Tag: poem

Haiku by Martina Matijević, Anthony Lusardi, and Paul Callus

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

dusty teddy bear   
brushing off   
my childhood 

— Martina Matijević (Croatia)  

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku evokes a tender yet bittersweet moment of reconnection with the past. The “dusty teddy bear” serves as a symbol of childhood, once cherished, now forgotten, or stored away. Dust here is not just physical but metaphorical, suggesting the passage of time and emotional distance where one may have fading memories of childhood.

The middle line, “brushing off,” is beautifully ambiguous, yet letting the person find some clarity into their childhood. It implies a physical act where cleaning the toy hints at revisiting or even confronting long-buried memories. There’s a subtle emotional movement in this line: care, nostalgia, and perhaps a trace of reluctance. This is how one reverts back to their past life with a little bit of effort and time.

The final line, “my childhood,” brings a sense of closure. The teddy bear becomes a gateway to personal history, and the speaker, by brushing it off, also dusts off a part of themselves. The haiku captures a universal experience, how a small object can unlock an entire era of feeling. It’s delicate, reflective, and deeply human.

Lastly, the sound of consonants b and d in this haiku strikes deep yet strong feelings that might have brought back some vivid memories of childhood.

blind date
a wildflower                           
my app can’t identify

— Anthony Lusardi (USA)
Prune Juice, August issue, 2025

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The senryu opens with “blind date,” situating the poem in the modern social world. It’s also a circumstance that many of us can identify with. Usually, “blind date” senryu have elements of humor. So, as a reader, I immediately expected a comical twist.

The second line introduces “a wildflower”—a counterpoint to the digital world referred to in the third line. The wildflower symbolizes something growing outside expected boundaries and a sense of freedom. In traditional haiku aesthetics, a wildflower often embodies sabi (rustic beauty), yet here in this senryu, it is employed in a playful way where the poet’s date is implied to be a “wildflower,” and notes how romance or love is often indescribable.

The closing line captures the tension between technology’s attempt to categorize the world and the irreducible mystery of human connection. There’s an irony in our dependence on apps to “know” what’s what—even as what truly matters (the person on the blind date) resists such identification.

Overall, the humor is understated—a hallmark of senryu—but carries emotional resonance. Beneath the joke about the app’s failure is a quiet longing for authenticity, for something not optimized or labeled.

Checking in on the sense of sound, the w and f sounds give both emphasis and a wispy feeling to the poem. With the format, the last line is long, yet it is not an issue since not only is this a senryu (which doesn’t focus on format much), but the line breaks seem natural.

Ultimately, I chose to comment on this senryu because of its mixing of technology, romance, and playful use of nature. I was happy to see it appear in the prestigious journal, Prune Juice.

monsoon rain
over the paddy fields
a flight of dragonflies

— Paul Callus (Malta)

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

This is an interesting haiku that shows the after-effects of a monsoon in the paddy fields where rice is grown. According to the National Environmental Satellite, Data, and Information Service: “A monsoon is a shift in winds that often causes a very rainy season or a very dry season. Although monsoons are usually associated with parts of Asia, they can happen in many tropical and subtropical regions – including several locations in the United States. Monsoons are caused by a change in the direction of the wind that happens when the seasons change. In fact, even the word monsoon comes from the Arabic word mausim, which means ‘season.’ At the beginning of summer, the land warms up faster than bodies of water. Monsoon winds always blow from cold to warm. In the summer, warm air rising off the land creates conditions that reverse the direction of the wind.”

In this haiku, the extreme weather of heavy monsoon rains is contrasted with the silent and delicate flight of dragonflies. Traditionally, dragonflies are an autumn kigo (seasonal reference). The flight of dragonflies could symbolize a human migration, i.e., perhaps the farmers in the paddy fields are also temporarily migrating due to the heavy rains, as summer fades into autumn.

On the other hand, according to the World Population Review: “The most common method of cultivating rice involves flooding the field, a practice typically carried out in what’s known as a rice paddy. This helps water and protect the plant from vermin and disease.” Therefore, the monsoon rains can help cultivate rice, though it’s more difficult to work in the paddy fields during the downpour.

Despite the potential melancholy interpretation relating to the autumn kigo, I can’t help but feel hope, courage, and resilience in this haiku: even in the heavy monsoon rains, the dragonflies are flying together. I think the plural form of “dragonflies” is special because I normally only see one dragonfly at any given moment. While there are likely two dragonflies in this haiku, it could also be enjoyable to imagine several dragonflies flying together.

In short, this is a significant haiku that shows resilience, a seasonal shift, and offers a portal into the lives of farmers who work tirelessly in the paddy fields to grow and cultivate rice. More interesting facts about rice can be found on the World Population Review website.

Painting by Ernest Barbaric

Haiku by Robert Witmer, Mona Bedi, and Vaishnavi Pusapati

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku2 Comments

summer
the millstone
grinding
the donkey

— Robert Witmer (Japan)
Acorn, 2012

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

The word “summer” serves as the kigo, or seasonal reference. With summer linked to heat and exhaustion, the donkey, laboring under the sun, embodies the season’s oppression. There is also a contrast between the carefree time of the season for many and the hardship of the donkey. The poem is in line with the haiku tradition of showcasing animals as mirrors for the human experience.

