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May 2006 Issue VI:2

Haiku

John Stevenson

city moon
generations
of renters
   
  skating partners —
my sense
of her balance
 
    my uncle
was the kind of man
the wind blew away from

 

 

K. Ramesh

    misty dawn —
shutters open
in the tea shop
  blue sky . . .
she tunes
my guitar
 
spring morning —
the faded cap
of the gardener
   

 

 

Laryalee Fraser

the tilt
of the quarter moon —
his empty bottle
   
  for a moment
the world shrinks —
wild violets
 
    driveway puddle —
ripples from last night's
argument

 

 

Dietmar Tauchner

gender god gone deep in the woods


spring hike —
nothing written
on the trailhead sign
 
sleepless
the moon's
tick
   

 

 

Denis M. Garrison

huddled herd-
their breath rises
and drifts

   
 

harvested field
faded mouse trails
follow the rows

 
    silence
among the burnt trees
ravens pace


 

Gregory Hopkins


  summer ends
deep is the silence
between two friends
 

spider
how I must look
running

 
fireflies
I rake
the ashes
   

 

 

Kala Ramesh

cow emerges -
the dry weeds knotted
on his horns

   
 

midnight -
the rains pour
with such fury

 
   

tapering monsoon
from different sides of the hill
sound of cow-bells


 

Bruce Ross


 

a junco hops
under the back porch
December chill . . .

 

from icy branch
down to icy branch
the distant moon

 

old frozen snow
the Japanese garden closed
by a simple gate

   

 

 

Tom Clausen

night train-
the part of myself reflected
in thought

   
 

sharp curve-
a weathered cross
nailed to the tree

 
   

the message I sent
from the Dalai Lama
comes back


 

Matthew Paul


 

winter sunrise
the pavement-sweeper
waits for me to pass

 

another year -
two flights of pigeons
amalgamate

 

finding myself
staring into space -
the shapes of graffiti

   

 

 

Dustin Neal

winter
a fly still in
the cobweb

   
 

early thaw—
slowly draining
the baptistry

 
   

under the willows
fo ot pr in ts
collecting rain


 

Andrew Riutta


 

early thaw
I imitate myself
as a child

 

it comes and goes
without a sound
evening mist

 

not one fossil
among these stones
graveyard parking lot

   

 

 

Allan Burns

pointless thoughts...
the hawk has vanished
beyond the ridge

   
 

leafy breeze
the puddle shows
it's still raining

 
   

tumbleweed
caught in barbed wire
—circling hawk


 

Minerva Bloom


 

rainclouds-
no leaf argues
over where to fall

 

Dia de las Almas-
sweeping a gossamer thread
off the offerings

 

winter beach-
the distance between us
as you speak of ghosts

   

 

 

Francis Masat

crows –
at home
in right field

   
 

soap bubbles
-
his dreams

 
   

new bridge –
the old stream
smaller now

 

Copyright © 2004-2006 by Roadrunner Haiku Journal. All rights revert to the authors upon publication.