Tag: jacob salzer

Haiku by Kala Ramesh, Jas Asencio Ramirez, and Royal Baysinger

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

milky way …
the city’s debris choking
what is left of its river

— Kala Ramesh (India)
first published in Acorn, fall issue, 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is a revealing haiku that speaks volumes about the amount of waste produced in cities. This haiku also shows how poorly waste is often managed, leading to polluted water, soil, and air. The first line provides a much broader perspective on the Milky Way galaxy that shows how ignorant much of humanity is, creating a narrow-minded economic system based on scarcity, supply-and-demand, competition, and a refusal to take care of the Earth. The Milky Way and the Earth have been revered for thousands of years, especially by Indigenous Peoples, environmentalists, and spiritual people. Indigenous Peoples also often live near rivers, lakes, and oceans. Indeed, where there is water, there is life. If a city’s debris is choking a river, that’s a clear sign that we have built too much, too fast, and now we are all taking the consequences. In the end, we all share our brief human lives on this small Earth, and we are all temporary visitors here. What will we do with our limited time here?

This haiku sparks conversations about ways we can protect the Earth and reduce the sheer amount of waste we produce on a daily basis. This haiku also inspires questions about where products come from, and how they are sourced and created. Hopefully, this will lead to more mindful and informed consumers who are not fooled by clever or misleading marketing campaigns.

Finally, in a much broader sense, this haiku urges us to think about our values and how we want to live on Earth with our limited time here.

According to the Global Waste Index 2025 by Sensoneo, “After a comprehensive analysis of waste management in 38 countries, Israel has emerged as the country with the highest per capita waste generation, producing up to 650 kg of municipal waste per person annually. Of this amount, 524 kg is landfilled, representing 80% of the country’s total waste  – the highest landfill share among all analyzed nations. Consistent with data from 2019 and 2022, Chile and the United States continue to rank among the world’s most significant waste polluters.

On the other end of the spectrum are two Asian countries. Japan jumped to first place from seventh in 2022, thanks to low rates of waste generation and landfilling. South Korea secured second place with the highest recycling rate among all nations – 54%. Surprisingly, Estonia joined the top three with almost no waste sent to landfills. Positive rankings were also achieved by Scandinavian countries such as Sweden and Finland, as well as by DACH region countries, Germany and Austria.”

Source: https://www.sensoneo.com/global-waste-index/2025/

An important haiku.

winter breath 
floats through chilled air-
child tries to catch it 

— Jas Asencio Ramirez (USA)
first published in Brussels Sprout, Volume XII:3, 1995

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The season the haiku is placed in is shown in the first line with “winter.” It is reinforced with “chilled.” The cold and sparseness of winter is contrasted by the third line. A child tries, in its innocence and playfulness, to catch the visible, floating breath. But, like the breath, a child’s carefree nature eventually dissipates. Sometimes, it seems to parents that their children grow up too fast. Classic haiku often focus on a fleeting moment, and this one is built around impermanence. The attempt by the child to catch the breath is doomed from the start. The imagery is hopeful at the same time, capturing a child’s innocent belief that something visible must also be graspable.

In the second line, there is an approximation of kireji, or a cut marker, to delineate the two parts of the haiku, with the introduction of the dash. The line break after “floats through chilled air—” creates a small pause, mirroring the way breath hangs in cold air before scattering.

The letter “r” in this haiku seems the most prominent to me, which brings a sense of heaviness. This provides more weight to the visible breath. Light letters like “t” and “i” also provide tenderness to the musicality of the haiku.

In terms of pacing, the haiku follows the short/long/short line lengths. This reflects the traditional Japanese haiku rhythm. Though this haiku is not so focused on absolute brevity, the word choice by the poet unfolds an emotional response from the reader. The poet captures a poignant moment with clarity to allow readers to ponder the relationship between innocence and experience, transience and staying power, and hope and realism.

as the heatwave settles a swell of cicada songs

— Royal Baysinger (Canada)
first published in Frogpond, 46.3, 2023

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This monoku reflects a moment of seasonal transition, where one phase of summer gradually transforms into another. The opening phrase, as the heatwave settles, suggests that the speaker has been enduring and observing an extended period of oppressive heat, waiting for the moment when its intensity finally begins to ease. The word settles becomes the hinge of the poem, marking not only a shift in the weather but also a quiet change in the speaker’s emotional state. As the heat subsides, so too does the inner tension, creating a sense of relief and anticipation.

