
|
Temple lions
snow-mantled at the door;
still guardians.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
Bright back lane, downtown
warm-air vent, cart of treasures
an old grey man sleeps.
|
|
Paul Brown
|
|
|
The above and all Japanese poems in translation, except as noted
below, from The Haiku Handbook: How to Write, Share, and
Teach Haiku, by William J. Higginson with Penny Harter,
published by Kodansha International, 1989, copyright 1985 by
William J. Higginson, by permission of William J. Higginson.
Poems by Kato Shuson, Natsume Soseki, Raizan, and Shiki, translators
unknown.
Permission has been received or is being sought to quote these haiku.