Better Than Starbucks
Poetry and Fiction Journal
. . . if you love diversity and creative writing in any and every form, then you’re in the right place . . .
February 2021
Vol VI No I
Published quarterly:
February, May, August,
and November.
Haiku
with Kevin McLaughlin
No Man Steps in the Same River
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
​
​
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.
​
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
Yet once more I encourage all haiku writers to share their work, their insights into the nature of all things, with fellow poets and BTS readers.
For those interested in haiku, I recommend you cast back into the BTS archives and reference the September 2016 column. It provides a pretty thorough explanation of the basic format.
—Kevin Mclaughlin
Sarah Calvello of San Francisco, California is a welcome return contributor to BTS.
Funny what you remember
Chrysanthemums in water as perfume
Trees sway gently
(Note how Sarah fuses vision with the scent of the chrysanthemums.)
Not enough time
Worn, blue hot chocolate cup
Pearl white dogwoods are in bloom
​
What might have been
Years flow like water
Unkept garden
(Even an unkept garden can be a subject for haiku.)
Sarah Calvello
​
​
Carrie Ann Thunell lives in Olympia, Washington.
the butterfly joy
that bubbles up from within
an undammed river
this fenced-in garden
so full of birds and frogs—
the shelter of this sacred place
(Carrie Ann demonstrates that sacred places exist across the Earth’s surface. Each of us should have a place of wonder and serenity.)
in the absence of traffic
deafening birdsong
winds through the blossoming trees
Carrie Ann Thunell
Denise Shelton has planted herself in Pennsylvania’s Lehigh Valley where she’s writing and growing every day.
smoke and flames ascend
Our Lady of the Ashes
the world weeps with you
alfalfa pellets
circle canes with precision
our secret ceremony
First published in Written Tales.
(All sentient beings can join in this secret ceremony.)
shovel splits the soil
a Christmas tree still living
grows to glow again
First published in Haiku Hub.
Denise Shelton
​
​
Carlton Holte, born in Minnesota, grew up playing under bridges and in cornfields.
Serenading graves,
the mourning minstrel strums on
the sad heart’s guitar.
Look to the mountains.
They are east, laden with snow.
The river runs clear.
Haiku reminds us:
the good poem has no extras.
Say it fast, then quit.
(This is why a haiku’s essence is more precious than a conventional poem’s.)
Carlton Holte
Professor R.K. Singh of Dhanbad, India, has a Taoist’s appreciation of the Earth’s rhythm.
sky’s dark patches—
I live with earth's rhythm
liberation
(Being in harmony with nature is True Liberation.)
sunset—
mirror and smoke
muddy path
a long golden net
surges on the ocean tide—
fishing memories
removing her veil
the doctor holds his breath—
gentle touch
Professor R.K. Singh
Bill Dee Johnston of Hutchinson, Kansas, smiles at this benevolent garden party.
summer afternoon,
lady bugs, ants, and sweat bees
church garden party
sanctuary of
sunshine, shade, and gardens
visitors welcome
(Billy Dee too has a sanctuary, a querencia for all sentient beings.)
Bill Dee Johnston
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​
Sandy Brian Hager is a political economist based in London, England.
Inevitable
Neuroscience tells us that
Our brains are shrinking
(This striking poem unveils neurological reality . . . for each of us.)
Memories make marks
Like faint water rings from mugs
Left atop notebooks
Headless garter snake
Rots on summer trail of sand
Not just ticks, that lurk
Sandy Brian Hager
Goran Gatalica, of Virvitica, Croatia, holds degrees in both Physics and Chemistry . . . powerful allies for a haikuist.
thinning of the forest —
windstorms show me
their strong teeth
climate changes —
the emerald ash borer eats
tree from the inside out
(Master of its environment, the emerald ash borer.)
sunrise —
the pale pink translucence
of jackrabbit ears
warm night —
countless fireflies blink
across our yard
deep forest —
a twinkling galaxy
of fireflies
scattered waves —
the capacity
of my solitude
Goran Gatalica
​
Rachel Zempel is a young poet from Minnesota who had her first poem published in third grade. She works as a 911 dispatcher.
rising ball of fire
casting golden sunbeams on
a deserted town
hummingbirds flutter
sweet nectar discovery
iridescent blur
First published in Three Line Poetry.
soft pink peonies
romanticizing the park
sweet, citrus fragrance
Rachel Zempel
Read haiku slowly, mindfully. And remember, even a lotus blossom is rooted in the mud. The Holy Grail is reflected in every authentic haiku.
Kevin McLaughlin
Haiku Archive
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