September 2020
Vol V No V
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published quarterly beginning February 2021
Haiku
with Kevin McLaughlin
Beware the Ghost Cave
The chief quality of the haiku poet is mindfulness. Most everyone reading this column will have heard the injunction to live in the moment. It is extremely difficult to accomplish. Daydreaming is very pleasant, and in so doing, you can disappear down a Ghost Cave for hours, time during which you do not fully exist. How soothing it is to replay events in our mind, shifting around the actual events to provide more felicitous outcomes that could have been. When you are distracted or in a Ghost Cave, you are unlikely to write a haiku of any value.
The other noteworthy quality is an understanding of impermanence. The world, the universe, is driven by impermanence. Each moment brings changes on a moment by moment basis, passing too swiftly to be noticed. All entities and systems conform to the Second Law of Thermodynamics, as any haikuist will soon discover.
Golden orb weaver,
Perfectly still in its web,
In the mangrove swamp.
Kevin McLaughlin
​
Diana L. Frybarger of Knoxville, Tennessee, has composed a set of linked verse that can be appreciated both individually and as a chain with a common image.
Hummingbirds staggering
to and fro — sweetness
at the lilac festival
Hummers repenting
if only the lame and blind
could touch the hem . . .
​
Hummers at the drawing board —
magnificent ensembles
for only the sweet
Hummingbirds nesting
on humongous tulips —
Holland’s elitist!
Hummingbirds flocking
to a tulip extravaganza —
black and white excluded.
tiny hummingbird
transforming basic mindset —
justice for the oppressed
(This is renso, an association of ideas with the hummingbird image nuanced in each of the haiku.)
Diana L. Frybarger
​
Carol Barrett, from Oregon, holds doctoral degrees in both clinical psychology and creative writing. Her books include Calling in the Bones, which won the Snyder Prize from Ashland Poetry Press. Her haiku have a delightful theme that, like Ms. Frybarger’s haiku, can be enjoyed separately or read as linked.
Calico paws raised,
She finagles tenderness.
Now a new trick: watch!
Cat jumps on suitcase.
Travel delayed. Belly rubbed.
I buy a cat tote.
Faculty meeting—
Webcam set. Across my face
Her wide tail swishes.
​
A circle of light
For naps. A drippy faucet
To sip. Paradise!
(Note that throughout her set, she employs deft punctuation.)
A bevy of quail
Scurrying past her crouch, saved
By kamikaze spider.
She steps on my chest,
Launches a buttery purr.
Eyes plead: sushi please.
(Ms. Barrett understands cat nature. Not many do.)
Carol Barrett
Ingrid Bruck, from Pequa, Pennsylvania, has recently been published in Failed Haiku and Halcyon Days. Her first chapbook, Finding Stella Maris, was released this year. Even in a form as slender as haiku, Ms. Bruck successfully employs an impressive economy of syllables.
acorns
groove and beat
my drum house
plink plunk plunk
falling all day
poplar leaves
tall pine
a squirrel
runs up the sky
(And from the sky to far flung galaxies . . .)
drumroll
rumble marches forward
raindrops tapping leaves
Ingrid Bruck
James B. Nicola of New York City sagely writes, “Americans tend to adopt a style, form, or genre, and then make it their own.” Brilliant observation! He has been published in many journals such as Antioch, Southwest, and Atlanta Reviews. He won two Willow Review awards.
clothes weep in the dryer
lint tears I (with love) remove
restored, slightly less
unkissed cheek at hand
budding leafless early May
torture everywhere
only in this heat wave
can I think of you
and cool down
sudden summer rains
trap, surprise, refresh, cool, dry—
what a balm for minds!
rising eastern star
late-night glimmer’s fresh face, yum
firmament, swallowed
(This is an artful arrangement of words that conveys a fresh, insightful take on the eastern star.)
heaven rolls and falls
blue skies whitened, gray and wet
turn earth green then brown
James B. Nicola
​
​
Avery F. Thompson has a poetic vision, and a range, that has settled in the haiku format. That shiny stag beetle can only be seen by poets who look deeply into the nature of things.
Shiny stag beetle—
Pointy pearly tiny lance
Claimed by his last joust
A ripe brown plantain
Melting on the countertop . . .
