Cover image © Steve Wilkinson
The Bamboo Hut February 2024
Tuyet Van Do
a restless soldier
tossing and turning...
the killing
following orders...
winding the coil spring
tighter
Eva Do
at a moment's break,
the bride and groom dance,
the entire room in awe.
the night ends,
my heart is full,
the newlyweds leave hand in hand
Karen Bressner
low tide
secrets from the ocean
come to light
haiku of the sky
and ocean; horizon
is line two
Joy McCall
benedictus benedicat **
bless us
god of the seasons
the plants, the gardens
god of the fruit trees
in the small orchards
two green snakes
are curled asleep
in the roots of a cedar
a thin crescent moon
lights an old shack
my mind fills
with half-remembered
latin verbs
vertére - all things must pass
all things but love
** may the Blessed One give us blessing
Joy McCall & Larry Kimmel
I'm still here
many I love are not
a two-sided coin
that gets thinner
year by year
Roger Jones &Joy McCall
one by one
descending
stone steps into
black cellar vacancy -
my cold November dream
childhood memory
the worn stone steps
into the coal cellar -
my escape from noise
into solitude
T.H. Chockley
Hallucinations
mist drifting above the tea,
my inner dragon tempting
memories to reemerge;
the past now prologue
A Winter Morning
post Solstice the blue hour a
moment longer this daybreak
my old eyes dreaming of the
New Year’s odyssey
Joy McCall & Jenny Ward Angyal
guided
how do we
navigate our way
through the channels
between good and evil
happiness and sorrow?
we feel
our way blind
guided only
by the compass
of the heart
Oscar Luparia
PUBLIC GARDENS
early morning walk
my neighbour and his dog
stopping at each tree
paper tissues seller
his genuine smiles
come for free
the best coffee shop in town...
also the local police car
double parked
soap bubbles
a little girl invites me
to try
homeless woman –
some migrants stop
to ask her for directions
Michael Shoemaker
skyward crows
pine needles spiraling
into my hand
purple and green
clover and violets
color in stone walls
man steps around man
on sidewalk to watch opera
portray suffering
Joshua St. Claire
nor'easter
the Big Bang
falls gently to Earth
barred owl
mackerel clouds obscure and reveal
the waning moon
sea foam returning to sea moon snail
sand plovers
two children drawing
water
endless whitecaps
rising and falling
pelicans
Bryan Rickert
beach shells the emptiness in me
low morning sun
the barcode
of tree shadows
picking up
the pieces
low tide
winter dusk
the holes a woodpecker
left behind
into the grave
before the casket
autumn leaves
Ben Gaa
sunday drive
slowing to the pace
of combines
afternoon in the park
the sudden arc
of sprinklers
watching
the cat watching
something climb the wall
slow down the alley
the garbage truck
and its shadow
lone leaf
i, too, am drifting
downstream
Richa Sharma
an excuse not to meet her shadowed moon
dark clouds my condition for progress
peony eclipsing his response to my world
David He Zhuanglang
moonlight
on frozen branches...
an owl's cry
willow strands
answer the wind...
dancing girls
cold wind
the depth
of Gran's groan
Scott Wiggerman
morning moon
in an icy sky
I see through you
car alarm
then the silence
of the silence
an inferno
of seventy-five candles
blowhard
the difference
between pencil and ink
mountain outline
winter walk
any direction
but north
Bill Johnson
is anyone out there?
SETI has listened-
seeking a girlfriend from Scifaiku on Facebook
first love
first taste
thunderstorm from Senryu Circle on Facebook
Douglas J. Lanzo
autumn moon
crackling fire
aglow on my son’s face
red ochre pictographs
more antelope
than dot the plains
John Paul Caponigro
afterthetsunaminothingisseparateneverwouldbeagainnorwasitever
uncountable stars
some no longer there
what’s unknown happens
between lines along margins
and beyond the page
Alvin Cruz
his hearing loss...
father dusts off
his vinyl records
rereading
an old love letter
spring showers
snow cranes
the year of many
departures
Govind Joshi
old car
the friend
i will miss
seeing him more bent
the man with bent spine
autumn dusk
fine drizzle
a car leaving
it's shape on the ground
M. R. (Mike) Pelletier
“…. a red wheel
barrow”…. the weight
of syllables
--after Williams
“In a station of the metro”--
the train is late
and the platform smells of urine
--after Pound
“The boulder in the creek never moves …”
because it’s really big
and heavy, Gary!