The phrase a swell of cicada songs evokes both a rising chorus and a wave of renewed life. The word swell carries a double meaning: it suggests an increase in sound while also recalling the movement of a wave, reinforcing the poem’s sense of transformation. The cicadas seem to celebrate this subtle change in the season, their chorus becoming a natural announcement of renewal. Their songs may also foreshadow the coming rains, or express the instinctive joy of a landscape awakening after oppressive heat.

Beyond the seasonal scene, the haiku resonates as a metaphor for human experience. Just as the heatwave eventually settles, periods of hardship also come to an end. The swelling chorus of cicadas becomes a symbol of hope, resilience, and inner renewal—a reminder that difficult times can give way to fresh understanding, joy, and transformation.

The poem’s music further deepens its effect. The repeated s sounds in as, settles, swell, songs, and cicada create a soft, whispering rhythm that mirrors the gradual easing of the heat, while the w sound in heatwave and swell suggests the motion of a wave carrying the poem from stillness toward renewal.

Photo by Jon Washburne

Haiku by Jeff Streeby, Richa Sharma, and Luke Levi

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

On the Jefferson River
one swallow’s perch song
making a summer

— Jeff Streeby (USA)
Part of a haibun titled “A Brindle Bull.” Published in Bacopa Literary Review, September 2019; won Bacopa Literary Review’s Mixed Form Prize in 2019; nominated for a Pushcart Prize; reprinted in January 2020 by Contemporary Haibun Online.

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The Jefferson River grounds the poem in a historically significant place. It was named by the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1805 in honor of President Thomas Jefferson because it carried the largest volume of water at the time compared to the nearby Madison and Gallatin rivers. The river also carves through the dramatic Jefferson Canyon near Cardwell, which is also home to the famous Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park.

In juxtaposition to this important river is a swallow perched and singing, bringing the present into focus. The poet’s choice of one swallow instead of many makes the haiku more centered in the moment. Swallows are birds of motion, being aerial acrobats and migratory. To witness one perched and singing is to recognize a pause in perpetual movement. This corresponds to the river, which is constantly flowing. The swallow, unlike the river, takes a moment to provide a song that could be perceived as a celebration or initiation of summer. It is almost as if the swallow is saying, “River, I know you will not stop, so I will stop for you and sing your glories.”

The final line makes the seasonal reference or kigo clear. “making a summer” is where the poem diverges from simple observation. A single swallow, as perceived by the poet, creates an embodiment of summer with its song. It echoes the Zen notion that perception and reality arise together. Summer is often a time of joy, and I feel the poet is comparing this season’s emotions to the history of the Jefferson River, embodied in the swallow’s song.

Though the haiku lacks a cut marker (kireji) to separate its two parts, a comma is intuitively felt after the first line. There is no real need for punctuation to be added.

The pacing is in the traditional English-language haiku format of short/long/short lines, which approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. The brevity and minimalistic language of the poem matches haiku tradition. The poet could easily make this haiku verbose but rightly did not.

Looking at the sound, the contrast between the soft “o” sounds and the harder “r” sounds brings musicality to the haiku. Swallows have a “twitter-warble” song during courtship and egg-laying, with a series of continuous warbling sounds followed by rapid, mechanical-sounding whirrs. These sounds could be reflected in the letter “r” used throughout the haiku.

This is a haiku that merges the past and the present, flow and pause, and the miniscule and grandiose with great effectiveness.

bird by bird
I dismantle
the birdcage

— Richa Sharma (India)
published in folk ku journal, issue 3, 2024

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

I appreciate this haiku for its metaphorical value. What is the birdcage? The limited thoughts/beliefs we have on a myriad of subjects seem to create a mental birdcage. The birdcage could also represent a limited worldview or mental prison that is self-created and/or imposed by others. What would happen if the mental birdcage was dismantled? Would our inner birds then truly begin to sing and fly?

