The 6th Century B.C.E. Greek philosopher Heraclitus wrote, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” This understanding of impermanence, the mutability of physics, and of the evanescent nature of reality has been the underlying motivation for many generations of haikuists. Things change, always. But a haiku can freeze and immortalize an image.

Scholars believe haiku began in response to the change of seasons. Many collections and journals, including the four volume R. H. Blyth series, are sorted by season.

A haiku can reveal the thing-in-itself. The essence never changes.

Molecules alter,

As each moment passes by:

Lanterns float downstream.

Kevin McLaughlin

Douglas J. Lanzo of Chevy Chase, Maryland, has published poetry in over 20 literary journals, including Frogpond. Significantly, two of Mr. Lanzo’s haiku influences are Matsuo Basho and American Richard Wright.

cheetah stalking prey

lithely bounds in hot pursuit

one lunge ends the chase

dazzling Northern Lights

ionized sun particles

charging the night sky

thirsty summer bat

skims a pond with open mouth

refueling mid-air

(Captures a scintillating, authentic image.)

supernova eye

forged from billions of star years

is gone in a blink

(This is a powerful reminder of impermanence.)

Douglas J. Lanzo

Jessica Wheeler lives on the southern shore of Lake Erie in Eastlake, Ohio. She practices mindfulness and writes without judgment.

tilting gently

either way —

some kind of hawk

craving

the scent of green —

April snow

(Ah! The change of the seasons.)

he asks

a dangerous question —

patches of clover

Jessica Wheeler

Mathew Wenham is currently the head of Senior English at a high school in Melbourne, Australia.

The trunk is silent

beneath the leaves’

endless chatter

Blue morning sky —

frost on a pig’s

mud-caked back

(Mathew Wenham’s mud-caked pig is more important than Shelley’s Skylark.)

Children play war games

in a pretty park

built on a dump

Barefoot child

hugs an old dog —

blue toes

Mathew Wenham

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Manoj Sharma lives in Kathmandu, Nepal. He has been published in Frogpond.

February wind . . .

on the high tension wire

a pigeon’s courtship

winter morning . . .

the sound of a clock tower

refreshing

gazing at . . .

the half open eyes

of Buddha

(The reader easily visualizes Mr. Sharma in deep meditation with Shakyamuni.)

busy street —

a beggar arrives

with his artificial limb

Manoj Sharma

Armando Quiros has given much evidence that his third eye views the world as a haiku. I agree with him.

a leaf falls in spring

the rivulets open wide

words flow narrowly

Armando Quiros

Stefanie Winton resides beneath the south Seattle cherry blossom blooms.

Arroyo Willow,

nothing feels real anymore,

the cold blue remains.

Dandelion dust,

everything beautiful dies.

We are not immune.

(Untouched by self-consuming emotion, Stefanie calmly views impermanence.)

Stefanie Winton

Kenneth Lynn Anderson of Decatur, Georgia, is a novelist.

          What happy music!

When the dogs eat, their tags clink

          the ceramic bowls.

One

by one —like a flock

of geese— the cherry petals light

on the pool.

Yellow leaves falling

toward the goldfish meeting them

in the lake’s mirror.

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A branch of dogwood

blossoms— young girls dressed in white

on the road to spring.

(The dogwood blossoms and the girls become one entity. Beautiful mindfulness of inter-being.)

Kenneth Lynn Anderson

The poems of Dennis Maulsby, of Ames, Iowa, have appeared in numerous journals and have also been featured on public radio.

Dawn diamonds the lake.

Dog and I jog paw-soft paths,

legs in two-four time.

First published in Mused Magazine.

Crows wing-roll through smoke.

Across a field of parched grass

red-hoofed fire gallops.

First published in Lyrical Iowa anthology.

(May those crows wing-roll for centuries.)

Dennis Maulsby