--after Snyder
“Useless! Useless!”
— trying to write haiku
in English
--after Kerouac
Mark Gilbert
smiling street kids
too young for anger
to crater their faces
four guys on the kerb
all praying to the same god
with fingers and thumbs
winking karma
inconvenient souls
blinking away
Roberta Beach Jacobson
adulthood
we rake leaves, shovel snow,
start wars
checking all the boxes cats
faster than
the blink of a mother's eyes
school bullets
Diane Funston
confetti purple pink white
wild phlox by the roadside
the elegance of chopsticks
I use a dependable fork
on the mountain
clouds come to sit
B. L. Bruce
looking east
for spring
winter bluebird
late morning
your warmth lingering
in the empty bed
nothing but silence
and the jay’s morning call--
gray light of winter
Ruth Holzer
river mist
a snowy egret
takes shape
prairie
dozing on the train
prairie
Jerome Berglund
open
still painted
on the boards…
WAIT
it tells you
very loudly
sphinx moth
the contrary compartments
of a portmanteau
Ram Chandran
night jasmine
drenching in moonlight...
all through the night
moonshine and my insomnia
cold night-
her side of the bed still warm
a week after funeral
sky winds...
the moon drifting away
from clouds
and perches atop a palm tree
Daniel Birnbaum
winter morning
only a robin
gives the sky some colors
first outing
the barcode still
on the stroller
the green fly
it would be pretty
if it weren’t a fly
Orrin Préjean & Joy McCall
in a cold evening rain
thin shape
of a coming
hope...
at least I think so
the grey ghost
passes me by
in the foggy lane
I turn to speak
but it is gone
Jeff Burt
there have been winters
no one visits. I am grateful
for anonymous mail.
purple dahlia blossoms fall
hands of my mother to her side
a sudden rainstorm roils
raises sunken detritus
all autumn we have not spoken
Joy McCall & David Rice
a wild stormy night
and I wake, weeping
missing those I love
and then, in the dark dawn
a robin begins to sing
a plan
to see an old friend
today
fallen leaves
remind me of spring
... the natural world will heal us.
Mike Gallagher
hiding
the comfort of the crowd
a disguise
poppies
in the fields we mourn
the needless dead
desperate people
seeking coastlines
coming and going
Sarah Das Gupta
watching frogs
jumping
disappearing into the lake
water still and calm
natural serenity
merges into moonlit landscape
bare winter boughs
grass tipped
with flecks of ermine
frozen silence
painterly stillness
awaiting a green rebirth
cold flint wall
a tiny seedling in a stony crack
frail slender yet alive
an iridescent raindrop
drips kindly onto parched roots
I hear your voice
in the departing swallows
they will return
in summer
green weeds
grow in the gutters
spring ignores
the pain of new birth
Timothy Daly
snowflakes falling now
like the people
who enter our lives
do we ever
really find
one?
the leafless garden
of my parents
I sit alone in the town
where I grew up
my friends are still here
somewhere
hometown festivities
I come back here
a ghost among
other ghosts
before leaving
again
there is no roaring
of the city and its cars
only sparrows playing
and the blackbird
on the fence
singing
in the spring there’ll be
snowdrops here
in my parent’s garden
but I won't see them
and no-one will know
how sad this makes me
Tony Williams
a drink in him…
making eyes
at the moons
unlike the rain--
my reluctance
to let go
AI
a map in search
of a territory
Maya Daneva
mom’s fragile bones
the too much of snow
this evening
out last log
into the fireplace…
too long a winter
something is moving
under the fresh snow…
first spring day
Jenny Fraser
sunrise dawn hangs a stillness through the pines
even though
blue skies today
yesterday's
dark clouds within
grieving your loss
winter solstice
sunshine floods the step
with voices
Jeff Hoagland
Perseids
the heat
of her touch
a hummingbird
on the cardinal flower
first kiss
earthshine
a small beetle
on the buttercup
petro c. k.
