Tag: poem

Haiku by Anthony Lusardi, Cezar Ciobîcă, and Jacek Margolak

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

weather forecast
neighbors discussing             
which tree might fall where

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
previously in Hedgerow, issue #151, 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

I appreciate how down-to-earth this haiku is. This haiku features a moment where Nature and civilization collide. A fallen tree can, indeed, cause a lot of damage to houses and cars. Fallen trees can result in expensive home repairs and have, unfortunately, taken some people’s lives. On the other hand, it is true that the very construction of our neighborhoods and houses has caused a lot of environmental harm. I appreciate how this haiku encourages us to deeply contemplate how we truly want to live and encourages us to think deeply about our relationship with the Earth.

This haiku also makes me think of ways that we can build houses and buildings that protect us from storms and natural disasters. I think of earthquake-resistant buildings found in Japan, where earthquakes are common. Most houses, apartments, and duplexes are at least partially made from trees. Even where I live, I recently called the public utility company to request them to trim a tree back due to its obstructing a power line to the house.

The first line clearly alludes to a storm approaching, likely a windstorm. I have always been fascinated by the phenomenon of wind: how something invisible can be so powerful.

Aside from the philosophical conversation around Nature, storms, and architecture, I appreciate that there is community and conversation in this haiku. It demonstrates how an oncoming storm can bring people together, regardless of our many differences.

In summary, this is a down-to-earth and relatable haiku that focuses on storms, Nature, civilization, community, and the architecture of houses and neighborhoods. Perhaps most of all, I appreciate how this haiku encourages deep and meaningful conversation.

train from Ukraine
her nesting dolls
full of scars

— Cezar Ciobîcă (Romania)
previously in Mayfly #78, 2025

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

As someone who has lived in Ukraine for six years and is interested in Ukrainian culture, this haiku stood out to me. I also thought the mention of nesting dolls or “matryoshkas” was a stark cultural and political allusion. The poet doesn’t explain what he thinks about the nesting doll or its significance but allows the reader come to their own conclusion.

Though nesting dolls, or “matryoshkas,” are commonly associated with Russia and prominently featured in this haiku in a political sense, these dolls have been around in China since the Song Dynasty, which dates back to around 1000 AD. However, the Russian variant became popular in recent history (late 1800s) and has been a symbol of being Russian ever since. While in Ukraine, I saw murals of these dolls being shot at or brutalized in other ways. Attacking matryoshka dolls in Ukraine became a metaphor for resistance since the occupation of Crimea in 2014.

In association with this haiku, the image of the matryoshka doll is complex. As a reader, I want to sympathize with the toy and artwork, while at the same time feel a level of disgust at the russification of Ukrainian culture, with the Ukrainian girl or woman having a nesting doll by way of cultural occupation, oppression, and assimilation. It seems the nesting doll has gone through war too, despite being Russian itself on Ukrainian land. All of this can be summed up in the word “trauma.”

The first line could suggest that the person mentioned in the haiku is leaving Ukraine because of the current war. She has brought the nesting dolls with her, possibly as a keepsake, representing her family’s generations and the continuity of life. These values are more key in times of distress, and the person in the haiku is maybe holding onto the nesting dolls as a sign of hope. But, the third line throws in a twist, allowing the reader to ponder the context of “scars.”

Structurally, the poem mirrors the nesting motif. Each line gets smaller and smaller, yet expanding in meaning. With the absence of verbs (“nesting” acts as a noun, a gerund), the scene feels suspended. That tension between movement and stasis deepens the poignancy. The mix of hard (n and r) and soft (l and 0) sounds adds to the dual nature of the imagery.

Overall, the haiku succeeds through understatement. It doesn’t mention references to war, violence, or grief. Instead, it trusts the reader to recognize how a small, culturally resonant object can hold the weight of a nation’s wounds and oppression. A single object can carry a great mix of emotions and histories, and this haiku illustrates this with grace.

scraping fish
a few scales fall back
into the river

— Jacek Margolak (Poland)

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

I was deeply moved by this haiku because of its vivid imagery and profound meaning. The opening line, “scraping fish,” is a bit scary. It’s almost dreadful to imagine such a situation.  The word “scraping” is harsh and brutal as it evokes the physical act of removing scales and fins, and with it, the cruelty embedded deep down. It is not a pleasant image, and perhaps that discomfort is unavoidable, keeping the sensitivity of the image.  

