Haiku by Robert Witmer, Mona Bedi, and Vaishnavi Pusapati

summer
the millstone
grinding
the donkey

Robert Witmer (Japan)
Acorn, 2012

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The word “summer” serves as the kigo, or seasonal reference. With summer linked to heat and exhaustion, the donkey, laboring under the sun, embodies the season’s oppression. There is also a contrast between the carefree time of the season for many and the hardship of the donkey. The poem is in line with the haiku tradition of showcasing animals as mirrors for the human experience.

The line break after “grinding” sets the haiku up for suspense. On the literal level, the millstone grinds grain, powered by the donkey. Yet, the syntax suggests another possibility: the millstone is grinding “the donkey.” This ambiguity shifts the focus of agricultural labor to an existential meditation. The donkey is not only the driver of the millstone but also its victim, ground down by endless work. The brevity of the poem creates the opportunity for two interpretations in one phrase.

The opening word “summer” creates a pause much like a kireji (cutting word) in Japanese haiku. That initial fragment provides a sense of heat and the monotony in the donkey’s circling. The lack of punctuation allows the lines to blur a bit as if there is a heatwave. Also, the way the haiku is set to four lines to slow down the reading, instead of the usual three in English-language haiku, illustrates the trudging of the donkey.

The donkey itself evokes the burden of living and the servitude we all must endure. In this haiku, however, the animal is emblematic of exploitation and fatigue. The millstone, traditionally associated with providing food, here becomes an instrument of slavery or torture. Therefore, the poem shows a contrast between the cycle of food production and the cycle of suffering. In this sense, this haiku may have Buddhist or Hindu overtones—specifically, with impermanence (mujo) and suffering (dukkha).

Looking at the sound, the s hisses like the heat of summer, and the m is heavy, creating a sense of weight that links with the donkey’s toil. Additionally, “grinding” is an onomatopoeia that mimics the action of the millstone and the servitude of the donkey.

As a person concerned about animal welfare, this haiku is touching. It made me consider more deeply the amount of labor and forced suffering we inflict upon our fellow creatures. The slow pacing, sound, and pivot line all work well to convey the feelings and ideas the poet wanted us to consider.

the deep blue 
of my hometown sky
summer’s end

Mona Bedi (India)
Wales Haiku Journal, Summer 2025

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

Colors in haiku can add psychological, emotional, and sometimes spiritual dimensions. In this haiku, the deep blue could imply a kind of melancholy or a sense of calmness and mystery. Perhaps the poet’s hometown has significantly changed over the years, yet a certain nostalgia seems to remain. This resonates with the turning of the seasons as well. As summer ends, in certain parts of the world, there is a noticeable shift to the cooler air of autumn. Perhaps the end of summer also signifies that the poet is letting go of something and starting a new chapter in their life.

I appreciate how, even though this is a personal haiku, it transports readers into their own hometowns, acting as a kind of portal into the past and perhaps the future. There is a strong sense of place in this poem that connects us with the land, yet also with our family, friends, and the people we grew up with. A well-written haiku.

cloud hills—
between sips of tea
the smell of petrichor


Vaishnavi Pusapati (India)
Under the Bashō, March 13 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

A meditative verse, steeped in stillness, sensory richness, and inward calm with deeply evocative undertones. It makes me think of the times when I used to enjoy tea and pakoras during the rain in our village haveli. The main reason behind that joy was the smell of petrichor, which always captivated my senses and allowed me to thoroughly enjoy the scene.

‘Cloud hills’ could be either a kigo (seasonal reference) or a place intentionally chosen by the poet to preserve certain past memories or simply to enjoy a moment of peace with nature. I find it more surreal and dreamy when I imagine places like this—where one can witness the beauty of different seasonal changes all at once. I see clouds as dreams, and hills as passion and emotion—elements the observer is trying to connect with. The em dash in the first line makes the image feel more intimate and personal, hinting at a deeper emotional association with the place.

The second line, ‘between sips of tea,’ feels especially meditative and thought-provoking. It reminds me of a tea ceremony, where one is fully present and mindful, experiencing the ‘here and now.’ The sips seem to help the person unwind and appreciate the moment through all their senses. The use of the word ‘between’ invites readers to pause and take in the scene—whether that moment is brief or lingering. It reflects an aesthetic appreciation of drinking, where tea becomes more than a beverage—it becomes a profound experience for the body, senses, and mind.

The final line presents a beautiful blend: the aroma of tea merging with the smell of petrichor. It’s one of the most powerful combinations—evoking refreshed emotions and thoughts. It feels as though the poet is in perfect harmony with nature, immersed in a moment that is spiritual, nostalgic, and even a little mysterious. Both aromas—the tea and the petrichor—engage the sense of smell, which often requires deep attention and presence to truly notice.

Finally, the repeated ‘e’ sounds throughout the haiku add a soft rhythm, making it feel more musical and sensual.