brown leaves the accumulation of my decay
growing hope rewilding the manscape
the labor of others
a well-fed cat
curls up
Adjei Agyei-Baah & Christina Chin
In memory of Adjei Agyei-Baah (29.06.1977 - 18.12.2023)
Travelogue
roadside cross hosting a lonely crow
pampas plumes her new hair colour
into oblivion cloud tailing one another
sharing a love latte luna
dabbling ducks stirring sun shards
swan in the music-box
Robert Kingston & Christina Chin
Tan-Renga
mountain trail
moving to avoid
the falling rocks
nerve-racking
suspension bridge
summer dawn
outside the caws the neighbours
late awakening
fishing town
market seagulls
driving home
the wind whistling through
the broken window
village workshop
easy to find
Tracy Davidson
auld lang syne
my cup of kindness
full of cocoa
withering wind
the snowman starts to lean
like a drunk uncle
even my mother-in-law
shocked into silence
baby's first swear word
belle of the ball
the tag still on
her stolen party dress
swings and roundabouts letting go of old grudges
— Uchechukwu Onyedikam & Christina Chin
scaling --
an unmoisturized
harmattan skin
a gentle hand softly
rubs with luffa
an enduring spirit
on the ground of piety
we break bread --
catch up and swap
latest gossips
mouthfuls
of surprises --
a speech coming back
gibberish chatter
with a carved toy
seaside
the wave tells me more
at one sitting
a boom before
the calm
Chen-ou Liu
This Winter of Discontent
my blind date mutters
before eating anything
oh, you're a writer ...
a flotilla of sushi boats
floating round and round
half asleep
I listen to the beating sound
inside my chest
and yet the voice in my head
whispers, you're a failed writer
what if I were rich?
her parting words linger
in the cold air,
my mind was in love
but not my body
FYI: Wooden sushi boats, shaped like Japanese wasens, are a traditional and elegant way to serve sushi in a Japanese-owned, upscale restaurant.
The Smell of Home
I stop father
from taking the sixth bun
for breakfast--
their scent like the ones
his mother made long ago
Dad, I'm Chen-ou ...
he runs his fingers again
through his white hair
as though puzzled
by an ungraspable thought
what kind of life
is our father living now?
my brother replies,
last Sunday after eating buns
Father said, Mmm, boy! Good!
Mother and Father
the urge to look at
and to look away from him
scolding his boy
near the candy shelf ... this flushed face
of my six-year-old self
calling from Taiwan
my mother cries, laughs and cries ...
peeling back
layers of memories
about my stubborn childhood
waking yet not quite ...
in the dawnlight through the gap
between curtains
mother holds my six-year-old self
as father fades into darkness
Ravi Kiran
first stars
the increasing sound
of cowbells
above the stones –
a flick of the tail
of a passing trout
lost in the sands
the rough edges
of a beach rock
Mona Bedi
November rain
the raindrops
knock on my window
waiting to be let in
how deeply I miss
your presence
singing a lullaby
to my baby
in the dead of the night
i realize
how much i miss
my mother
cloudy sky
the moon plays
hide and seek --
yet another night when
I wait for your return
Neena Singh
by the river
a shaft of moonlight
holds us both
the space in between
ripples with shadows
an egret
guards the paddy field
silent meditation
temple pond
a water lily blooms
on the moon
Cynthia Anderson
winter solstice
the last gold clings
to the cottonwood
dead of winter
layering the cold air
away from me
cold winter’s night Orion belting it out
C.X. Turner
sipping sunshine
we taste the last days
fading fast
autumnal moon shadows …
the land inside acorn cups
cutting out
what was never there
the steel-edge sky
bleeds tonight
unrequited verse
sleep comes
redolent of rain’s grief
surviving beyond
the rise and fall of the sun
‘brave’ comes at a cost
beneath
a dappled willow tree
taking shelter
hoping I too emerge
pink in spring
I fall upon
a wellspring of quiet
contemplation
mist flows gently
like music amongst trees
Joan Gibson
bird song wakes the day
& cherry blossom blooms
is it in the news?
we only hear of wars
and disaster
blue agapanthas
lean sunward
lean southward
as I do
wanting to be with you
ancient Scots Pine
rooted in history
what are your hopes
for the future ?