Scraping a fish is part of preparing food, a very ordinary act of survival within the food chain. Yet psychologically, it may reflect the cold and ruthless side of human behavior. The fish’s scales and fins, which once served as protection against harsh water currents, are stripped away. This shows how life can fall into complete disarray when there is no one around to protect us physically and emotionally.

The second line, “a few scales fall back,” introduces a subtle movement within an otherwise quiet setting. The falling scales create a gentle motion, almost delicate in contrast to the violence of scraping. Their return to the water suggests going back to the origin. Yet this return is insignificant as the poet deliberately mentions ‘a few scales’. It makes little difference in the larger ecosystem, emphasizing how easily things disappear once annihilated. At the same time, the drifting scales blending into the river may suggest that nothing is completely erased; some traces remain behind as an example for the rest.  

The final line, “into the river,” completes the image with resonance and depth. Besides all harshness and cruelty, something returns to where it once belonged. Whether it’s a residue or restoration, the act shows the cyclical nature of existence. Life feeds on life. There are no moral safeguards within this natural order, only transience. The haiku quietly reflects this interplay between survival, loss, and return, leaving the readers to feel it deeply.

The lack of punctuation deepens the silence the poem carries, naturally slowing the reader and opening space for contemplation on life’s transience.

Le train en hiver by Clarence Gagnon, c. 1913-14, oil on canvas

Haiku by Sam Renda, Vaishnavi Pusapati, and John Tang

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

luminescent sea
all the little things
we think we’ll remember

— Sam Renda (South Africa)
Published first in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal, Issue 5:2, Spring/Summer 2022

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is a powerful haiku that allows readers to contemplate the mysterious phenomenon of individual and collective memory. In addition, this haiku sparks several meaningful conversations.

The first line of this haiku is a powerful image, and also sets the mood and tone of the poem. The sea is vast, while human memory is limited. To that end, this haiku could be foreshadowing different forms of memory loss, including Alzheimer’s disease and/or dementia. With this in mind, this haiku seems to be encouraging us to take preventative measures to reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s and dementia as we age. For more information on doing our best to prevent Alzheimer’s disease and dementia, I recommend reading Reducing Risk for Dementia, and also discovering the neurological and cognitive benefits of drinking green tea regularly at Brain-Protective Effects of Green Tea and Beneficial Effects of Green Tea Catechins on Neurodegenerative Diseases. In short, a healthy diet, physical exercise, meditation, and avoiding tobacco and alcohol can all help prevent memory loss down the road.
Interestingly, neuroscientists have discovered that what we call memories are inherently incomplete fragments that are filled in subconsciously by our imagination. For more information on this fascinating subject, I recommend these two articles: Memory and Imagination: Exploring the Interplay Between Past and Future and How Your Brain Makes Up Stories to Fill in the Blanks.

Simultaneously, it seems this haiku is asking readers to contemplate what parts of our lives we want to document for our family and future generations. To put it more simply: what do we want to leave behind? Interestingly, on that note, this haiku could speak directly to the art of reading and writing haiku. In other words, as haiku poets, when we write haiku, we are leaving behind moments, traces of an experience, and documenting our lives in the ever-flowing “now” that seems to contain the entire past and the future within it. This leads to an interesting conversation on how personal haiku can be, and yet, how universal they can be as well. Do we want our haiku to allude to us as silent observers of life? Or, do we want to share parts of our seemingly private lives with others, including strangers? There seems to be a spectrum, and in our human lives, there seems to be room for personal as well as universal moments. In short, there appears to be room for our personal imagination, memories, and direct observations in our haiku writing that reflects the psycho-spiritual complexity of being human.

The notion of collective memory has been explored, perhaps most famously, by Carl Jung: “[The] collective unconscious: [a] term introduced by psychiatrist Carl Jung to represent a form of the unconscious (that part of the mind containing memories and impulses of which the individual is not aware) common to mankind as a whole and originating in the inherited structure of the brain. It is distinct from the personal unconscious, which arises from the experience of the individual. According to Jung, the collective unconscious contains archetypes, or universal primordial images and ideas” (collective unconscious).

