Haiku is purest when written in a quiescent state. Haiku is not a poetry of passion, excitement, high emotion, or revolutionary zeal. Haiku enables the poet to encounter their true nature in a serene state by perceiving an image as ‘the-thing-in-itself.’ Quoted in Tai Chi Ch’uan and Meditation (Master Da Liu, Shocken Books), “Lao Tzu says all things appear multitudinous and varied, but eventually they all return to their common root. The state of quiescence is called the fulfillment of life.” Taoism postulates the well-known yin and yang. The haikuist joins the two disparate elements effortlessly.

Golden orb weaver,

Perfectly still in its web,

In the mangrove swamp.

Kevin McLaughlin

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TM (pen name) has written a verse entirely consistent with that serene, quiescent state.

New nests in the trees,

Old torches sure to be passed.

Wind sighs its regrets.

(Relax into the spirit of those new nests, so artfully created.)

TM

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M. T. Williams is currently living among the corn with his wife and stepdaughter and way too many cats. (Impossible to have too many cats and dogs.)

birds fall down upon

weighted wings they choose to fall

blindly into night

M. T. Williams

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Amy Van Duzer is a lifelong writer and an MFA candidate at Mt. Saint Mary’s College in Los Angeles.

In winter the sun,

A distant star,

Still shines.

(This has a subtle feeling of reverence for the source of our planet's life force.)

Amy Van Duzer

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Joan Fingon of Ventura, California, likes to write, and to read poetry to her cat in her back garden and enjoys screen time with her three grandsons.

sitting on the bench

wisteria winds on wood

purple waterfall

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(How remarkable . . . a quiet vision of a purple waterfall.)

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in the bird feeder

sudden summer storm

hailstone crescendo

Joan Fingon

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Shai Afsai lives in Rhode Island, a haven for sunsets and beavers.

sunset —

red-haired beauty

readying for sleep

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(May each early evening have this spirit.)

pond beavers flood

my favorite hiking trail —

their right, I suppose

Shai Afsai

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Taofeek Ayeyemi is a Nigerian lawyer who has been published in numerous publications, including Frogpond and Modern Haiku.

sitting in the sun —

the temple bell tossed

by a stray bird

First published in Akitsu Quarterly.

strumming violin . . .

the garden sweeper

adds to the melody

First published in Cold Moon Journal.

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(A layer of sounds. All sounds become One in this haiku.)

a second look

at the rainwater . . .

dusty roof

Taofeek Ayeyemi

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Obinna Chilekezi is a Nigerian writer who introduces an appealing mystical element into his haiku.

I plucked this wild rose

Mystical as she gets into my skin

And I am left with scar

(A scar to be treasured.)

Obinna Chilekezi

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Mona Bedi from India honors tradition and spirituality in her beautiful work.

harvest festival

we dance to the music

of cowbells

cuckoos call

anniversary bed tea

in silence

zero gravity

the silence around

meditation

(Experienced meditators recognize this zero-gravity stillness Bedi describes. But few have ever made the connection with zero-gravity.)

Mona Bedi

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Ernesto P. Santiago, born in the Philippines, now resides in Greece. He writes that he is too small for his ego. Such a fascinating self-insight.

finally touching

my father’s ashes

tumble in the wind

a catharsis?

in the warmth of sunlight

wet butterfly

(So clean. Butterfly blesses Mr. Santiago.)

Ernesto P. Santiago

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Gerald Friedman grew up in Cleveland’s suburbs and now teaches physics at Santa Fe Community College in New Mexico. A collaborative synthesis is developing between physicists and haiku. Such people see deeply into the world’s components.

mayfly in the house

released to light and air

of the day

(Joy for a mayfly.)

sunflower field

a gray moth lands on one

for a rest

(Such an affinity for feeling rather than intellection. This is poetry!)

dry June spadeful

a spadefoot toad falls out

not even woken

(Plop! This haiku resonates throughout time.)

garden rock glitters

sun was brighter

on its mountain

Gerald Friedman

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Kelley Jean White is a pediatrician who has worked in inner city Philadelphia and rural New Hampshire.

first snow

the withered field

more withered

this shortest night

you wake me

fireflies

(We would all like to view White’s fireflies.)

Kelley Jean White