Maryam Mermey
Loud crow
changing the air
middle east
votive candle
one pointed
flame
mug of tea
by my side
reading Buson
Theresa A. Cancro
early winter
a line of geese crosses
Orion's belt
temple bell . . .
the single stroke
of an enso
koi pond . . .
at the end of the heron's beak
silence
after the bomb
in each window shard
reflected stars
Richard L. Matta
dockside at dawn
the familiar exclamation
of seagulls
shaping a comma
an osprey swoops
from its perch
Lorelyn Arevalo
on a bench
quietly
i rise up
leaving the bench
still
ceiling coats
peeled off
like a snake shedding
its old skin
as do i
Genevieve S. Aguinaldo
a butterfly
on its first flight---
paper lantern
first day of the year
I stare at the plastic sakura
gathering dust
where she is now...
first ray
that kisses the mountains
Nitu Yumnam
the sparrows
darting towards seeds…
how swiftly
the year has arrived
to its end
outside my room
on the sidewalk
a homeless family
the light of the night sky
same beneath us
sitting on the child seat
of dad’s scooter
the wind and i
converse
in love’s silent language
Mircea Moldovan,
the sad carol
of a slum's child
gingerbread moon
first snow
motionless in the creek
paper little boats
today
everyone
looks the same
Randy Brooks
piano teacher’s parlor
naked ladies
in the art books
so light on my feet
the water
striders
a short cut
over the barbwire . . .
the bull’s pasture
Emil Karla
the desert at night
haikus and yuccas
sleeping together
from the next valley
a blanket of fog
touching the unseen
Herb Tate
our song
on the car radio
missing the turning
beyond
the bounds of words
windhover
motherless...
brood of ducklings
braving the current
Aline da Silveira
christmas magic--
the smell of roasted chestnuts
feeding memories
of a childhood
i never had
together
nighttime birds
chanting until sunrise
is left behind
Wayne Mason
A Poem For Aging
In the mirror!
Look! It’s Han Shan!
It’s Li Po!
Sun set quietly
brought no wisdom
only gray hairs
A Poem For Factory Workers
A factory worker is Buddha-nature
A factory worker is not Buddha-nature
He’s going to work either way
Robert Witmer
a life
in a box
glass miniatures
wishing well
spare change
for the poor
the moon
slips under the sea
a smile in a dream
Amoolya Kamalnath
heavy downpour
a pen's refill
runs out of sky
heron's catch
slipping in a book
in her bag
Steve Wilkinson
night's slow crawl a bright moon lingers above the trees
the old man
that shuffles to the shop
three days now
since last I saw him
cold night.snow falls.full moon shines
owls hoot.wind blows.these are signs
death comes.we die. one by one
love lives. day dawns. bright sun shines
Tanshi Art
Oscar Luparia & Joanna Delalande
Debbie Strange
Jerome Berglund
“The use of the term Caucasian to label people descended from Europe is a relatively new and arbitrary practice in human history. The word was not passed down from the ancients but rather sprang from the mind of a German professor of medicine, Johann Friedrich Blumenbach, in 1795. He spent decades studying and measuring human skulls...in an attempt to classify the varieties of humankind. He coined the term 'Caucasian' on the basis of a favorite skull of his that had come into his possession from the Caucasus Mountains of Russia. To him, the skull was the most beautiful of all that he owned. So he gave the group to which he belonged, the Europeans, the same name as the region that had produced it. That is how people now identified as white got the scientific-sounding yet random name ‘Caucasian’ ”.
Isabel Wilkerson’s, "Caste - The Origins of Our Discontent"
Isabel Wilkerson’s, "Caste - The Origins of Our Discontent"
