Category: Haiku

Haiku by Michael Dylan Welch, Elliot Diamond, and Joshua St. Claire

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

letting the moon
into your lung
the bullet hole

by Michael Dylan Welch (USA)
2026 Editor’s Choice Confluence Award

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

When I read the opening line, letting the moon, I paused and tried to consider the different possibilities contained in this multifaceted phrase. Letting suggests an intentional act, something allowed to happen rather than something forced. The moon here can be read both literally and metaphorically. Why let the moon in? Is it an act of surrender, acceptance, exhaustion, or simply an unconscious response to something beyond one’s control? The line leaves these possibilities open. The moon also carries a long history of association with solitude, longing, beauty, silence, and the inner self. Yet the poet does not tell us what kind of moon it is. Is it full, half, waxing, waning, eclipsed, or barely visible? This uncertainty adds to the poem’s mystery and allows the reader to bring their own moon into the scene.

Then comes the striking second line, into your lung. The movement from moon to lung creates an unexpected connection between the external world and the body. The moon is no longer simply something seen in the night sky—it somehow enters the body. The line can suggest breathing, inhalation, or the absorption of a scene through the senses. I also read the lung metaphorically, as a place where something is taken deeply inside, retained, and perhaps left unspoken. What enters the lung is not necessarily expressed through words. It may remain suspended in silence.

The final line, the bullet hole, radically changes my understanding of the first two lines. Suddenly, the moon may be visible through a bullet hole, perhaps in a wall, a door, a window, or some other structure marked by violence. At the same time, it may suggest a person being shot in the chest, with the bullet piercing the lung. I find myself visualizing a war scene where the bullet has left a hole in the body, creating a haunting opening through which moonlight seems to enter. The image brings together violence, death, and the quiet beauty of the moon in a deeply unsettling way. The hole could even frame the moon, creating an unsettling juxtaposition between beauty and destruction. The reader is left wondering where the bullet was fired, what it struck, and what happened before this moment.

This is where I find the haiku particularly powerful. The poet does not explain the violence or resolve the image. Instead, the three lines allow the moon, the lung, and the bullet hole to exist together in a space of silence and uncertainty. The juxtaposition preserves yūgen, leaving enough mystery for the reader to wander through different emotional and visual interpretations.

There is also an interesting sonic quality in the poem. The repeated long oo sound in moon and your, followed by the harder sounds in lung and bullet, creates a subtle movement from softness to impact. The closing hole returns us to the open vowel sound, leaving the poem with an almost hollow resonance. Rather than directly expressing sadness or remorse, these sounds may contribute to the poem’s quiet, lingering sense of grief and aftermath.

last frost–
the mailbox lid
comes free

by Elliot Diamond (USA)
Honorable Mention, Robert Spiess Memorial Contest 2026

Brad Bennett wrote the commentary below, which was printed in the recent Modern Haiku Journal, Summer 2026:

By using a traditional kigo, this poet is participating in a centuries-old haiku community conversation and exploration of the natural, cultural, and emotional meanings of “last frost.” It’s a kigo of transition, winter into spring. The poet delightfully juxtaposes that last frost with a mailbox lid coming free. They could have used “falls off.” That would imply that the mailbox has broken, leading to feelings of frustration—now it’s gotta be fixed. “Comes free” is a much more exciting and hopeful way to end this haiku and even, dare I say, gives the mailbox lid some agency. The lid has chosen to free itself. This feels like an act of hope and freedom. And the mailbox in this haiku has great metaphoric potential. We no longer need to hide ourselves inside a metal box. We are free from the constraints of winter.

Additional commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

To add to Brad Bennett’s great commentary, I would like to mention the punctuation, sound, and pacing of this haiku. The em dash in the first line not only gives the reader time to pause and feel first frost, but it also provides a sense of finality to the haiku. The “o” sounds in each line make “comes free” feel tangible and reinforce the haiku’s imagery. Finally, the short line/longer line/short line format excellently approximates the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm. The brevity of the haiku (7 words total) corresponds well with haiku tradition, as most traditional haiku are written in 6-9 words or characters. This haiku has a lovely aesthetic and feel. It’s easy to see why this placed in the Robert Spiess Memorial Contest 2026.

scintillating scotoma
a glimpse
beyond the wall

Joshua St. Claire (USA)

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

An intriguing haiku. If the eyes are, indeed, the windows of the soul, here we have a haiku that involves vision and the medical diagnosis of a scintillating scotoma.  

An online search reveals that a scintillating scotoma is a type of visual abnormality, typically a blind spot that often appears jagged or wavy. It can result in light or darkness due to a disruption of electrical signals. People can experience this when they have a migraine with aura, but scintillating scotomas usually don’t last long.

