Tag: Haiku

Haiku and Senryu by John Shiffer, Sathya Venkatesh, and Michael Battisto

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, Senryu2 Comments

graduation party
every firework ember
falling to earth

— John Shiffer (USA)
Published in Modern Haiku, 56:3, Autumn, 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku captures a bittersweet moment of transition, one that encompasses both endings and new beginnings. The graduation party is a universal milestone, marking a culmination of years of learning, friendships, and youthful freedom. The phrase is straightforward with no punctuation or emotional exaggeration, mirroring the simplicity and shared nature of the experience. It’s a scene most of us can relate to, making it emotionally accessible and real.

The second line acts as a pivot, symbolizing the peak of celebration where fireworks represent excitement, hope, and brilliance. But, there’s a quiet shift as we read “every firework ember/ falling to earth.” The embers, though once radiant, now fall, showing the fleeting nature of youth and celebration. The descent signifies the reality that follows: adulthood, responsibility, and an unknown future.

The closing line, “falling to earth,” deepens the metaphor. It suggests a grounding after a high, a fall not necessarily in failure, but in transition. It’s the movement from a protected world into a vast, unpredictable one. The contrast between the light of the ember and the gravity of its fall is powerful and unique, which lets us reflect on contrasting scenes, suggesting the impermanence and transience of life.

withered flowers 
on the temple chariot
morning twilight

— Sathya Venkatesh (India)

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

A powerful haiku that shows impermanence and age-old traditions that have survived over several generations. I see the last line as a metaphor for the mystery of the afterlife. I interpret the morning twilight as a time when our souls continue, long after the physical body (perhaps symbolized by the withered flowers) fades away.

According to Symbolism – Hindu Temple Chariot As Replica Of The Temple by Abhilash Rajendran:

“In many parts of India the sight of a majestic temple chariot rolling slowly through crowded streets is both stirring and sacred. Known as the ratha, these elaborately carved wooden vehicles carry the utsava murti—the processional image of the deity—beyond the temple walls. In effect, the ratha becomes a moving replica of the inner sanctum, bringing the divine presence to every doorstep. This article explores the rich symbolism of the temple chariot, the reasons for its enduring popularity, the profound idea of the god leaving his abode, and many other fascinating facets of this age-old tradition. At its core the ratha is not merely a transport but a microcosm of the temple itself. Every design element echoes architectural features of the permanent shrine: towering pillars reflect temple gopurams, carved panels depict mythic scenes found on sanctum walls, and a miniature vimana (temple tower) crowns the top. When the deity’s image is placed upon this mobile shrine, worshippers are reminded that the chariot is a fully consecrated temple in motion. This replication underlines the belief that the divine resides not only within stone walls but in the very heart of the community.”

I appreciate the notion of seeing the divine in the ordinary. It speaks to a universal compassion that is quite powerful as it transcends our many differences and unites people.

In summary, this is a powerful haiku that sparks deep conversations about age-old spiritual and religious traditions, the impermanence of our brief human lives, the importance of community, and the mystery of the afterlife. Equally important, it shows a kind of compassion that’s universal, revealing divinity or spiritual energy within all people. A beautiful haiku.

protesters marching
wearing
sweatshop shoes

— Michael Battisto (USA)
Published in Modern Haiku 52:1, 2021

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This senryu hinges on irony and ethical tension—a hallmark of the genre’s focus on human behavior. The opening line, protesters marching, shows collectivity and moral purpose. However, as is often the case in senryu, this one ends with a shock of hypocrisy.

The second line, wearing, sets up the suspense for the third line. It is a fine use of enjambment, and the line matches the first line with prominent “e” and “r” sounds to create euphony.

The final line, sweatshop shoes, delivers the punchline—with more euphony. The imagery exposes an uncomfortable contradiction: even with good intentions, we are irrevocably contributing to ubiquitous and exploitative companies. Living in the modern world, we would have to live off the grid to fully rid ourselves of these greedy practices—even with something as simple as shoes. With a masterful stroke, the poet refrains from judgmental language, allowing the irony to speak for itself.

The poem’s emotional effect is quiet but sharp. It provokes self-reflection rather than outrage, as the reader is implicated alongside the protesters. In this way, this senryu eventually centers on empathy. The march continues but with an unresolved weight on its feet.

Utagawa Hiroshige I (1797–1858, Japan), Fireworks at Ryogoku (bridge), #98 from the One Hundred Famous Views of Edos eries,1858. Color woodcut print on paper, 14 3/16″ x 9 7/16″ (36 x 24 cm). © 2017 Brooklyn Museum. (BMA-822)

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

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku4 Comments

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.