“Wind and Sea” by HM Saffer

Haiku by Maurizio Brancaleoni, Kala Ramesh, and Sarah Mirabile-Blacker

small green leaves —
the ticket machine
is acting up


Maurizio Brancaleoni (Italy)
Trash Panda, Vol. 7, Summer Issue 2024

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer

I appreciate the message and humor in this haiku. On first read, I saw the small green leaves being stuck in the ticket machine, preventing it from working. Alternatively, the machine could be malfunctioning for other reasons. In terms of a visual comparison, this haiku reminds me that ticket machines have semiconductor chips that are very small. What happens when a ticket machine (that has become a normal part of life) stops working? That moment of humor and frustration comes through this haiku. We also don’t know what kind of ticket machine is being referred to in this haiku. I like that it’s left open for the reader.

Sometimes, I think certain technological interruptions in daily life can reap many benefits and different points of view. It can break habitual thought patterns and offer fresh perspectives on life. As Gururaj Ananda Yogi has said, “Life is not meant to be lived like a machine. Life is an art.” This haiku also brings to mind haiku about power outages and how a power outage can open up new perspectives and ways of living and being in the world. Parallel to this observation, I think that because the machine is not working in this haiku, the poet is able to notice Nature. I find there is beauty in that. In general, perhaps if more people spent less time with technology and less time on their phones, they could notice more beauty around them.

In my city, there are various machines along streets and bus stops, including parking ticket machines, that help generate revenue for the city budget. How much money do cities make per year in parking tickets alone? According to qz.com, “San Jose made $11.4 million through parking tickets in 2019, an amount that doesn’t include the fees that weren’t collected.”

In short, this is an interesting haiku that explores the various intersections between Nature, psychology, money, and technology in modern life.

cycling   the moon and i    in sync

Kala Ramesh (India)
Wales Haiku Journal: Summer 2025 edition

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku elegantly captures the interplay between nature and personal experience, linking the lunar cycle to the menstrual cycle. Even without an accompanying description, the connection between the average 29-day menstrual cycle and the lunar cycle remains clear. The term “cycling” conveys more than temporal alignment; it signals synchronized phases—waxing and waning, thickening and thinning—of both the moon’s surface and the womb’s lining. This suggests profound harmony between human biology and cosmic rhythms. “Cycling” carries layered meanings: endurance, patience, and transformation, whether physical or subtle, in both body and moon. Its repetitive nature reflects the universe’s order—growth and decline, life and death, beginnings and endings. These parallel the shared journeys of nature and humanity. Finally, the moon emerges as a symbol of life, fertility, love, rebirth, and transformation. It shares an intimate, almost invisible connection with the womb.

The monoku’s use of “i” in lowercase conveys humility and grace. It embraces the cyclical nature of both body and moon. The poet forges a unique bond, aligning the feminine essence of the moon and the self in harmony.

The word “sync” acts as a clever pivot. It implies both alignment and an inevitable pause—perhaps signaling transformation, rebirth, or menopause, where cycles break before renewing. This pause invites meditation, renewal, or a shift in life’s course. It offers a moment of rejuvenation after exhaustion.

The monoku’s spacing encourages reflection on each word, slowing the reader’s rush to judgment. This structure, combined with the lowercase “i,” underscores humility and invites the contemplation of the interconnected cycles of nature and self, unified in their feminine essence.

dusk —
riding tandem
with his shadow


Sarah Mirabile-Blacker (Switzerland)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku captures a fleeting yet intimate moment between self and shadow, set against the liminal time of dusk. “dusk” isn’t a conventional kigo (seasonal reference), but it functions evocatively. Dusk carries universal associations with transition and ending—themes rich with emotional and symbolic resonance. Although not tied directly to a season, it offers a subtle kigo-like atmosphere, hinting at cyclical closure or introspection.

The dash after “dusk” pauses the reader, allowing the scene to transition—between day and night, visibility and obscurity. The dash puts “dusk” into “solitude” before introducing the duo of the rider and his shadow. That separation allows the two elements—time and action—to resonate individually, then recombine through the act of juxtaposition. The dash is an approximation of kireji, the Japanese cut marker in a haiku.

“Riding tandem” suggests companionship and rhythm. To “ride tandem with his shadow” conveys both literal imagery—a cyclist lengthened by his dark double—and metaphorical resonance. The shadow is no longer a passive outline; it becomes an equal partner, keeping pace, inseparable yet independent. “his shadow” could also refer to the narrator riding alongside the shadow of a friend, husband, or family member.

Looking at the sound of the haiku, dusk closes with the hushed consonant cluster -sk, trailing off like something that is dimming. shadow ends in the long, fading vowel -ow, evoking dissolving, like a sound disappearing into the air. So, the word choices themselves suggest a diminishing, mirroring the passage into night. Also, the sharp sounds (bolded) in “riding,” “tandem,” “with,” “his,” and “shadow” provide a stark atmosphere to the poem.