In terms of human anatomy, the retina is a layer at the back of the eye that converts light into electrical signals. The optic nerve sends those signals to the brain. A scotoma is often a spot on the retina where the nerves don’t work and therefore can’t send signals to the brain, resulting in a visual impairment or blind spot. Unsurprisingly, the word scotoma is the Greek word for darkness. We also don’t know what wall is being referred to in this haiku, which gives room for readers to imagine different scenarios. There is also the simultaneous possibility of a metaphorical wall, or an internal, mental, or imaginary wall that is being referred to in this haiku, which inspires the question: how do our internal thought processes, beliefs, or mental programs affect the way we visually see the world? What walls are created by thoughts we attach to? Do we sometimes blindly believe a thought without questioning it?

In short, this is an intriguing haiku that sheds light on the anatomy of vision. It gives us a glimpse of what it’s like to live with a visual impairment. Clear vision is a gift that many people seem to take for granted. This haiku also perhaps gives us a glimpse into the poet’s soul or someone else’s soul. An important and interesting haiku.

Sources: 

https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/scintillate

https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/24687-scotoma

Woodblock print by Bertha Lum

Haiku by Martina Matijević, Anthony Lusardi, and Thomas L. Vaultonburg

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

her suitcase
on the stair —
wilted sakura

by Martina Matijević (Croatia) 

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

A striking haiku that has a good balance of imagery and mystery (yugen). We don’t know who the female is in this haiku. We also don’t know if she is leaving or arriving. And where is she leaving or arriving at?  The imagery of a wilted sakura (cherry blossom) makes me think the female in this haiku is leaving; however, as the word “wilted” seems to point to the end of the sakura‘s life, the female could very well be the poet’s grandmother. I especially appreciate the image of her suitcase, as it leads my mind to wonder where she has traveled from or imagine where she is going. She may have traveled quite some distance, and this shows she has a great interest in the poet or whoever she is visiting.

The sakura festivals (cherry blossom viewing) in Japan are quite popular, as the cherry blossoms show a brief moment of vivid color and beauty, but their impermanence is what is believed to make them even more beautiful.  Still, the cherry blossoms always return, so it is both an annual tradition and has a long history in Japan. In the end, are we not all visitors here? Are our souls also on a long journey? Will we be reincarnated like the cherry blossoms and return once again after physical death?

A beautiful haiku that leads us to contemplate travel, impermanence, the importance of place, relationships, and ultimately, the potential of reincarnation and the journey of the soul. A powerful haiku.

november rainfall—
dad cooks dinner
for the first time

by Anthony Lusardi (USA)
published in Modern Haiku, issue #57.2, 2026

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

“november rainfall” shows the seasonal reference (kigo), but November also carries a specific emotional tone. Late autumn is often associated with melancholy and/or transitions. In addition, November rain creates an atmosphere of grayness and quietude.

This somber feel at the beginning of the haiku is contrasted and compared in the last two lines. The poet’s dad cooking for the first time could be either a joyous or sad moment. The haiku never states why this is his first time cooking, but it could be due to an illness in the family, a divorce, the mother’s absence, or other reasons unknown.

The use of punctuation (as an approximation of kireji) allows us to pause and imagine the rain and all its sounds. The sound of the rain is similar to the crackle of oil in a cooking pan.

The haiku’s compression adds to its ambiguity. With nine words total, this poem is the usual length of a classical haiku in Japanese (in literal English translations).

When I read this haiku aloud, the letter “r” sticks out the most. In my opinion, it provides the haiku with a sense of heaviness or weight. Also, the letters “m” and “n” interchange, creating a musical quality.

Overall, I enjoy the mystery of this haiku and how it allows readers to uncover different emotions connected to themselves and their family history.

wind through bamboo—
I too
am hollow

by Thomas L. Vaultonburg (USA)
published in The Heron’s Nest, March 2026

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

I find this haiku intriguing in its simplicity. The opening line immediately creates a vivid scene, while the em dash invites us to pause and wonder about the wind: does the wind pass through the bamboo? Does it create a rhythmic sound? Does it pass silently? Is it moving through a single bamboo plant, a group of bamboo, or an entire bamboo grove? Does it affect the person observing it? All these questions arise when we read the first line and pause at the em dash. The short second line shifts the poem from the external world to the speaker’s inner state. The word ‘too’ seems to connect the person with the bamboo, suggesting that, like the hollow bamboo, the person also feels empty.

The wind can also be read as a metaphor for time or difficult forces that pass through us and leave their mark. I particularly like the sound pattern of ‘through’, ‘bamboo’, and ‘too’. The recurring ‘oo’ sound creates a lingering, resonant quality that reinforces the feeling of emptiness and solitude, while the softer ‘m’ and ‘w’ sounds add to the poem’s quiet, melancholic mood. Together, these sounds create an atmosphere of sadness, solitude, and quiet introspection.

