Anne Kulou – Haiku Commentary

morning fog—
a crow’s cry piercing
the layers of light

— Anne Kulou (Germany)

I have a soft spot for morning fogs and crows, so this haiku gravitated towards me. The ellipsis in the beginning grounds us in the scene, allowing the reader to imagine a beautiful, yet mysterious fog. “Fog” is a double entendre, lending to interpretations about the fuzziness of the mind and other psychological disturbances, such as the “fog of war.”

No matter if the fog is literal or figurative, the crow’s cry cuts through it, even in the calmness of the morning. The word “cry” is intriguing, as it humanizes the crow. We usually associate this magnificent bird with “caw” and something abrasive. But “cry” prompts us to feel sympathy, if not empathy, for the crow.

Morning fogs and crows point towards autumn. It is a time of sparseness, with just a little light coming through. Even that minuscule amount of brightness is sliced through by the cry of the crow, which highlights or intensifies the sense of autumn.

The power of this haiku centers around its vivid imagery, the play between sound and light, and the embodiment of the season. It also reads well, with open sounds in “o” and “i” strung throughout. These pleasant letters are contrasted with the stronger letters in “r” and “g,” which connect with the juxtaposition of fog and the cry of a crow that runs through it. The pacing of the lines is also measured and weighty, like walking through a fog.

This haiku brings back awe to common themes, which is a mark of knowing tradition well and utilizing our creative spirit.

siren song
as a fire station
empty boots

— Elliot Diamond (USA)
first published in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), Kigo Lab Special, ed. Alan Summers

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer:

This is an important haiku that gives us a glimpse into the life of firefighters. This haiku seems to have a haunting quality, as the siren song could be the silence of the fire station itself. Even in the silence, we can hear the echoes of the siren. The siren song could also be exemplified by the red color of the fire station. It is interesting to include the word song in this haiku. This seems to give the siren added dimensions. It is no longer merely a siren, but a kind of song that seems to honor those who have left the occupation or passed away. It is a sound that marks the urgency of fighting a fire. There is no time to waste.

We also don’t know why the boots are empty. A firefighter could have retired, he/she/they could have left the job for another occupation, or the firefighter could have passed away. In all three scenarios, the darkness of the empty boots allows us to step into the shoes/boots of the firefighter, even for a moment. Regardless of our interpretations, this haiku shows the inherent dangers of being a firefighter, the sheer courage and strength it takes to be on the front lines of several fires, and the consequences. Indeed, firefighters sometimes risk their lives to save others. Additionally, this haiku may inspire readers to learn more about how to prevent fires, fire safety, and what to do during wildfires.

Interestingly, Indigenous Peoples have long known the importance of controlled fires to prevent wildfires. These controlled fires also allow ashes and nutrients to supplement the soil. I think we should take the time to learn from Indigenous Peoples who are excellent caretakers of the Earth.

This haiku first appeared in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), edited by Alan Summers. One unique aspect of this journal is Alan’s inclusion of additional context around certain poems. For this particular haiku by Elliot Diamond, Alan adds:

“What is the life expectancy of a firefighter in the United States? Life expectancy for firefighters is 10 years less than for individuals with other occupations. The frequency of leaving the job due to health problems was 60% higher among firefighters than among individuals working in other industries.

Seasonality and Coronary Heart Disease Deaths in United States Firefighters: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3756551/

The September 11 attacks (New York City 2001) 9/11 by the numbers: 8:46 a.m. and 9:02 a.m. Time the burning towers stood: 56 minutes and 102 minutes. Time they took to fall: 12 seconds. From there, they ripple out. Number of firefighters and paramedics killed: 343 September 11 by Numbers New York Magazine Despite advancements in DNA technology, roughly 40% of the victims (1,100 people) thought to have died in the disaster, remain unidentified. CNN September 2023″

In summary, this is an important haiku that provides a window into the life of firefighters. I sincerely thank all firefighters who put their lives on the line. They have a heart of compassion and will attempt to save anyone, regardless of their race, ethnicity, gender identity, or background.

winter air
the fleeting shapes
of our breaths

— Małgorzata Formanowska (Poland)
22nd Annual UKIAH Haiku Festival: Honorable Mention for the Jane Reichhold International Award

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku captures a quiet moment in cold winter, phrased in a way that makes us feel it to our core. “Winter air” may be referring to the extreme cold that may occur before or after rain or snowfall. It is something invisible but still shows its existence in mysterious ways, i.e., breath clouds. The poet showcases the moment of visibility of the air in an imaginative way, where it suddenly takes shape briefly before it disappears. The yugen and ephemeral elements of this poem make it interesting, while also being easily relatable.

“The fleeting shapes” show the transience of life. Things come and go quickly, leaving a deep impact on our lives. Fleeting shapes may allude to the possibility that there are two persons in close proximity who are not only enjoying the warmth of their breath but also the shapes that it creates in dense air, which can intermingle and overlap with each other. It may also reflect melancholic feelings, with the person being alone and enjoying the shapes of breath even in chilly weather, or being so focused on something, and then the poet gets distracted by the shapes of breath. In any case, it is a subtle awareness where breath is a symbol of life, and seeing it appear and disappear in winter air evokes the fragility and temporary nature of existence.

Looking at the sound, the frequent use of vowels in this haiku emphasizes the subtle connectivity that exists in moments but leaves strong effects behind.