This haiku also sparks a conversation about the history of this Earth and lost civilizations. For a fascinating dive into lost civilizations, I recommend these two articles: 11 Civilizations That Disappeared Under Mysterious Circumstances and 20 Lost Civilizations That Might Still Be Hidden Today.

Other spiritual teachers have sometimes used the term “Universal Mind” to describe Divinity. Interestingly, in terms of consciousness itself, it seems memory is infinite. With this in mind, returning to the haiku, poetically, the luminescent sea could relate to consciousness itself and the vast storage space that contains our memories. These memories could also include the memories of other species as well. This leads to an enriching conversation on the notion of past lives, reincarnation, and past lives that some children have remembered with evidence that strongly supports this, as they remember precise details. For more information on this subject, I recommend Children Who Report Memories of Past Lives.

Finally, with the invention of the internet and AI (artificial intelligence), I think we should be asking ourselves how we wish to be remembered in the digital world, think about how our memories are stored in digital ways, and find ways to protect and preserve what we choose to document and share. This can be a controversial and harmful terrain to enter, as there are many lawsuits involving artists and writers where AI companies have stolen or manipulated their original work and have violated copyright laws. For more information, here are two sources: Generative Artificial Intelligence and Copyright Law and AI giants are stealing our creative work. The limited memory space on a computer (and in the cloud) is also interesting when relating to the human brain’s capacity to store memories. Of course, with all this being said, The Matrix movie also comes to mind.

In summary, this is a highly contemplative haiku that encourages us to think deeply about memory, collective memory, our imagination, our identity, and what we each want to leave behind (and what we are collectively leaving behind).

autumn dusk —
    the empty swing
still warm

— Vaishnavi Pusapati (India)
Published first in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal, 2025

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The opening line, “autumn dusk,” pauses me for a moment, allowing the scene to settle. Autumn dusk is often associated with sadness, dullness, and gloom; yet, this perception depends on the setting: a park, a school ground, a family courtyard, a garden, or a village home. Dusk is a threshold, a fragile pause where traces of the day still linger before transforming into night. In autumn, it reveals its truest colours, evoking nostalgia, melancholy, solitude, and quiet reflection. The em dash deepens this pause, suggesting the person is drawn into this moment by vivid memories or sudden flashbacks.

The second line introduces a sense of loneliness through the image of the empty swing. It becomes an object of remembered joy, perhaps of childhood, perhaps of a cherished phase of life that comes back time and again. The swing once held laughter, motion, oscillation, and presence; now its emptiness mirrors the inward sense of loss and longing. The space before the second line depicts the depth of emptiness and loneliness one is feeling at the moment.

The concluding line, “still warm,” gently shifts the emotional temperature of the haiku. Against the cold, muted tones of autumn dusk, warmth suggests recent human presence, someone who has just departed but has left behind fresh, tender memories. The word “still” implies continuity: memory has not faded with time. Warmth here becomes emotional rather than physical, affirming that no matter how distant the past, deeply held memories remain vivid and alive.

I especially admire the interweaving of cold and warmth, absence and presence, without making the poem explicit. Even the recurring m sounds subtly contribute to a sense of mystery, intimacy, and inward reflection—echoing the quiet depth of lived experience.

feather dance
in the twilight 
childhood wonder

— John Tang (China)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The first line, “feather dance,” caught my attention right away. It made me think of Native American and Oaxacan dances to honor gods and ancestors. Since the poet is from China, I conducted a little research on the Chinese Feather Dance, which is a tribute to ancestral temples or the Gods of the Four Directions. The dance was used in imperial or official sacrificial ceremonies, particularly during the Zhou dynasty’s court music and dances, known as Yayue. In China, feathers in ritual dances often represent the ability to soar, connecting the Earth with the divine or sky gods.

However, I think many readers will read “feather dance” as a single feather falling and twirling down to the ground. Given that we mostly see feathers as already fallen, witnessing one drift down from the sky is an awe-inspiring moment.

With the introduction of “in the twilight,” the haiku becomes more mysterious and mystical. Twilight is often when clarity softens, and imagination can breathe. It’s a fine setting for a feather to feel more enchanted rather than incidental.