Designed by DMoSan

Haiku by Elliot Diamond, Hifsa Ashraf, and R.C. Thomas

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

oil spill fish blowing bazooka bubbles

— Elliot Diamond
Failed Haiku, issue 98.1, 2024

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

I appreciate this one-line haiku for revealing one of the severe consequences of oil spills. In a broader sense, this haiku is also showing the inherent economical and environmental dangers of oil dependency in modern civilization.

The word “bazooka” can refer to chewing Bazooka gum. The bazooka bubbles could visually resemble the bubbles created by fish. However, a bazooka is also a military weapon. In this monoku, the bazooka seems to signify not only a war between humans, but a war between humans and the Earth. More specifically, limited human viewpoints and ideologies (that see Nature as only resources to be extracted) leads to harm and war, which also harms ourselves, in many ways. If we want to lead healthier lives, I think we need to protect the Earth and call on Indigenous wisdom.

The strong “b” sound echoes in this monoku with the sonic impact of the oil spill and the bazooka. Even so, because sound is muffled underwater, I also feel a kind of deathly quiet in this poem.

In short, this is an important monoku that shows the dangers of oil. However, it is more than a poem as it can also inspire a social call to action.

old snow
unfolding mom’s
bridal gown

— Hifsa Ashraf (Pakistan)
ESUJ-H, September, 2025

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The contrast between “old snow” and “bridal gown” jumped out at me. Both are white, but with “old” and “mom’s,” we understand that both the bridal gown and snow are tainted in some way. From the poem, I get the feeling that either the poet’s mother has passed away, or is simply passing on her bridal gown as a form of heritage. Both images point to transience and create a sense of harmony between nature and human life (toriawase).

With the mention of “old snow,” I feel the seasonal reference, or kigo, is late winter. With the time being on the cusp of spring, it relates to a new beginning, such as a wedding—especially with the reference to being “mom’s bridal gown,” showing the passage of time leading to a new future.

The act of unfolding suggests a form of reverence. It also makes readers ponder questions about the haiku: why is the gown being unfolded now? Is this an act of remembrance or preparation? Finally, “unfolding” also mirrors the melting of now.

Though there is no punctuation in this haiku besides the possessive marker, the kireji, or cut, is felt in the line break in line one. However, with the lack of punctuation, the haiku can be read either as two parts or as one flowing part. Both readings are valid, and perhaps the poet wanted to leave more interpretations open for the reader through the lack of punctuation.

The pacing, however, is quite traditional. With a short first line, longer second line, and shorter third line, this haiku aligns with the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm of 5-7-5 sound units (not syllables). Following this rhythm usually allows the poet to make the haiku brief and colloquial in language.

Overall, this haiku embodies the qualities of seasons, subtle emotion, and the revelation that arises from an unforced contrast/comparison that lends to multi-layered reading.

hard-boiled summer
a busboy’s smile
begins to crack

— R.C. Thomas (UK)
Frogpond, 46.1, Winter 2023

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

The opening line, “hard-boiled summer,” presents a rich, multi-layered metaphor. At one level, it conveys the intensity of extreme heat—affecting both mind and body. On another level, it could be describing a person who is emotionally hardened or indifferent. There is also a clever allusion to hard-boiled eggs—thoroughly cooked, contained, and under pressure—suggesting both physical heat and psychological tension. The poet skillfully invites the reader to navigate these interpretations without losing the poem’s emotional depth.

The second line, “a busboy’s smile,” operates both literally and symbolically. It may express a fleeting moment of joy, perhaps the result of brisk business during the summer heat, or act as a mask worn over exhaustion. Extending the egg metaphor, the smile becomes the uncracked surface of a hard-boiled egg—calm, polished, but under pressure. One might also associate egg yolk with the golden light of summer.

The concluding line, “begins to crack,” conveys a subtle shift. It suggests the gradual collapse of composure, whether the smile breaking under heat and fatigue, or the beginning of an emotional unraveling. The metaphor completes itself with the image of an egg’s shell cracking, revealing vulnerability beneath the surface.

This haiku masterfully intertwines climate, emotion, hardship, and human resilience, using layered imagery to reflect on the strain of daily labor in harsh conditions. Finally, the repetition of the letter ‘b’ in this haiku evokes a gentle, calming rhythm, subtly reflecting the sense of ease that follows the unfolding of a mystery.

Isolation Peak, Lawren Harris (Canadian, 1885–1970), oil on canvas, © Family of Lawren S. Harris