Tag: writing

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

Haiku and senryu by Srini, Danny Blackwell, and Tuyet Van Do

On By Nicholas KlacsanzkyIn Haiku1 Comment

starlit pond…
a paper boat floats
for light years

— Srini (India)
Tinywords, 25:2, October 3, 2025

Commentary from Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku transports us into a quiet, enclosed space—perhaps a park, a backyard, or a secluded garden. The opening image is enchanting and dreamy: a starlit pond blurs the line between sky and earth, mirroring the cosmos in its still waters. The ellipsis at the end of the first line invites a pause, allowing the reader to absorb the magic of the moment. I can almost see a tapestry of stars delicately reflected on the pond’s surface.

The second line introduces a subtle shift: a paper boat floats on the water. It acts as both an interruption and an anchor—drawing us back from reverie into something tangible and innocent. The boat may symbolize a small dream, a fleeting hope, or a playful childhood memory. Its fragility contrasts with the vastness of the sky, evoking a sense of childlike wonder and gentle yearning.

The closing line, “for light years,” broadens the scale dramatically, allowing us to feel the vastness of our universe. This simple phrase goes beyond time and space, suggesting a desire for an unending journey or an unreachable dream, sort of imaginative, but still holds some meaning. It transforms the scene into something meditative—where a single paper boat becomes a bridge between the earth and the cosmos, a bridge that also connects a dream with reality. It seems one is thoroughly enjoying the surreal environment that inspires them to see beyond limited vision and express one’s longing in the most beautiful and innocent way.

the mosquito mesh
pixelating
the night

— Danny Blackwell (Spain)
NHK TV program Haiku Masters, July 31, 2017. Reprinted in tiny words 17:2

Commentary from Nicholas Klacsanzky:

With the mention of “mosquito,” we could be receiving a kigo (seasonal reference), as they are most active during the warmer months—especially in June and July. Summer, as it relates to pixelation, can be likened to something overwhelming.

There is no explicit kireji (marker for the cut between parts in a haiku), but the line breaks act as a quasi one. The flow of the haiku can be read as one part, yet it is broken down as a pixelated mesh would be. This brings the reader more into the “space” of the poem.

The mosquito mesh is dual-acting: keeping out mosquitoes but also a catalyst for altered perception. As a person who used to work in information technology, I have often thought about the poetic implications of mesh and it being like pixelation. It is a visual metaphor drawn from the digital realm that plays with mundane texture. The mesh breaks the darkness of night into fragments, perhaps making it more manageable and less oppressive. This toriawase (combination of elements to create harmony) of the analog and digital invites multiple readings, with the word “night” having physical and metaphysical implications. “Night” could be indicative of a sadness, a horror, or a malaise.

The mesh could also be illustrative of the distance between intimacy and separation. The poet is close enough to notice the effect of the mesh, yet the mesh itself signifies a boundary between inside and outside, human and nature, the safe and the wild. It is a contemplative image that captures the modern condition: the world increasingly filtered, fragmented, and mediated through invisible grids.

With the repetition of t and i sounds, I can almost hear the tick of mosquitoes against the net and their whining. Overall, it is a haiku that expresses succinctly and poignantly a bridge between technology and the natural world, and the false divide we put up between nature and humanity.

emergency room
an elderly patient
rocking back and forth

— Tuyet Van Do (Australia) 
Pulse, 19th September 2025

Commentary from Jacob D. Salzer: 

The emergency room (ER) is a tough place to be, for a variety of reasons. While there is a triage process that’s designed for providers to first see patients with the most severe injuries and diseases, a lot of people end up in the waiting room for anywhere between 2 to 3 hours (or sometimes more) before being seen by a provider. The ER can be a crowded place. I’m personally a strong advocate for preventing diseases and injuries, though some things are hard or impossible to avoid. In this senryu, I first saw the ER waiting room full of people, and then noticed the elderly patient rocking back and forth. This movement could help create a soothing rhythm in the midst of what is often chaos and uncertainty. The elderly person could be rocking back and forth as they wait for the doctor or test results. While the ER can be a very difficult place to be, it’s also often a place of healing, recovery, and discovering what’s gone wrong.

We don’t know what the patient is going through in this senryu, but when I read this poem, I immediately feel compassion and empathy for the elderly person and for the human condition. It’s never easy being human, and it gets increasingly more common for things to go wrong in the body and mind as we age.

While this poem may seem simple on the surface, there are layers of psychological and medical complexity that I appreciate. A well-written senryu that offers a portal into another world.

Painting by Hisae Shouse