The final line, “childhood wonder,” names the emotional resonance, but it doesn’t feel heavy-handed because it arrives after the image has already done its work. I also take it as a comparison between the feather’s dance in twilight with childhood wonder as a concept. The awe we feel in our childhood dies down when we become adults, but we can try to revive it. This could be seen as a dance or a beautiful oscillation.

With no punctuation in the haiku, the second line could be seen as a pivot. The poem can be read in two ways: feather dance/in the twilight, childhood wonder, or feather dance in the twilight/childhood wonder. So, twilight can relate either to the feather dance or childhood wonder, or both.

Within the fitting brevity of the haiku, there is also a strong sense of sound, with lilting l and i, as well as pounding d, which creates a juxtaposition between beauty and stark awe.

A lovely cultural haiku that resonates far beyond borders.


Painting by Dawn Hudson

Haiku by Samo Kreutz, Tuyet Van Do, and Bonnie J Scherer

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku, Senryu3 Comments

meditation music …
a kitten’s purr slips
into incense

— Samo Kreutz (Slovenia)
THF Haiku Dialogue, November 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku resonates deeply with me, especially since my recent collaborative book, Beyond Emptiness, explores themes of mysticism and spiritual transformation.

The opening line, “meditation music,” immediately evokes a serene, introspective space. For me, it echoes the tones of Sufi music or soft instrumental melodies—sounds that captivate the senses and guide the soul toward mindfulness. Such music plays a vital role in calming the nerves and synchronizing one’s rhythm with the stillness within.

The second line, “a kitten’s purr,” introduces a gentle, intimate sound—subtle yet profound. I interpret the kitten’s presence as symbolic of a beginner in meditation: quiet, curious, and softly aligned with the spiritual energy. Purring suggests delight, warmth, and safety—a sensory harmony that seamlessly blends with the meditative ambiance. It reminds us that the healing power of sound affects not just humans but all sentient beings.

The poet concludes it beautifully with “slips into incense,” which is both poetic and mystical. There’s a beautiful synesthetic quality here, a merging of sound, scent, and motion. The phrase “slips into” suggests a gentle transformation, a shift from the tangible into the ethereal. It reflects that moment in meditation when physical sensations dissolve, and one is immersed in the intangible. The incense symbolizes this spiritual diffusion where worldly concerns fade, and one melts into a deeper, more satisfying stillness.

Altogether, the haiku captures a sacred moment where the boundaries between body, mind, and spirit gently blur.

queueing for coffee
an elderly man
counting his change

— Tuyet Van Do (Australia)
Kokako 43, 2025

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is an important haiku for a variety of reasons. 

Firstly, this haiku shows a fast-paced lifestyle that coffee is often associated with, and the sheer demand for coffee. While there is non-caffeinated coffee available, most coffee has caffeine, which is known as an addictive drug. Not all people who drink coffee are addicted, but many people are. This could transfer to the interpretation that some people seem to be addicted to a fast-paced lifestyle, thinking that faster is always better. However, some people also seem to move faster as a survival mechanism due to low-wage jobs and rising costs of living. By moving faster and sometimes working multiple jobs, there is an opportunity to make more money. 

While drinking coffee in moderation has health benefits, the added sugar to specialty coffee beverages, such as lattes, can have serious health consequences when consumed regularly over time, and can lead to diabetes mellitus, inflammation, and cardiovascular diseases, which can be fatal. According to the World Health Organization, in 2021, ischemic heart disease was the #1 cause of death worldwide, and diabetes mellitus was the 8th leading cause of death (source: https://www.who.int/news-room/fact-sheets/detail/the-top-10-causes-of-death). There are also often negative health consequences that come with a fast-paced lifestyle, including increased stress, and not activating our parasympathetic nervous system enough to rest, digest, and relax.

The sheer demand for coffee is marked by the “queueing for coffee” in this haiku, which means there’s a long line of people waiting. Ironically, depending on the size of the business and the number of workers, people may have to wait for quite some time to buy their coffee. The fast-paced lifestyle is starkly contrasted with the elderly man, who is slowly counting his change and has to move at a much slower pace due to his age. This elderly man could be addicted to coffee, but he is not moving as fast as he used to. Alternatively, he could not be addicted to coffee at all. He may also be living in poverty due to counting his change. It seems people are waiting in line longer, partly because he is counting his change. Unfortunately, he may not have enough money to buy the coffee he ordered. I feel compassion for this elderly man and appreciate that he’s showing a slower pace of life. Also, the word “change” can refer to how the elderly man has transformed over his lifetime. The double entendre in haiku is a common device that is used to great effect.