Sumi-e by Carolyn Fitz

border outpost—
the sandbag wall
sprouts weeds

— Neena Singh (India)
hedgerow, #150, October 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

War and conflict-related haiku often resonate deeply with me, as the theme aligns with one of my core areas of interest. This particular poem instantly takes me to a tense border outpost, where I can almost sense the presence of surveillance and patrolling troops. It evokes not just conflict but the psychological barrier that accompanies division and hostility. Symbolically, it’s not the border itself that divides people but the mindset behind it. The em dash after line one adds a subtle pause, creating a link that suggests a deeper association with the border, both physically and ideologically.

The sandbag wall can be seen as a symbol of protection, whether from natural disasters or human threats. It creates a barrier not just to movement but to differing narratives or perspectives. Yet, sand itself represents adaptability as it adjusts itself according to the environment. In this way, the wall becomes a sign of both hurdles and resilience.

The final line, ‘sprouts weeds,’ brings in a hope in a tough element that cannot be stopped, even in a rigid and controlled environment. Weeds may be seen as unwelcome, but they are also symbols of persistence and continuity. Their presence suggests that even in the most restricted areas, life finds a way. It may also hint at the unresolved histories that cannot be buried or walled off entirely and may continue to resurface despite the suppressed and difficult conditions.

Finally, the soft ‘s’ and ‘w’ sounds add to the haiku’s depth, echoing wind, whispering secrets, hushed tension, and quiet movements.

the faint hum
of the hallway light—
still breathing

— Anne Kulou (Germany)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku explores a quiet moment in which the hum of artificial light becomes a mirror to the poet’s sense of aliveness. The crux of this poem lies in this interaction between the environment and inner self, which is often employed in the best haiku, as seen in poets like Basho, Santoka, Chiyo-ni, and Tohta.

The poem lacks a kigo or seasonal reference, but it definitely has a mood. In my opinion, the atmosphere of the haiku leans towards winter or late autumn, when nights are long, and people stay indoors. The absence of a kigo is not a weakness, as many haiku are traditionally written as non-seasonal, named muki haiku. As more people live in urban environments, non-seasonal haiku is likely to become more prevalent.

With the em dash in the first line, the poet creates a cut, or kireji, that separates the two parts of the haiku. It also brings about a sense of immediacy, whereas with an ellipsis, the reader would think it is more of a continuous scene. The choice of an em dash makes the haiku more raw and present.

In looking at the toriawase, or harmony/combination of parts, the monotonous hum of a hallway light mixes with the continuity of breathing. It demonstrates a synthesis between the human-made world and humanity itself. The word “hum” even suggests that the light is breathing, too. Also, the word “faint” is most likely a reflection of how the poet is feeling in comparison to the light fixture. In this sense, the poet and the light fixture become connected, and fraternity grows between them.

Exploring the haiku on a sonic level, the letter “h” stands out the most. “hum” and “hallway” hit a punctuated, yet light rhythm. Other soft consonants like f, m, l, th, and br help to make the haiku “hum” like the scene in the poem.

The pacing of the haiku is traditional in terms of Japanese haiku rhythm, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short last line. This pacing lends to the content well, as it gives the haiku an introspective air. The diction is also casual and direct, which is aligned with haiku tradition.

This haiku seamlessly blends past and present aesthetics. With foundational elements of haiku, the poet explores a non-seasonal, urban environment that turns towards self-reflection with artistic precision.

autumn rose
on his car’s dashboard
—blind date night

— Sheikha A. (Dubai, United Arab Emirates)

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

An intriguing haiku that explores the psychological complexity of a blind date.

The autumn rose as the first line is intriguing by itself, as roses are typically associated with spring. It seems the autumn rose signifies that something or someone has passed away, and there is an unfolding or rebirth of some kind. The man’s previous partner may have passed away, or they may have separated, and now the poet is open to dating again.

A blind date can have a wide range of outcomes, as both people rely on their intuition and questions to get to know each other better, though first impressions can be deceiving. Leaving a rose on the dashboard could show that the man has a hopeful mindset, or it could be a sign that he may be trying too hard to make a first impression. In the dating world, for many people, it is a competition. Who is going to find a true and lasting partner? Perhaps the rose is a way to try to stand out from the crowd. In this haiku, the blind date could have been going to a drive-in movie, or the poet could be saying goodbye and noticed the rose while walking past his car in the parking lot. Was the rose meant for the poet, and he decided not to give it to her? Did he give her the rose, and she didn’t accept it? Or was the rose meant for someone else and was left behind from a previous date? There is some mystery. The autumn rose signifies how so much of our communication is non-verbal. The transient beauty of the rose also comes with thorns, which seem to signify danger and/or protection. Indeed, all relationships have a degree of risk as trust is gradually established. The autumn rose could also relate to how a blind date doesn’t last long but can have its own beauty, even if the blind date doesn’t find rich soil that blossoms into a romantic relationship.

The term “blind date” also has room for more than one meaning. Aside from not knowing the person, what are we blind to within our own self? Sometimes, the person on the blind date can be a kind of mirror that reflects something within ourselves that we didn’t notice or pay attention to.

In summary, this is an interesting haiku that explores the psychological depth and complexity of relationships and dating.

Haiku Commentary

Tag: Anne Kulou

Haiku by Anne Kulou, Elliot Diamond, and Małgorzata Formanowska

Haiku by Neena Singh, Anne Kulou, and Sheikha A.