Tag: poetry

Haiku by Anne Kulou, Elliot Diamond, and Małgorzata Formanowska

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

morning fog—
a crow’s cry piercing
the layers of light

— Anne Kulou (Germany)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

I have a soft spot for morning fogs and crows, so this haiku gravitated towards me. The ellipsis in the beginning grounds us in the scene, allowing the reader to imagine a beautiful, yet mysterious fog. “Fog” is a double entendre, lending to interpretations about the fuzziness of the mind and other psychological disturbances, such as the “fog of war.”

No matter if the fog is literal or figurative, the crow’s cry cuts through it, even in the calmness of the morning. The word “cry” is intriguing, as it humanizes the crow. We usually associate this magnificent bird with “caw” and something abrasive. But “cry” prompts us to feel sympathy, if not empathy, for the crow.

Morning fogs and crows point towards autumn. It is a time of sparseness, with just a little light coming through. Even that minuscule amount of brightness is sliced through by the cry of the crow, which highlights or intensifies the sense of autumn.

The power of this haiku centers around its vivid imagery, the play between sound and light, and the embodiment of the season. It also reads well, with open sounds in “o” and “i” strung throughout. These pleasant letters are contrasted with the stronger letters in “r” and “g,” which connect with the juxtaposition of fog and the cry of a crow that runs through it. The pacing of the lines is also measured and weighty, like walking through a fog.

This haiku brings back awe to common themes, which is a mark of knowing tradition well and utilizing our creative spirit.

siren song                                                                  
as a fire station                                                         
empty boots

— Elliot Diamond (USA)
first published in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), Kigo Lab Special, ed. Alan Summers

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer: 

This is an important haiku that gives us a glimpse into the life of firefighters. This haiku seems to have a haunting quality, as the siren song could be the silence of the fire station itself. Even in the silence, we can hear the echoes of the siren. The siren song could also be exemplified by the red color of the fire station. It is interesting to include the word song in this haiku. This seems to give the siren added dimensions. It is no longer merely a siren, but a kind of song that seems to honor those who have left the occupation or passed away. It is a sound that marks the urgency of fighting a fire. There is no time to waste.

We also don’t know why the boots are empty. A firefighter could have retired, he/she/they could have left the job for another occupation, or the firefighter could have passed away. In all three scenarios, the darkness of the empty boots allows us to step into the shoes/boots of the firefighter, even for a moment. Regardless of our interpretations, this haiku shows the inherent dangers of being a firefighter, the sheer courage and strength it takes to be on the front lines of several fires, and the consequences. Indeed, firefighters sometimes risk their lives to save others. Additionally, this haiku may inspire readers to learn more about how to prevent fires, fire safety, and what to do during wildfires.

Interestingly, Indigenous Peoples have long known the importance of controlled fires to prevent wildfires. These controlled fires also allow ashes and nutrients to supplement the soil. I think we should take the time to learn from Indigenous Peoples who are excellent caretakers of the Earth.

This haiku first appeared in The Pan Haiku Review Issue 2 (Winter 2023), edited by Alan Summers. One unique aspect of this journal is Alan’s inclusion of additional context around certain poems. For this particular haiku by Elliot Diamond, Alan adds:

“What is the life expectancy of a firefighter in the United States? Life expectancy for firefighters is 10 years less than for individuals with other occupations. The frequency of leaving the job due to health problems was 60% higher among firefighters than among individuals working in other industries.

Seasonality and Coronary Heart Disease Deaths in United States Firefighters: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3756551/

The September 11 attacks (New York City 2001) 9/11 by the numbers: 8:46 a.m. and 9:02 a.m. Time the burning towers stood: 56 minutes and 102 minutes. Time they took to fall: 12 seconds. From there, they ripple out. Number of firefighters and paramedics killed: 343 September 11 by Numbers New York Magazine Despite advancements in DNA technology, roughly 40% of the victims (1,100 people) thought to have died in the disaster, remain unidentified. CNN September 2023″

In summary, this is an important haiku that provides a window into the life of firefighters. I sincerely thank all firefighters who put their lives on the line. They have a heart of compassion and will attempt to save anyone, regardless of their race, ethnicity, gender identity, or background.

winter air
the fleeting shapes
of our breaths  

— Małgorzata Formanowska (Poland)
22nd Annual UKIAH Haiku Festival: Honorable Mention for the Jane Reichhold International Award

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku captures a quiet moment in cold winter, phrased in a way that makes us feel it to our core. “Winter air” may be referring to the extreme cold that may occur before or after rain or snowfall. It is something invisible but still shows its existence in mysterious ways, i.e., breath clouds. The poet showcases the moment of visibility of the air in an imaginative way, where it suddenly takes shape briefly before it disappears. The yugen and ephemeral elements of this poem make it interesting, while also being easily relatable.

“The fleeting shapes” show the transience of life. Things come and go quickly, leaving a deep impact on our lives. Fleeting shapes may allude to the possibility that there are two persons in close proximity who are not only enjoying the warmth of their breath but also the shapes that it creates in dense air, which can intermingle and overlap with each other. It may also reflect melancholic feelings, with the person being alone and enjoying the shapes of breath even in chilly weather, or being so focused on something, and then the poet gets distracted by the shapes of breath. In any case, it is a subtle awareness where breath is a symbol of life, and seeing it appear and disappear in winter air evokes the fragility and temporary nature of existence.

Looking at the sound, the frequent use of vowels in this haiku emphasizes the subtle connectivity that exists in moments but leaves strong effects behind.

