The first thing that struck me about this haiku was the capitalization of “Gods” instead of “gods.” Grammatically, “gods” is preferred in most cases, but in this haiku, I believe the author is giving respect to each god she has encountered, loved, and may have freed herself of.

What also made me turn my head was the striking juxtaposition between gods and dandelion fluff. So much can be implied:

1) All gods are same, essentially.

2) All gods share the same purpose.

3) Which god we choose to worship may not be that important after all.

4) Like dandelion fluff, gods drift in and out favor.

… and maybe much more.

Another part of the haiku that got me interested in it is the use of “I’ instead of just keeping it as “all those gods/lost and found.” Bringing in a personal side to the issue adds weight, and allows readers to identify with the experience of the haiku, rather than see it purely as something philosophical or historical.

A strong part of this haiku is its sound. The “o” sound flows through “those,” “Gods,” “lost,” “found,” and “dandelion.” I believe this sound aims for euphony, or a harmonious and beautiful connection of sound. This could be another way the haiku shows how gods are one.

Maybe in our modern times, gods have become like dandelion fluff: revered and memorable, but somehow not worth much in these times of technological and scientific progress. Or maybe gods are numerous but one, and in these times of fast-paced developments in human progress, we have so many resources and chances to get connected with one of them. There is no right answer, but this haiku for sure makes us introspect on the state of religion and what we ourselves have experienced on our own spiritual journeys.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)

It is not often that I get teary-eyed while reading haiku. Haiku are no doubt emotional poems sometimes, but their objectivity and lack of overtly poetic language sometimes hides emotions in the depths of a reading.

dandelion fluff
the battlefields
so far away

© Eva Limbach (Germany)

But with reading Eva’s haiku, I immediately felt the emotional impact. It was kind of inexplicable, but I will try to write about it. Maybe it was the motion of the dandelion fluff floating through the air in my imagination and how it relates to the seemingly frivolous nature of soldier’s lives. Or maybe how we can only watch the terror of war from a distance, and the dandelions represent a visual of the souls that may be leaving the bodies of the fallen. Or even the feeling of helplessness of knowing that we can’t do anything to stop wars from occurring.

Dandelion fluff is at once beautiful and unimportant. Maybe Eva is showing how heroes of war are at once magnificent examples of human honor and courage, while also being given to the jaws of death without much remorse for a questionable end. By the mood of the haiku, I feel it is expressing how we do not respect the lives of those who gave their lives for principles.

But whatever the exact meaning is, it may not matter. Drawing an inexplicable feeling from a reader is a sign of a true haiku. If one can explain a haiku easily, most classical masters of haiku would say that it would be not be a true haiku.

On another note, the pacing of the lines bring out the emotion of the haiku, as does the sound of the haiku. It can read easily and each line seems to carry a certain gravity. The word “dandelions” and “battlefields” work strongly together in sound, and so do “fluff” and “far.” Part of the magic of such a small poem is that it leaves an awe-inspiring effect on the reader. With this added sense of sound, the haiku becomes more enchanting, despite its grim message.

The word “so” works to bring out the emotion. Though this word is often advised not to use, it works well, as the lack of words makes the emotion much sharper.

I think Eva got at the heart of haiku with this one: compassion through perspective. She reminds us of events that are happening each day, but of which we often forget, and sometimes entirely bypass.

– Nicholas Klacsanzky (Ukraine)