Submissions 8 – NEW ONES HERE!

Anyone who is not an Icebox contributor, who wishes to submit an English haiku, haiqua, senryu, tanka, or (short) haibun or renga, can do so by offering it as a comment on this page. Just type it into a fresh reply box (scroll down to the very bottom of this page) and then click ‘submit’. Please do not submit on someone else’s comment, as it gets confusing. Please submit up to 6 haiku max. 4 times/year if possible in a single comment. An editor might later decide to move your submission onto the top page in our ‘from the Icebox inbox’ posting series. We will try to tell you when we do so, by commenting on your comment. Thank you for sharing here.

Click on the word ICEBOX on the hailstones photo top panel to return to the top page.

37 responses to “Submissions 8 – NEW ONES HERE!

  1. last sliver of sunlight
    gray geese still honking, grazing
    on dark earth

    cotton candy sky
    treats my evening eye
    — train window

    shadows of
    barren vineyards
    at sunset—
    cold moon

    a small boy cries
    for Christmas chocolates
    he cannot have —
    cold foggy day

  2. Hi, I don’t know if I have done it correctly. If not, my apologies. Yesterday I tried to write my haikus but something must have gone wrong. Thank you very much.

    just dawns –
    behind the mount’s shade
    the sky so clear

    sí, amanece,
    tras la sombra del monte
    se aclara el cielo

    walking at dawn –
    slightly wet
    the high grass

    camino al alba,
    ligeramente húmedas
    las hierbas altas

    singing the lark –
    run the road
    clouds’ shades

    canta una alondra,
    recorren el camino
    sombras de nubes

    just walking –
    close to the dog without owner
    among the vineyards

    sólo caminar,
    junto al perro sin dueño
    entre las viñas

    arises from the fog
    and disappears in it –
    the pilgrim

    surge en la niebla
    y en ella se deshace,
    el peregrino

    Thank you very much again.

  3. (from K. Ramesh, just in…..)

    Dear Tito,

    Thank you for the invite. I have these haiku for your consideration.

    long trail ..
    a sense of the forest
    grows in me

    misty morning…
    I write a haiku
    on the car’s windshield

    jasmine scent…
    morning sun warms
    the bellies of storks

  4. (from John Parsons, just in…..)

    winter greenhouse
    rows of flowerpots
    fill with webs

    winter greenhouse …
    condensation crisscrossed
    by banded snails

    child leaves a small stone
    on a scallop shell before
    the turning tide

    No Fishing sign
    a heron’s eye
    catches mine

    hunched shapes
    of pigeons shrug off
    joyful morning flight

  5. Under my high legged sofa is an old brown suitcase with remnants from my dear deceased parents. It has been sitting there since my sister and I cleared out our childhood home nine years ago. Like a constant reminder, it has been on our “to do” list since: sorting out diaries, letters from relatives and papers from our father’s work as professor. But each time my sister visited, we postponed it as just too much – just now – when the sun was shining or a museum or film lured us to less heartbreaking activities. We know how fast we packed that heavy old thing! Years went by and last May my little sister became ill with cancer and died after just one month. So short a time to say all the unsaid things from a long life! Now I am the sole matriarch and the suitcase has been shouting at me to be opened. To my surprise my father wrote drafts of his correspondence.

    The paper crackles
    Thin between my fingertips
    Letters from beloved

    Can’t see this clearly
    The tears of past remembrance
    I hear his deep voice

    His words from the past
    To me who is his daughter
    Could I just write back…

    • Ulla, the haibun and first haiku here have been selected and commented on in Sosui’s new “Icebox inbox – 52” post.

    • Several years ago, I re-started making pottery after a 30+ year hiatus. The first piece I made was a smallish bowl which I used every day: for salad, dipping sauces, etc. and I even drank sake from it. One day I was washing it and it slipped from my hand and broke into three pieces. Those pieces now can only hold memories. My Japanese friends say the haiku has wabi-sabi.

      • Please put this comment at t
        he foot of the new Icebox inbox posting, where it will have relevance. Thanks for doing what Nobuyuki suggested.

  6. Three haiku, just in, from UK-based Hailstone poet, Kamome:

    Scent of detergent
    In a narrow alleyway –
    The passer-by’s smile.

    Crushed red admiral:
    The animation of life
    In its breeze-blown wings.

    Crooner’s recording
    From a promenade bandstand
    Vies with wind and waves.

  7. history walk
    the kings and queens
    share their secrets

    missing dad
    I listen to his
    favourite song

    ancestral house
    the old tree and I
    share our memories

    late night
    I look out for the road
    back home

    • Mira, the third haiku here has been selected and commented on in Sosui’s new “Icebox inbox – 52” post. Forgive me if I asked before, but what is your real name and where do you reside? Shall we credit that or will you just be ‘Mira’?

  8. Pingback: Haiku, Haibun, Book News, Mythology and More | Sydney In Osaka

  9. The songbirds are back—
    The young ones have already
    learned the ancient tunes

    Deep in the pantry—
    The last jar of last summer’s
    jam awaits its fate

    Cherries in full bloom.
    Petals falling one by one.
    No time to wither.
    Feelings have flittered away.
    Your empty chair reminds me.

  10. before the storm —
    scent of jasmine
    infuses humidity

    mesmerizing —
    watching reeds between
    water and cedar knees

    4:31 pm
    half moon in the sky
    my dog sniffing a tree

    watching the hair
    in my tea cup
    while I drink —
    buddha’s garden

    january mourning
    hawk’s nest and
    tree trimmers
    gone

  11. This, just in from John Parsons in U.K.:

    before trees leaf
    wood anemones innocent
    white dazzle

    Unkempt hazel hedges explode beside girths of ancient oaks,
    where even the maiden birches are beset with deep rutted eyes
    and mouths, bruised by sliding light.
    Here on the leaning stile, alone once more, I have time to join
    their presence in space and to allow the wind that searches
    their branches to urge me to feel my face in that same green grasp
    of space, they all know as one.
    Even as I write ,the fringe of shade sinks and rises in the hollows
    of the meadow, with the eternal motion of the sun..

    avenue of beeches
    engraved lovers names
    mere shadows

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