What begins as a simple image of wind through bamboo ultimately becomes a reflection on loneliness and the human condition. The simplicity of the language leaves much unsaid, allowing the reader to enter that silence and complete the meaning for themselves.


Sumi-e painting by yupanqui87

Haiku by Kavita Ratna, Quamrul Hassan, and Mikō

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

mountain peaks
inside my shoe
a pebble

by Kavita Ratna (India)
published in Cold Moon Journal, August 2024

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The opening image, mountain peaks, presents a vast and expansive landscape, suggesting a range of mountains viewed together rather than a single peak. It also leaves the exact nature of the mountains open to interpretation—whether they are high, steep, snow-capped, distant, or being viewed from the summit. The second image, inside my shoe, creates a striking shift in perspective. The vastness of the mountain range is suddenly replaced by something intimate, immediate, and almost unnoticed.

A pebble, once an insignificant fragment of the mountain landscape, becomes a source of discomfort when it enters the narrator’s shoe. In this sense, this haiku may suggest that even something small can become significant when it is close to us.

The pebble can be read metaphorically as a small obstacle or problem in life. Just as a tiny stone inside a shoe can make walking difficult, seemingly minor difficulties can disturb our progress when we fail to acknowledge them. At the same time, the pebble may represent a limitation or hurdle that prevents us from moving comfortably toward larger goals. The contrast between the grandeur of the mountain peaks and the inconvenience of the pebble ultimately draws attention to the power of perspective: something insignificant in the vastness of the world can become enormous when it is experienced personally. The haiku thus moves from the grandeur of the external landscape to the intimate experience of the individual, suggesting that the scale of a problem is not always determined by its physical size, but by how closely it affects us.

The absence of punctuation in this haiku can be important because it leaves the three images open and connected without imposing a fixed interpretation or stopping point.

valentine’s day   
the only text he gets   
grocery list    

by Quamrul Hassan (USA)
published in Failed Haiku, April 2024

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer​:

I appreciate the humor in this haiku, though it could also have a more serious interpretation.  Perhaps the other person (presumably the partner) in this haiku has a physical disability or can’t get to the grocery store for other reasons. While flowers, chocolate, and maybe a date are nice, I also appreciate the practicality of a grocery list. Still, on first read, my first interpretation was humor. The man in this haiku may not have expected a grocery list text on a romantic holiday.  Regardless if we read this haiku as funny or potentially more serious, this poem is infused with care and attention. Well done!

lost community . . .
I gather my rusty arms
for the crucible

by Mikō (Netherlands)
Remembering ten years of My Haiku Pond

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The first line resonates strongly with me, as I have lost communities in the many iterations of “Nick.” Moving, changing scenes, war, and many other factors can contribute to us losing communities. In the case of the poet, Mikō might be referring to the My Haiku Pond online community. The use of ellipsis is appropriate, as it demonstrates the time it takes for a community to unravel or change. It also allows us to ponder the communities we have lost.

Rusty arms is perhaps the haiku’s central image. On one level, it evokes old tools or weapons that are disused and corroded. On another, arms suggests limbs, stiffened or worn. The rust implies the passing of time, and perhaps the erosion that comes with isolation.

The final line reframes everything that came before. A crucible is a vessel for enduring extreme heat. It is for testing, purifying, or transforming materials into something else. By ending with this image, it is implied that the poet is not gathering rusty arms to mourn them, but to submit them to a test or to purify them. There is a narrative arc in these three lines: loss – recovery of old resources – the willingness to face a test or transformation. The third line could be a nod to the famous 1953 play The Crucible by Arthur Miller, which uses a figurative meaning to describe the mass hysteria of the Salem witch trials. Finally, in the Bible, a crucible serves as a powerful metaphor for spiritual testing, suffering, and character refinement.

This haiku relies on suggestion rather than explanation. We don’t know what exact community was lost, or what the crucible represents (a trial, a war, an inner reckoning), and that ambiguity generates resonance.

The word rusty can be seen as an autumn seasonal reference, or kigo. This is a poignant reference, as this is a time when leaves are falling, and the world is becoming sparse, much like the process of losing a community.

The pacing is equivalent to the standard English-language haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short last line. This approximates the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm of go-shichi-go.

Looking at the diction, the poet could have easily made this haiku verbose but chose to be brief and efficient in wording. Furthermore, the heaviness of “l” sounds in the first and last lines expresses grief. Additional weight is added to the haiku with k/g sounds in “community,” “gather,” and “crucible.”

This haiku can be interpreted in many ways and has several allusions. It is an intriguing and unique work from a poet who has engaged widely in the haiku community for many years.

Sumi-e painting