This haiku displays a precise perception that opens into wider emotional and philosophical terrain. Through the use of kireji, the mood-infused “dusk,” and the economical but striking juxtaposition of rider and shadow, the poem evokes transience, identity, and companionship in a moment suspended between day and night.

Frontispiece to “Sharing an umbrella (Ai ai gasa)” by Izumi Kyōka, frontispiece illustration, woodblock print.

Haiku by Elliot Diamond, Neena Singh, and Jennifer Gurney

the first hole of a shakuhachi dawn 

Elliot Diamond (USA)
Modern Haiku 55.2, 2024

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku succeeds in seamlessly layering sound and imagery to create a spiritual atmosphere. It juxtaposes the shakuhachi—an ancient Japanese bamboo flute—with the unfolding of dawn. The “first hole” can be read both literally, as the finger-hole that allows the first note to emerge, and metaphorically, as an aperture through which the first light of day enters the world. It also could be a symbol of a threshold between silence and sound, darkness and light. The shakuhachi’s connection with Zen practice further shades the image with spiritual awakening: dawn not only as a time of day, but also as a symbol of enlightenment.

The haiku, being one line, creates a representation of the shakuhachi. It could have been written as three lines, such as “dawn/the first hole/of a shakuhachi.” However, I feel the haiku is more organic and interesting as one line.

The diction is minimal, yet the resonance is wide: the reader can hear the first note, feel the cool breeze of dawn, and perhaps see the bamboo hollowed into an instrument. In addition, the phrasing enjoyably blurs instrument and environment. What we’re left with is not just an instrument or a sunrise but a moment of initiation, where time seems to exhale through the flute.

Though there is no kigo or seasonal reference, the time is evident. There is also no kireji or marker for a break, though there can be a natural pause after “shakuhachi.”

Finally, the sound of the haiku works well with the letter “h” being the most prominent. The breathiness of the letter “h” in “hole and “shakuhachi” illustrates blowing into a flute.

Despite the minimalist aesthetic of this haiku, the poet leaves a lot for the reader to ponder and feel through inner vision.

summer solstice
the busker plays
a tune from home


Neena Singh (India)
2nd Prize, Japan Fair Haiku Contest 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

The haiku’s imagery, anchored by the summer solstice kigo, evokes solitude and introspection through a busker’s tune played from home. The solstice’s long daylight amplifies the sense of isolation, yet the music serves as a cathartic bridge to an unseen audience, blending self-fulfillment with a subtle yearning for connection. The summer solstice, with its prolonged daylight, casts a spotlight on the busker’s solitary performance, evoking and highlighting both isolation and self-awareness.  I see the poem as a catharsis and self-awareness where an artist thoroughly enjoys their talent without having an audience or the audience is unseen.

The haiku conveys the busker’s enjoyment of solitude, longing, or melancholy in the deepest way. The poem balances solitude and loneliness, suggesting the busker finds fulfillment in their music while possibly yearning for the connection typically found in public performance. If rooted in a Japanese context, the busker’s solitary tune might reflect a Zen-inspired embrace of the present moment, deepening the poem’s meditative quality. In any case, it is irrelevant to the person who may be in a meditative state of selflessness or enjoying being alone, only with what they enjoy the most. It also makes me wonder: does the poem suggest the busker imagines an audience, or is the music itself a bridge to an abstract sense of connection?
A “tune from home” could imply the busker is playing from within their home, possibly for an unseen audience. However, buskers traditionally perform in public spaces for passersby, so the shift to a private setting might be a deliberate contrast in the poem, symbolizing introspection or a lack of external validation.

Looking at the technical details, the lack of punctuation and the rhythmic ‘m’ sounds mirror the tune’s fluidity, creating a meditative tone that resonates with both the busker’s inner world and the listener’s sense of belonging.

the branches
of my family tree
together

Jennifer Gurney (USA)
Cold Moon Journal, 6/19/25

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate how this haiku offers at least a few different interpretations. After the first read, I saw many lives joined through her family heritage. This seems to be a relatively simple metaphor, but it can act as a portal into the details of many family members and their stories. After reading a second time, I saw the branches as fallen and now physically gathered together. This leads to an interesting metaphorical interpretation that perhaps the souls of her family ancestors could be together in a different dimension. After a third reading, I saw the poet viewing a historical family album and/or a historical document/book about her ancestors.

As a creative writing exercise, I recently wrote a letter to my first great-grandfather, who settled in the U.S. I tried my best to transport myself back in time and asked many questions about his life. In addition, my father shared historical records of our ancestors. This has deepened my understanding of our family tree and makes me realize how much has changed in a relatively short amount of time. All this being said, I appreciate how this haiku encourages us to study our genealogy and history to see what we can learn about our ancestors and ourselves.

Suzuki Harunobu (circa 1725-1770). Courtesan playing Shakuhachi. Page from: Ehon Seiro Bijin Awase (Picture Book of comparative beauties of teahouses).