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Weeping willow wings
Swinging gently in the wind
Caressing the earth
Sorry it wouldn’t take my password
Thank you Tito, Ulla Bruun
in the beaks
of birds
all-you-can-eat
from Venelina Petkova, Sofia, Bulgaria…
my mam’s Red pelargonium
does not stop blooming
Have I been a flower, too?
…
seagulls cross
the night skies
and laugh at me
…
awake through the night
as if sad the cranesbill
awaits the dew
…
my breath …
I ask the dandelion in my mind
“Do you know how one dies?”
Venelina, you may be pleased to know that fellow editor, Gerald, has chosen your ‘seagulls cross’ for the latest Icebox inbox, which you can now see published on our top page.
Thank you! I am very sorry for being so late to thank you! Wishing you a colorful October!
aging gracefully
she still expects a note
on Valentine’s Day
spring cleaning
I talk randomly
to the dust bunnies
crossing over the gutter
a spider is weaving a web intently
in the midsummer morning
not taking a rest
An interesting observation Yoshiharu.
1. Maybe line 1 and 2 can be revised to focus on the image that was observed.
over the gutter
a spider is weaving a web
*****************
2. Maybe the new line 1 can be revised to highlight the type or location of the “gutter.”
on a street gutter
a spider is weaving a web
******************
3. Line 3 is the tricky part. (what final thought/ experience to share?)
a. the midsummer morning / the hot morning sun /
b. a delicate/intricate bridge to its future
c. ???
4. I don’t think line 4 is needed
Thank you very much Gerald.
I revised my haiku.
a spider is wearing a web
on the irrigating a rice paddy —
midsummer morning
a silk spider spinning a web
just like building a lovely bridge
across the gutter
over the gutter in midsummer
a silk spider spinning a web —
just like building the bridge
near the shrine
over the gutter
a silk spider spinning a web
just like building the bridge
in the future
Black bird:
In the summer night
From the rooftop of the house
A bird is singing
Yellow as a sun-beam
Black as the wood burned by fire
Deep sounds of sweetness
The bird is in it self
song and body like a haiku
mirrored in my soul
North Sea:
Thundering North Sea
Silver sand swirls like snowflakes
Hurting eyes and skin
My soul flies with birds
Washed clean by sand, wind and salt
Purified and light
Goldfish
“Do you remember this place” I ask. We had stopped here many years ago when we travelled on this road. This road was not a highway then. And there was a small toddy shop here, at this place.
“Oh yes. And we had some weird fish fry and then you had an upset stomach. “
I open the menu card. It reads indian chinese continental cuisine. The restaurant is empty.
“The corona lockdown sir” the waiter says sheepishly.
Self isolation-
the aquarium goldfish
stares at me
Manoj, the final haiku in this haibun has been selected for inclusion by fellow editor, Gerald. The latest ‘from the Icebox inbox’ posting includes it on our top page.
Thank you Tito and to Gerald. Really appreciate it. Best
Newborn
A daughter is born yet again.. My paternal aunt cries . She wanted a son to be born after two daughters.Dad is all smiles. He says he is happy as the child is healthy. My mother looks tired but happy. My new born sister smiles at me and I fall in love with her. It’s my sixth birthday the next day and I am excited.
memories
I read about wormholes
yet again
overripe figs
a screech of starlings
squabbling over worms
.
rice paddy scarecrows
sporting lookout tree frogs—
slight shift of shoulders
.
delicate pink fringes
a field of cosmos
with skirts in full swirl
.
autumn berries
crab spider sentinels
lying in wait
.
weathered barn
a blush of virginia
creeping over rust
.
bruise-blue skyline
dashing back and forth
surf and sandpipers
a grey heron
walking magnificently —
flew away by metallic sound
I adapt my haiku.
A grey heron
going down a hill slowly —
flew away by window sound
A grey heron
going down magnificently —
flew away by a cracking noise
3 inbox submissions just received by email from John Parsons:
sheep’s trough cistern
a hoard of midges
swarms up
bird wings above
like my heart
miss a beat
purple loosestrife
stillness of a heron
in Autumn sun
after heavy rain
the scent of jasmine—
hunter’s moon
dark trees fly past
but a blue august moon
rides with me —
night train
breaking barriers
growing through concrete
the peepal
frozen lake
our differences
irreconcilable
chool carnival
I relive my childhood
on the Ferris wheel
summer noon
to the sound of cowbells
outside my home
Cloud from window
Teenage son on laptop
My childhood memory
No laptop
Play with cloud and sky
No tension
“Life”
Listen to breath
Birds flying
No Breath, Birds still flying