Haiku

From a barren branch
Above melting snow,
The song sparrow sings.

Snow begins to fall;
Somewhere in the forest,
A woodpecker calls.

Bitter cold;
Starlings huddle in pale sunlight
On the driveway.

The doe’s breath –
Like puffs of steam
Above the frosty grass.

In the barren forest,
The leaves of the oak
Are still brick red.

Above the trees
Full of fireflies –
Fireworks.

Above the trees
Full of fireflies –
A crescent moon.

After the storm,
The trees come alive
With fireflies.

The storm moves on,
But lightning still glimmers
Above the fireflies.

After the storm,
Trees bow their leafy heads low
Along the swollen river.

In the bitter cold,
A wren taps on the window
With its beak.

As if handfuls of beads
Are hitting the windows –
The ice storm begins.

Deep in the forest,
The sound of crunching snow –
Deer are nearby.

Through the black fingers
Of leafless tree branches,
A ghostly moon.

Summer lightning;
In the distance, startled deer are bounding
Through the bean field.

Oppressive heat;
The chattering of the cicadas
Grows louder.

In the barren treetops,
The first sign of life in months –
Hawks crying.

A rainbow around the sun
On the first day
Of the new year.

The first frost of the season;
Sleeping fitfully
Without the sound of crickets.

The heat wave breaks at last;
In rain puddles on the driveway,
Finches are bathing.

Through the treetops
Above the fireflies:
One star, then two.

Gobbling the last green grass
Among the headstones —
Migrating geese.

Through trees that have grown
Increasingly barren —
The neighbor’s house.

The sound of tires
Crunching on gravel;
Visitors are here.

Storm winds;
In the forest, barren trees squawk and groan
Like humans.

Heavy rain all night;
At daybreak, even the cicadas
Are silent.

Still perched near
The dismantled barn where she was nesting —
The mother vulture.

The August moon;
At the edge of the forest,
A firefly.

After the storm,
A strange bird scratches for bugs
In the fallen leaves.

Wary of a wasp
Near the trumpet flowers —
The enormous hummingbirds.

Still a delicate pink
After a week on the floor —
The fallen rose petals.

After the wind storm,
Leaf bits of every color
Are scattered across the floor.

Filling the feeder at the kitchen sink;
The hummingbirds fussing
Outside.

For the first time in months,
The dogs sleep on their beds
All night.

The spring shower fell
So this hummingbird could bathe
On this branch tip.

A crescent moon;
The ruts in the road to Mount Madonna
Are filled with leaves.

About my haiku:

I publish them on this separate page so visitors to SR 013 won’t feel compelled to read them. I’ve written haiku over a number of years at various locations, so if one of them describes something that doesn’t jive with what you happen to know about my current living situation, it’s because the piece was inspired by and written at another place.

As you may know, haiku is a strict form of Japanese poetry that traditionally consists of three short lines, with only five syllables allowed in the first line, seven in the second and five in the third. Because of significant differences in the grammar and syntax of the Japanese language compared to English, though, most writers of haiku in English (me included) are a little more flexible, keeping the total syllables to a maximum of 18 or 19 (or less) rather than the Japanese maximum of 17, while sticking rigorously to the rest of the requirements of the form.

One of those is to include a reference to the season of the year, either by naming the season outright or by describing an event or object that conveys it in a more subtle way. Either way, the goal of all haiku is to capture a moment of insight into the beauty, mystery, irony and/or interconnectivity of things, aka the universe.