This haiku reminds me of the four questions that Byron Katie offers regarding any thought or belief that someone is struggling with: 1) Is that thought true? 2) Can you absolutely know that the thought is true? 3) How do you react when you believe that thought? 4) Who would you be without the thought? Byron Katie then asks her clients to explore “turnarounds” or what are potential opposites of the thought that we believed was true. This process of inquiry can be highly enlightening as we learn to see and experience life without limited thoughts/beliefs that may not even be true to begin with. I highly recommend her book Loving What Is.

In terms of sound, the “b” sound is predominant throughout this haiku, which seems to make the word “dismantle” stand out even more. I think dismantle is a powerful word. I had not seen this word in a haiku before, until now. I think it works great in this poem. What else can we dismantle to live more loving and joyful lives? What can we let go of to walk lighter and with more ease and less suffering?

Aside from the metaphorical power of this haiku, it can also be read literally (i.e., the poet saw birds and heard the beauty of birdsongs, to such an extent that he physically took apart his birdcage). This haiku might also spark conversations about animals and birds in the zoo. In addition, this haiku brings to mind a famous poem by Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird.”

This is a powerful haiku that borders on surrealism (and perhaps folklore) but is also accessible with deep psychological meaning and modern-day relevance.

river rope
swinging into
no thoughts 

— Luke Levi (USA)
published in Frogpond, 48:2, 2025 

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The phrase “river rope” immediately draws attention with its unusual pairing and the soft repetition of the ‘r’ sound. Without punctuation, the opening remains open-ended, inviting readers to imagine the river and the rope in their own way. Is the river calm or rushing? What kind of rope is it? What time of day is it? The poet leaves space for multiple interpretations.

“swinging into” introduces a gentle rhythmic movement—the pull, sway, and faint sound of the rope in the air.

The final line, “no thoughts,” turns the poem inward. Rather than presenting a concrete image, it leaves us in a meditative stillness, suggesting a mind emptied by the simple act of watching the rope swing. Everything else in the scene seems on hold around that quiet or subtle motion.

The absence of punctuation and a clear kigo further deepens the haiku’s openness and mystery.

Robert S. Duncanson – Meeting by the River (1864)

Haiku and haibun by Gareth Nurden, Sathya Venkatesh, and Anthony Lusardi

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haibun, HaikuLeave a comment

civil twilight
around the old parish
the halogen glow of snow

— Gareth Nurden (Wales)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

What initially got me interested in this haiku was the first line, “civil twilight.” I had to look it up, and found out that it means “the brightest of the three twilight phases, occurring when the sun is between the horizon and 6° below the horizon. It provides enough natural light for most outdoor activities, often making artificial lighting unnecessary. It begins in the morning before sunrise and ends in the evening after sunset” (National Weather Service). I never saw this kigo being used, and I was impressed by its sense of sound. The running of “i” and “l” through the line makes it sing.

The second line further sets the scene and serves as a pivot between the first and third lines. The lack of punctuation helps this pivot succeed. The word “parish” is wonderful in its specificity, while “old” adds to the “l” sound in the first line and creates a contrast of times.

Though the first line introduced the time of day, the last line features the season: winter. This supplies a direct comparison between the state of the parish and the stark season it now inhabits. The word “halogen” is a brilliant touch, not just from an imagistic standpoint but also from a mood perspective. The radioactive glow of halogen is reminiscent of war, industry, science, and more. However, the take that stuck with me is the relation to the aftermath of war. The old parish is most likely in ruin (physically or metaphorically), and the halogen of snow magnifies this fact. The snow and twilight did not intend to illustrate the old parish’s wrecked state, but it did in the poet’s eyes, and maybe in the eyes of others around. On another note, the third line keeps with “l” and “o” sounds that blend musically with the second line, and some of the first line.

The relationship between civil twilight and the halogen glow of snow creates toriawase, or a skillful combination of different elements. Though both of these parts are of nature, the old parish brings in a human and spiritual element. This adds another layer to the toriawase.

This haiku is understated and unfolds with meaning with each line and word. It brings in time, seasons, and the connection between human architecture and spirituality with the natural world. It is a contemplative work that delivers through excellent diction, imagery, and phrasing.

red alert
the umbrella seller sits back
to enjoy his tea

— Sathya Venkatesh (India)
published in haikuKATHA, issue #44, 2025

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The haiku presents a striking shift in mood, moving from danger or urgency to quiet ease. The opening line, “red alert,” signals danger or impending disruption, immediately creating tension and uncertainty. Without punctuation, it allows readers to imagine various interpretations, the most common ones maybe a storm, heavy rain, or another natural calamity.