Forlorn gate of hell
(Magnificent juxtaposition. Countertop forms an effective cutting word.)
Time with Mom today
And also mom’s father—
Peering, the hourglass
Sleeping on roadside,
The furry thief distended
With rigor mortis
Rotund gentleman—
Squishy meows reek of an
Unwanted diet
Avery F. Thompson
​
Rachel Zempel is a 911 dispatcher from Minnesota. She has been published in numerous journals and reviews. Her “funneling water” haiku could be used as an example of how to write a haiku; it contains the most critical of elements and has an unusual specificity — this is not just a rock in the third line, it is a basalt rock.
gold, scarlet, and orange
pirouetting from the trees
Autumn foliage
First published in Three Line Poetry.
funneling water
a deep cerulean blue
over basalt rock
First published in 50 Haikus.
percolating grounds
seep through coffeehouse chatter
Sunday smatterings
Rachel Zempel
​
Angela Davidson has produced a haiku which perceives one drop of water in an infinite ocean. William Blake perceived eternity in a grain of sand. Ms. Davidson’s vision is just as insightful; she also glimpses eternity, but in a drop of water.
Full moon in blue sky
Squirrel scurries along fence
Morning sun rises
One drop of water
In an infinite ocean
Waves swell out to sea
Angela Davidson
​
Joseph Davidson has removed many of the impediments that would block spiritual advancement. His silent birds attest to an inner monastery that has learned to reside peacefully in the world of red dust.
Childish heart laughing
Eyes embracing mystery
Alive in moment
​
Thick humidity
Silent birds on slate gray morn
Still grass awaits rain.
Misty morning moon
Ebbing into horizon
Night’s pyre burns in East
Joseph Davidson
Tracy Davidson lives in England and is not directly related to the two preceding haikuists. Her “turning tide” is the rhythm of all existence. And this tide connects the poet with all the whales of the oceans.
solar eclipse
your halo
slips a little
Honorable mention, Haiku Poets of Northern California.
my footprint fades
with the turning tide
hint of whale song
Honorable mention, Robert Spiess Memorial Haiku Awards.
Perseids . . .
the shower
big enough for both of us
First published in A Hundred Gourds.
Tracy Davidson
​
​
Kiersta Recktenwald, born in New England, was raised in Saudi Arabia, China, and Japan, educated in Japan and at Colby College. Kiersta has an extensive background in philosophy, religion, and psychology.
red-eye night flight
gold-bright flame-white stars watch
silver clouds streaming
night’s kindness sparkles
joy engenders gendering
hope plays peek-a-byes
(Night’s kindness is, yes, a joy and a time to peer between the veil that separates the natural from the supernatural.)
kind faces burnished
laughter poised with dancing
languishing solo
in closed steamed windows
oval scenes light fervent dreams
ridden through slowly
water-born tumblings
sea-woven wordless missives
straw anchors to sand
(This poem has a delightful rhythm, an unusual quality in 5-7-5 form.)
your eyelids flutter
would for this moment one still
be seeking enlightenment
Kiersta Recktenwald
​
​
Deborah P Kolodji is a native Californian who loves botanical gardens and beaches . . . great territory for a haiku poet. Her first book of haiku/senryu, highway of sleeping towns, won a Touchstone award from the Haiku Foundation.
the beach
emptier and emptier
moonless night
First published in the San Gabriel Poetry Journal.
bathroom lights
my illness reflected
in the mirror
two cups of tea
by the saucer magnolia
wind chimes
First published in Miju Poetry & Politics.
mackerel sky
shining days between
the bad
(Mackerel sky . . . a sublime image.)
Deborah P Kolodji
​
​
Ethan McGuire is a healthcare information technology professional from the beautiful beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. He is a proud member of the West Florida Literary Federation.
Wrinkling mirror;
grass, dirt, and sky reflected.
I pray to God here.
Tree blossoms, heat breeze,
falling leaves, white water dreams:
seasons never fail.
(A Classical haiku that contains all other Classical haikus. A masterwork!)
Dilapidated
oak, full of tears, splinters, holes.
If only you talked.
Ethan McGuire
​
​
The best haiku, even if they don’t conform to the classical style, represent an impermanent moment of intense perception.
Kevin McLaughlin
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
Haiku Archive
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