Haiku by Elliot Diamond, Neena Singh, and Jennifer Gurney

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku5 Comments

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).

Haiku by Kavita Ratna, Tuyet Van Do, and Katherine E Winnick

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku6 Comments

in the margins
of a funeral
a message pings

— Kavita Ratna (India)
LEAF, June 2023

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

An important haiku that sparks a conversation about our views of death, funerals, and technology in modernity. The first line is unique because it has literal and potentially metaphorical interpretations. Was the person with the cellphone living at the psychological margins of the deceased person’s life when they were alive? Was the person with the cellphone a friend or acquaintance who didn’t know most of the people at the funeral? This can create an awkward social situation. At the same time, it can be humbling to see how one person touched so many people’s lives. The word “margins” seems to imply there are a lot of people attending the funeral. Perhaps this person doesn’t truly feel they can celebrate the deceased person’s life among the crowd of people. Does the modern-day ritual of funerals truly celebrate the deceased person in a unique way that they would actually want? 

According to Elizabeth Fournier in her book, “The Green Burial Guide: Everything You Need to Plan an Affordable, Environmentally Friendly Burial”: “Funeral expenses in the United States average more than $10,000. And every year conventional funerals bury millions of tons of wood, concrete, and metals, as well as millions of gallons of carcinogenic embalming fluid. There is a better way.”

Here is The Green Burial Guide on Bookshop.org, which I recommend:
https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-green-burial-guidebook-everything-you-need-to-plan-an-affordable-environmentally-friendly-burial-elizabeth-fournier/10952712?ean=9781608685233&next=t

Even though the person in this haiku is not noticeable at the funeral, their cellphone ping briefly interrupts the service and has a ripple effect. This makes me wonder about the ways we communicate in our culture and the quality of our communication methods. Text messages can be useful, but they can also be overly used. Since the English Language and technology are both tools, I think they need to be used carefully and wisely. Silencing our cellphones is also a clear gesture of respect, which this person in the haiku clearly forgot to do. The ping notification could mean an important message came through, or it could be something more superficial. It reminds me that we are constantly communicating with each other, both verbally and non-verbally, all the time. But do we use cellphones too much? What are the consequences of spending too much time on our cellphones and other devices?

I think the social norms of funerals in the U.S. need to be psychologically interrupted in light of how costly they are, both environmentally and financially. I sincerely hope that more people could plan ahead for how they want to be remembered and celebrated in modest ways through a living will. I also sincerely hope more people would choose an eco-friendly burial option. This truly benefits everyone and saves a significant amount of money, too.

In short, this is an important haiku that starts a larger conversation about funerals, how we remember and celebrate someone, and the role of technology in our lives. It could also spark conversations about the afterlife and reincarnation. How do we want to be remembered? What are we leaving behind? How can death remind us of how we truly want to live within this limited lifetime, moment by moment? As a community, I hope that compassion and wisdom can be our guiding light.

spoon by spoon 
feeding my patient …
a setting sun

— Tuyet Van Do (Australia)
Poetry Pea Journal 2:25, 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

I can sense pain, endurance, caring, and departure in this subtle poem where the patient is either dying or getting relief from suffering. I see both hope and despair. The patient being taken care of by a nurse or paramedic staff is all alone and helpless. ‘Spoon by spoon’ is a deep expression, showing bits and pieces of healing by nourishing the patient. It could be food, medicine, or something more energetic, but it also depicts old age, where a person depends on others for their well-being.  

The use of ellipses in the second line after ‘feeding my patient’ stresses the depth of feelings of the person who is nursing the patient. Do they have any association with the patient? Do they empathise with the patient? Do they feel bad about the patient? Who is the patient? What’s the age of the patient? Is the patient alone or have a family? All these details remain open for interpretation. 

The last part of this haiku reveals something unfortunate and helpless. The dying sun symbolizes the end of life, when day transforms into night. In other words, the transformation of life into death or from an uncomfortable condition to a comfortable condition, where the patient sleeps well after getting some care. I see another aspect here: ‘sun’ may also be symbolic of the gender of the patient by creating an analogy of the sun with ‘son’. The beauty of this poem is that you can interpret it in as many ways as you can, and each aspect may lead to the harsh reality of life, which is death. 

Sakura Jishidi 
shadows of sparrows 
amongst the pink 

— Katherine E Winnick (UK) 
Presence #79, 2024 

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

“Sakura Jishidi” is the name of the Japanese tree peony. They commonly bloom in spring, and are used in haiku to signify this season. Employing the Japanese word for the flower instead of the English version is an intriguing choice. I believe it increases the sound quality of the haiku, as “Japanese tree peony” doesn’t mesh with the “s” and “i” sounds in the rest of the poem as much.

