Haiku by Tina Carlson

Haiku from Randall Davey Audubon Center & Sanctuary

(on the ground just above the pollinators garden)

I wander among
small continents of pale green:
Lichen maps on stone.

Sunflower husks nod
Towards purple suns of aster.
Late bees ravenous.

On shards of granite
mica shines mirrors, a glint.
Mornings, cooler now.

Prickly pear small as
my pinky, loosens its spines:
sharp sting in my palm.

(in orchard, on stone bench in front of teepee)

Dry grasses bent as
if a bed. I cannot smell
who may have slept here.

Jays raucous in a
fall breeze. My daughter sleeps far
away in the fog.

Dragonflies dive in
Chamisa’s gold. Few birds sing
near enough to see.

Blue spruce cone laden
from drought. Two men talk non-stop.
I yearn for quiet.

Teepee like a pyre.
Grasses, a dry bed. Stone bench:
momentary home.


These were written in a workshop last Saturday. I like them so much–blogged all of Tina’s.

New Haiku from brass bell

New issue of brass bell! A few of my favorites…

Read it all: http://brassbellhaiku.blogspot.com/

fairy tale
stuck in the castle
my niece’s imagination
    Hifsa Ashraf

fresh laundry
forgotten in the pocket
dyer’s madder
    Marta Chocilowska

unwrinkling my wrinkles
your hand on
my face
    Zee Zahava

empty beach
the wet track of a tortoise
filled with moonlight
    Adjei Agyei-Baah

Mesilla: Haibun by Miriam Sagan


An alcove in an adobe wall, filled with clay churches, right behind the real church on the plaza. Chickens cluck all day, and the rooster crows at will—no alarm clock he. The dog barks at any imagined trespass.
A bar band is playing “Papa was a rolling stone,” and I dance on the sidewalk. I’ve heard almost no live music in a year.
The lavender plant is full of bees.

white hyacinth,
church bells—the smell of spring
up from Mexico

You say I’m always happy here, no matter the season.

Christmas tree
still in the window—

To arrive at a border, to attempt to cross it, is to start suffering in a particular way-—well-known to my four grandparents who crossed an ocean of the imagination. Personally, I cannot discount any faith that helps.
On Sunday morning, mass is broadcast from the church and parishioners listen from the courtyard, sitting on the adobe walls. A woman walking a dog crosses herself.

a man kneels
in the street, facing
the priest’s voice

Haiku by Brad Bennett

grackle play
the iridescence
of solar panels

pond goslings…
a mom mimics
her toddler’s delight

the blank slate
of new snow…

winter solstice
a nuthatch turns
upside down

dripping icicles
a robin plucks
holly berries

Brad Bennett is an elementary school teacher who lives near Boston. He started writing haiku seriously about ten years ago and has published two books of haiku, a drop of pond, which won a 2016 Touchstone Award from the Haiku Foundation, and a turn in the river, published in 2019. He has taught haiku to children and adults in a variety of settings. He is very grateful for haiku in his life.

Some Spring Haiku by Kristen Lindquist

morning fog
my to-do list full
of question marks

circling back
to our conversation
broad-winged hawk

spring flooding
the river goes back
to its old ways

still-leafless trees…
pondering the motives
of crows

spring flood
pairs of ducks
sail past

March wind
on the bay whitecaps
become gulls

rainy day traffic
memories of the ocean
within us all

ice storm
the surprising number
of hollow trees

Kristen Lindquist is a writer and nature/birding guide who lives in Camden, Maine. She has been a member of the Broadmoor Haiku Collective for a year this month. She has published two full-length collections of free verse poetry. Her haiku chapbook It Always Comes Back was the winner of the 2020 Snapshot Press e-Chapbook Award and will be published in spring 2021. 

Kristen’s website and blog: https://www.kristenlindquist.com

These are from her blog–I’ll be following it!