The line break after “grinding” sets the haiku up for suspense. On the literal level, the millstone grinds grain, powered by the donkey. Yet, the syntax suggests another possibility: the millstone is grinding “the donkey.” This ambiguity shifts the focus of agricultural labor to an existential meditation. The donkey is not only the driver of the millstone but also its victim, ground down by endless work. The brevity of the poem creates the opportunity for two interpretations in one phrase.

The opening word “summer” creates a pause much like a kireji (cutting word) in Japanese haiku. That initial fragment provides a sense of heat and the monotony in the donkey’s circling. The lack of punctuation allows the lines to blur a bit as if there is a heatwave. Also, the way the haiku is set to four lines to slow down the reading, instead of the usual three in English-language haiku, illustrates the trudging of the donkey.

The donkey itself evokes the burden of living and the servitude we all must endure. In this haiku, however, the animal is emblematic of exploitation and fatigue. The millstone, traditionally associated with providing food, here becomes an instrument of slavery or torture. Therefore, the poem shows a contrast between the cycle of food production and the cycle of suffering. In this sense, this haiku may have Buddhist or Hindu overtones—specifically, with impermanence (mujo) and suffering (dukkha).

Looking at the sound, the s hisses like the heat of summer, and the m is heavy, creating a sense of weight that links with the donkey’s toil. Additionally, “grinding” is an onomatopoeia that mimics the action of the millstone and the servitude of the donkey.

As a person concerned about animal welfare, this haiku is touching. It made me consider more deeply the amount of labor and forced suffering we inflict upon our fellow creatures. The slow pacing, sound, and pivot line all work well to convey the feelings and ideas the poet wanted us to consider.

the deep blue 
of my hometown sky
summer’s end

— Mona Bedi (India)
Wales Haiku Journal, Summer 2025

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer:

Colors in haiku can add psychological, emotional, and sometimes spiritual dimensions. In this haiku, the deep blue could imply a kind of melancholy or a sense of calmness and mystery. Perhaps the poet’s hometown has significantly changed over the years, yet a certain nostalgia seems to remain. This resonates with the turning of the seasons as well. As summer ends, in certain parts of the world, there is a noticeable shift to the cooler air of autumn. Perhaps the end of summer also signifies that the poet is letting go of something and starting a new chapter in their life.

I appreciate how, even though this is a personal haiku, it transports readers into their own hometowns, acting as a kind of portal into the past and perhaps the future. There is a strong sense of place in this poem that connects us with the land, yet also with our family, friends, and the people we grew up with. A well-written haiku.

cloud hills—
between sips of tea
the smell of petrichor

— Vaishnavi Pusapati (India)
Under the Bashō, March 13 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

A meditative verse, steeped in stillness, sensory richness, and inward calm with deeply evocative undertones. It makes me think of the times when I used to enjoy tea and pakoras during the rain in our village haveli. The main reason behind that joy was the smell of petrichor, which always captivated my senses and allowed me to thoroughly enjoy the scene.

‘Cloud hills’ could be either a kigo (seasonal reference) or a place intentionally chosen by the poet to preserve certain past memories or simply to enjoy a moment of peace with nature. I find it more surreal and dreamy when I imagine places like this—where one can witness the beauty of different seasonal changes all at once. I see clouds as dreams, and hills as passion and emotion—elements the observer is trying to connect with. The em dash in the first line makes the image feel more intimate and personal, hinting at a deeper emotional association with the place.

The second line, ‘between sips of tea,’ feels especially meditative and thought-provoking. It reminds me of a tea ceremony, where one is fully present and mindful, experiencing the ‘here and now.’ The sips seem to help the person unwind and appreciate the moment through all their senses. The use of the word ‘between’ invites readers to pause and take in the scene—whether that moment is brief or lingering. It reflects an aesthetic appreciation of drinking, where tea becomes more than a beverage—it becomes a profound experience for the body, senses, and mind.

The final line presents a beautiful blend: the aroma of tea merging with the smell of petrichor. It’s one of the most powerful combinations—evoking refreshed emotions and thoughts. It feels as though the poet is in perfect harmony with nature, immersed in a moment that is spiritual, nostalgic, and even a little mysterious. Both aromas—the tea and the petrichor—engage the sense of smell, which often requires deep attention and presence to truly notice.

Finally, the repeated ‘e’ sounds throughout the haiku add a soft rhythm, making it feel more musical and sensual.