The second line introduces an umbrella seller that subtly hinting at the nature of the alert. Umbrellas suggest rain or rain related disasters. Yet instead of reacting with alarm, the seller seems to be relaxed, creating a contrast between the urgency and the utter relaxation.

In the final line, “to enjoy his tea,” there is a quiet sense of ease, even a hint of enjoyment. The umbrella seller appears untroubled, suggesting that what brings concern to some may offer opportunity or simply remain an ordinary moment to others.

The overall imagery can be read as revealing a colder, more self-interested side of human nature, where one benefits from circumstances that may trouble many. At the same time, the haiku remains open to multiple interpretations and invites the reader to consider both its subtle implications and its silences.

A haibun:

while reading ryokan’s poetry

i thought about the annual christmas parade in boonton, new jersey. held right after black friday on main street with fire trucks and floats for every local business. the high school marching band, the politicians, the VFWs, the church choirs, the boy and girl scouts and all the neighbors lining up and down the road, taking selfies and tossing confetti with the first falling snow. and if i was his pupil, i would try to convince ryokan to join me in the festivities . . . yet i would imagine, he would convince me to join him near the rockaway river, right near its small falls, far away from all activities and ask me to just listen.

                        late autumn moon;
                        eventually the town sleeps
                        but never the river

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
first published in failed haiku, issue #111, September 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is an intriguing haibun where modern culture collides with Nature. The parade and modern culture also contrast with the monastic life of a Japanese poet, calligrapher, and Zen Buddhist priest, Ryōkan, who lived in the 18th and 19th centuries. The annual Christmas parade is loud and full of bright colors, sounds, and music, flashing phone cameras, confetti, etc. The parade is happening after Black Friday, when people buy things that day at discounted prices, but it can also involve physical violence and be dangerous. This kind of stimulation at the parade and during Black Friday can easily activate the human sympathetic nervous system (fight, flight, or freeze).

By contrast, the life of Ryōkan is strongly aligned with the beauty of Nature, without loud sounds or other excessive multisensory stimulation. The atmosphere of his life in Nature easily activates our parasympathetic nervous system (rest and digest), where we can relax, while being fully alert and present.

In this haibun, a powerful example of the collision between two worlds is “tossing confetti with the first falling snow.” With Ryōkan’s life and perspective in mind, perhaps the poet is ultimately starting to see modern culture as a kind of distraction that has established traditions, but are ultimately short-lived, while our true home is found in Nature and a quiet mind.

According to Britannica: “Ryōkan (born 1758, Izumozaki, Japan—died Feb. 18, 1831, Echigo province) was a Zen Buddhist priest of the late Tokugawa period (1603–1867) who was renowned as a poet and calligrapher. The eldest son of a village headman, he became a Buddhist priest at about the age of 17 under the religious name of Taigu Ryōkan. When he was 21 he met an itinerant monk, Kokusen, and followed him to his temple, Entsū-ji, at Tamashima, Bitchū province. He followed a life of monastic discipline there for 12 years. After Kokusen’s death he traveled to various parts of Japan as a mendicant priest. In old age he returned to his native Echigo province, where he studied the Man’yōshū and ancient calligraphy. He developed a strong master-pupil relationship with a young nun, Teishin, who after his death compiled Hachisu no tsuyu (1835; “Dew on the Lotus”), a collection of his haiku and waka poems. He also executed many pieces of calligraphy that are esteemed for their elegant beauty.”

Interestingly, there is no capitalization found in this haibun, aside from VFW’s (which I learned means Veterans of Foreign Wars, which is an organization representing U.S. veterans who have served in overseas conflicts). The lowercase words in this haibun seem to create a tone of humility.

In short, this is an intriguing haibun that offers social commentary on modern culture and the importance of being in Nature. It also provides a small window into the life of Ryōkan and Zen Buddhism. Despite our technological advances, cities will rise and fall with time, but Nature will remain. A powerful haibun.

Old Church Tower at Nuenen, 1884, Vincent van Gogh