The keyword in this haiku, in my opinion, is “shadows.” I feel it has two meanings: the physical presence of shadows and the memory of sparrows. It could also be a reference to something fleeting, ominous, or gloomy. The mood of this haiku centers around this word, as even though the sakura blossoms display their pink, the memory, absence, or distance of sparrows decorates the flowers. Ultimately, this brings about a melancholy mood amidst spring. I resonate with these types of moods in haiku, as they mirror our nuanced lives. Within joy, there is oftentimes a touch of sadness or loss. This does not diminish joy, in my opinion, but allows us to be more grateful when it occurs and to experience it with a mature lens.

Copyright 2022, Tsun Ming Chmielinski

Haiku by Robert Witmer, Ranu Jain, and John Paul Caponigro

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku7 Comments

carefully
a stranger’s footsteps
in the shoemaker’s hands

— Robert Witmer (Japan)
Modern Haiku, 54.3, Autumn 2023

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

An intriguing haiku that can be read in at least two different ways. On first read, I see a shoemaker repairing someone’s shoes. The shoemaker doesn’t know this stranger, and yet performs a service. This involves a great deal of care and caution. The shoes themselves tell stories based on their appearance. I appreciate how the details of the shoes are left to the reader.

This haiku could also encourage us to contemplate where shoes come from. However, on a broader scope, this haiku involves a deep contemplation on where everything that we wear comes from. 

In short, this is an interesting psychological haiku that focuses on a worker’s interactions with the public. This is also a haiku that adds to an important conversation about work, the economy, and the making of shoes (and everything that we wear). A significant haiku.

waterfall picnic
all our music
live streamed

— Ranu Jain (Australia)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The humor in this haiku or senryu is at once amusing and deep. The jocular aspect of it is the pun in the word “streamed,” which relates to both the streaming water and the modern trend of streaming music online. The poet could be having a picnic with friends or family and playing music, with the waterfall “streaming” the sound to everyone in the vicinity. The more subtle viewpoint is that we have gotten so attached to being online that we have forgotten that nature’s music is all around us. A waterfall, a bird, the stones beneath our feet—nature is creating music constantly. The trick is to spare a moment to listen. We don’t need to pay for subscriptions or own devices. Live streaming music in nature is free and without hidden agendas.

Thinking about the kigo or seasonal reference, “picnic” is most likely placed in spring or summer. This points to the abundance that is illustrated by the presence of waterfalls and music all around us. So, I would say the poet used the association of the kigo and the content as a comparison.

The poet hit the target of being brief, with only seven words in the haiku or senryu. Another principle the poet touched on is the simplicity of language and the accessibility of its reading. The last line delivers a fun “aha” moment that is reminiscent of many other great haiku and senryu. With the lack of punctuation acting as a kireji and the usage of puns, I would venture to say this lands more into senryu territory. However, the labels of haiku and senryu are often not as clear and not as distinct as in the Japanese tradition, as compared to the Western haiku tradition.

Sonically, the poet integrated the sounds of the waterfall with the letter “l” flowing through the poem. The hard yet lilting “l” sounds connect well to the power and melody of the waterfall. A fun yet subtle haiku or senryu.

leaving one shell 
for another 
hermit crab

— John Paul Caponigro (USA)
Cattails, April 2024

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

It appears to be a simple haiku at first glance. Yet, it reflects a process of abandonment, transformation, adaptation, and survival. The first line in the haiku primarily shows signs of detachment. The reasons may vary from natural causes, such as molting and infection, to abandonment. But, it is how circumstances push the hermit to leave its shell that has protected it for a long time. It also demonstrates the evolving phases of life that never remain stagnant.

The second line in this haiku, ‘for another’, is about transformation, adaptation, and readiness for a change, like we all do in life. The hermit crab may not fit in the old one or may face discomfort due to growth, infection, or other factors. This means it has no choice but to find another shell, another protective shield, or another phase that helps it to move on in life. We all have the same process in life: a childhood protective shield is usually provided by parents or loved ones, and when we grow up, we have to leave that bubble for another, which makes us independent. It may be our social circle, new friends, life partners, etc. So, our lives are not different from the changing phases of a hermit crab. I like the way the poet shared the development first without punctuation so that the reader can wander from one aspect to another without any clue until the closing line. It prompts us to ponder the different stages of life that are more evolutionary in nature. It also pushes us to think about how attachment and detachment, adoption and adaptation, stagnation and transformation, make our lives dynamic.

The deeper side of this haiku resonated with me after reading it. It depicts mysticism where we abandon the materialistic life and search for another one, which is more satisfying, simple, subtle, and calm. It illustrates how we detach from the physical shell of life to find the spiritual or mystical shell. Not only that, but it forms the stages of life that lead to the path of selflessness, mindfulness, and nothingness, where we abandon our materialistic life by transforming it. It is possible to achieve this through resilience, flexibility, acceptance, and readiness to change. This is how a crab, or a person, becomes a hermit and lives a healthier, peaceful, and prosperous life. I think this is the true essence of evolution as well. 

Painting by Achille Etna Michallon (1796–1822)