“Wind and Sea” by HM Saffer

Haiku by Maurizio Brancaleoni, Kala Ramesh, and Sarah Mirabile-Blacker

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku5 Comments

small green leaves —
the ticket machine
is acting up

— Maurizio Brancaleoni (Italy)
Trash Panda, Vol. 7, Summer Issue 2024

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer: 

I appreciate the message and humor in this haiku. On first read, I saw the small green leaves being stuck in the ticket machine, preventing it from working. Alternatively, the machine could be malfunctioning for other reasons. In terms of a visual comparison, this haiku reminds me that ticket machines have semiconductor chips that are very small. What happens when a ticket machine (that has become a normal part of life) stops working? That moment of humor and frustration comes through this haiku. We also don’t know what kind of ticket machine is being referred to in this haiku. I like that it’s left open for the reader.

Sometimes, I think certain technological interruptions in daily life can reap many benefits and different points of view. It can break habitual thought patterns and offer fresh perspectives on life. As Gururaj Ananda Yogi has said, “Life is not meant to be lived like a machine. Life is an art.” This haiku also brings to mind haiku about power outages and how a power outage can open up new perspectives and ways of living and being in the world. Parallel to this observation, I think that because the machine is not working in this haiku, the poet is able to notice Nature. I find there is beauty in that. In general, perhaps if more people spent less time with technology and less time on their phones, they could notice more beauty around them.

In my city, there are various machines along streets and bus stops, including parking ticket machines, that help generate revenue for the city budget. How much money do cities make per year in parking tickets alone? According to qz.com, “San Jose made $11.4 million through parking tickets in 2019, an amount that doesn’t include the fees that weren’t collected.”

In short, this is an interesting haiku that explores the various intersections between Nature, psychology, money, and technology in modern life.

cycling   the moon and i    in sync

— Kala Ramesh (India)
Wales Haiku Journal: Summer 2025 edition

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku elegantly captures the interplay between nature and personal experience, linking the lunar cycle to the menstrual cycle. Even without an accompanying description, the connection between the average 29-day menstrual cycle and the lunar cycle remains clear. The term “cycling” conveys more than temporal alignment; it signals synchronized phases—waxing and waning, thickening and thinning—of both the moon’s surface and the womb’s lining. This suggests profound harmony between human biology and cosmic rhythms. “Cycling” carries layered meanings: endurance, patience, and transformation, whether physical or subtle, in both body and moon. Its repetitive nature reflects the universe’s order—growth and decline, life and death, beginnings and endings. These parallel the shared journeys of nature and humanity. Finally, the moon emerges as a symbol of life, fertility, love, rebirth, and transformation. It shares an intimate, almost invisible connection with the womb.

The monoku’s use of “i” in lowercase conveys humility and grace. It embraces the cyclical nature of both body and moon. The poet forges a unique bond, aligning the feminine essence of the moon and the self in harmony.

The word “sync” acts as a clever pivot. It implies both alignment and an inevitable pause—perhaps signaling transformation, rebirth, or menopause, where cycles break before renewing. This pause invites meditation, renewal, or a shift in life’s course. It offers a moment of rejuvenation after exhaustion.

The monoku’s spacing encourages reflection on each word, slowing the reader’s rush to judgment. This structure, combined with the lowercase “i,” underscores humility and invites the contemplation of the interconnected cycles of nature and self, unified in their feminine essence.

dusk —
riding tandem
with his shadow

— Sarah Mirabile-Blacker (Switzerland)

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This haiku captures a fleeting yet intimate moment between self and shadow, set against the liminal time of dusk. “dusk” isn’t a conventional kigo (seasonal reference), but it functions evocatively. Dusk carries universal associations with transition and ending—themes rich with emotional and symbolic resonance. Although not tied directly to a season, it offers a subtle kigo-like atmosphere, hinting at cyclical closure or introspection.

The dash after “dusk” pauses the reader, allowing the scene to transition—between day and night, visibility and obscurity. The dash puts “dusk” into “solitude” before introducing the duo of the rider and his shadow. That separation allows the two elements—time and action—to resonate individually, then recombine through the act of juxtaposition. The dash is an approximation of kireji, the Japanese cut marker in a haiku.

“Riding tandem” suggests companionship and rhythm. To “ride tandem with his shadow” conveys both literal imagery—a cyclist lengthened by his dark double—and metaphorical resonance. The shadow is no longer a passive outline; it becomes an equal partner, keeping pace, inseparable yet independent. “his shadow” could also refer to the narrator riding alongside the shadow of a friend, husband, or family member.

Looking at the sound of the haiku, dusk closes with the hushed consonant cluster -sk, trailing off like something that is dimming. shadow ends in the long, fading vowel -ow, evoking dissolving, like a sound disappearing into the air. So, the word choices themselves suggest a diminishing, mirroring the passage into night. Also, the sharp sounds (bolded) in “riding,” “tandem,” “with,” “his,” and “shadow” provide a stark atmosphere to the poem.

This haiku displays a precise perception that opens into wider emotional and philosophical terrain. Through the use of kireji, the mood-infused “dusk,” and the economical but striking juxtaposition of rider and shadow, the poem evokes transience, identity, and companionship in a moment suspended between day and night.

Frontispiece to “Sharing an umbrella (Ai ai gasa)” by Izumi Kyōka, frontispiece illustration, woodblock print.