Sumi-e by Carolyn Fitz

Haiku by Kashiana Singh, Goran Gatalica, and David Josephsohn

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn HaikuLeave a comment

my epitaph
again and again
the weeds

— Kashiana Singh (USA)

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

Writing one’s epitaph has various connotations. It could mean the poet is near death or was near death at some point. Another reason is that the poet is already reflecting on her life and writing an epitaph, even though she is not close to passing away. Epitaphs are usually short and compact, and comprising a whole life in one statement is difficult.

The second line acts as a pivot, which could add content for either the first or third line. It is also a contrast of the finality of the first line. “again and again” could be pointing towards reincarnation or revising an epitaph over and over. There is another reading that suggests that the weeds keep coming up over the epitaph not matter how many times you get rid of them. Both ways of looking at the poem are interesting and make readers ponder. Overall, the poem makes me introspect about our insignificance and how nature cannot be truly disrupted, despite our push to control our environment. In addition, I think of how difficult it is to encapsulate a life in one sentence, as each of us is a multitude.

When I read “weeds,” I feel the weeds might be us. Also, the poet might be hinting that the weeds might be the true epitaph of the poet, and perhaps of us all. A weed also flowers and is often misunderstood. We label them as “weeds” when they are simply following their essential nature.

Peering at the more formal elements, the language mirrors the minimalism of an epitaph. Yet, the final image expands outward, suggesting seasons, neglect, and time passing after the poet is gone. It is difficult to pin down a kigo or seasonal reference here, as different types of weeds are more prominent at certain times of the year. In traditional Japanese haiku, common examples are ukikusa (duckweed) for summer, mugura (cleavers/creepers) for spring, dandelion for early spring, and tsuwabuki (rock butterbur) in winter. In this haiku, though, I don’t feel the poet is putting emphasis on the season. Rather, the poet is focusing on the link between permanence and impermanence.

In terms of sound, it seems the lightness of the e and a letters contrasts well with the heaviness of the g letters. This brings transience and mortality into focus again.

It’s quite a simple haiku at first glance, but the more you look at it, the more layers you discover.

starry night—
the generations of women
who did needlework

— Goran Gatalica (Croatia) 
Awarded First Place in the 3rd John Bird Dreaming Award for Haiku, Australia, 2025

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer:

This is a beautiful haiku that honors generations of women, giving them the respect and reverence they deserve. The relationships that women made with each other and with others resonate powerfully with the invisible constellations that connect the stars. I believe these relationships continue, spiritually, and also form new relationships when women continue the craft. When someone engages in an age-old tradition, I feel they are inherently connecting with their ancestors.

On that note, this haiku also makes me think of Indigenous culture. I’ve read that Indigenous Peoples believe each person’s spirit travels across the Milky Way at the end of their human life to meet their ancestors and the Great Mystery. Indigenous Peoples understand that everything is connected, which leads to reciprocity and community, as our lives are interwoven in a myriad of ways. This view shows that our lives are woven with our ancestors as well, which comes through this haiku.

In a broad sense, needlework is a crafting technique that often involves yarn, thread, and fabric to create clothing and other works of art. There are actually at least 14 different kinds of needlework: (1) embroidery, (2) appliqué, (3) knitting, (4) crocheting, (5) quilting, (6) sewing, (7) bead weaving, (8) cross-stitch, (9) ribbon embroidery, (10), crewel embroidery, (11) needlepoint, (12) needle lace, (13) tapestry, and (14) patchwork. These needlework approaches can result in delicate and textured works of art, quilts, clothing, home décor, scarves, intricate lace, blankets, toys, bags, and curtains. For more information on needlework, I recommend this article: 14 Types of Needlework. This article includes this quote: “These 14 needlework crafts, each with its distinctive techniques and histories, offer not just a means to create but also a way to connect with traditions, communities, and our creative selves.”

In summary, this is a powerful haiku that honors our ancestors, the women who did needlework, and the women who continue needlework today. It also shows the power of relationships. This haiku is spiritually charged with love and reverence, and tangibly shows how the threads of our lives are interwoven with each other and other forms of life in both obvious and mysterious ways.

busker’s song

coins rattle

in a minor key

— David Josephsohn (USA)
Winner, the Haiku International Association 2023 Contest

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

The opening line, “busker’s song,” recalls for me a performance I once heard along the River Thames in London. The phrase does not specify the melody, but the kind of songs buskers often choose i.e. sentimental, powerful, or quietly melancholic pieces that stir emotions. The apostrophe in the opening line suggests that it’s something very personal and emotional.  

The second line, “coins rattle,” introduces a sharp, sudden sound. The quick succession of coins in a bowl makes it a parallel rhythmic music that echoes a bit loud and also gets the attention of the audience. To me, it gives me a sense of sadness as personal feelings are being transformed into something materialistic. The rattling coins suggest that the song has touched many listeners, yet there is a subtle irony here: while the audience may feel deeply moved, their response is reduced to the simple gesture of tossing a coin. The sound becomes both appreciation and limitation in terms of a public token for private feelings that perhaps cannot be openly expressed.

The concluding line, “in a minor key,” gives an emotional touch to the poem. A minor key implies sadness, depth, and introspection. It’s a minor key with the strongest impact. The melancholy of the melody leaves some reflection where listeners can feel their profound emotions. Whether deliberate or instinctive, the busker’s choice of tone draws out a collective response that makes the minor key more significant.

The absence of punctuation encourages the readers to experience the moment freely. The repetition of the r sound (busker’s, rattle, minor) adds a subtle rhythm to the ears by integrating all the elements together: music, metal, and deep feelings.

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