According to Coffee Industry: Size, Growth, and Economic Impact Analysis, “The coffee industry is one of the largest and most influential sectors in the world, with an economic impact that extends far beyond just a daily beverage. As of 2025, the global coffee market accounted for $256.29 billion, and will register a CAGR of 4.52% from 2025 to 2034. This consistent growth reflects coffee’s enduring popularity, driven by changing consumer preferences, increasing disposable incomes, and the expanding coffee culture in emerging markets. According to a recent study, U.S. coffee consumption has grown by 5% since 2015, illustrating the increasing demand for this beloved beverage. This includes the shift toward premium and specialty coffee, which is boosting the value of global coffee beans, expected to reach $174.25 billion by 2030. Despite these hurdles, the coffee industry remains a crucial economic force, providing over 2.2 million jobs and generating more than $100 billion annually in wages across the U.S.”

According to Coffee’s Economic Impact:

“Two-thirds of American adults drink coffee each day and more than 70% of American adults drink coffee each week.”

Highlights of coffee’s economic impact in the United States include:

  • The total economic impact of the coffee industry in the United States in 2022 was $343.2 billion, up 52.4% since 2015.
  • The coffee industry is responsible for more than 2.2 million U.S. jobs and generates more than $100 billion in wages per year.
  • Coffee can only be grown in tropical climates. It cannot be grown in most of the United States and is sourced from countries with tropical climates. Every $1 in coffee imported to the United States ends up creating an estimated $43 in value here at home. Learn more about coffee and trade.
  • Consumers spend more than $300 million on coffee products every day—nearly $110 billion per year.

For more information on coffee, including the roots of coffee in Ethiopia, fair-trade, global coffee markets, and the consequences of colonization and enslavement associated with growing coffee in certain countries, I recommend this interview with Phyllis Johnson, published in The Sun Magazine: https://www.thesunmagazine.org/articles/601-crop-to-cup

In short, this is an important haiku that sheds light on coffee, the consequences of a fast-paced lifestyle, and also inspires compassion as we age. 

a story
cut short
earthworm

— Bonnie J Scherer (USA)
Modern Haiku 56.3

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

I believe this poem hovers between being a haiku or senryu—not that it matters too much. Ultimately, what is important is that it expresses violence and empathy via brevity, with its emotionality implied rather than stated.

Opening with “a story” is unique. As an editor, I don’t think I’ve ever seen that as a first line in a haiku/senryu. The phrase invites expectation and makes the reader curious about what is going to happen next in the poem.

“cut short” functions as both a poetic turn and a literal act. It interrupts the promise of “story” and physically refers to severing something. So, you got a balance between abstraction and the mundane.

With the mention of “earthworm,” we get the conclusion and also the opening up of the story. It grounds the poem in reality. This toriawase—story versus earthworm—creates resonance between human meaning-making and a small, often-overlooked being. The poet doesn’t dive into sentimentality; the earthworm is not anthropomorphized, yet the simplicity of the verse allows us to recognize that even the humblest organism contains a “story.” The violence is understated, yet it is heavy through sparseness.

I think the poem plays with the idea of impermanence and permanence. It is commonly known that if you cut off the body of an earthworm and the head remains, many times earthworms can grow their tails back and be whole once again. In this sense, the poet may be saying that even if a story is cut short, there is a strong chance that the narrative will continue with time.

Even though the poem is very short (five words in all), the sense of sound is strong. The elongated “o” sounds make the reading slower and more meditative. The “r” sounds perhaps bring extra weight.

I am a sucker for haiku and senryu that deal with the small things and beings around us, and this poem called out to me for that reason. The hidden meanings in the poem also made me more invested in it and allowed my mind to wander in introspection. A fine, sparse ku that does a lot with only five words.

Painting by Julius Adam (1852 – 1913), “Cat with her Kittens”