November 2018 Vol. III No. IX
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Haiku
with Kevin McLaughlin
![Kevin MacLaughlin, poetry magazine, haiku](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/bad125_6819c3180f7e4b62bbefeba47b86b64e~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_107,h_116,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,enc_avif,quality_auto/bad125_6819c3180f7e4b62bbefeba47b86b64e~mv2.jpg)
Haiku and Non-Duality
Haiku writing is an introduction to interbeing, to a community effort that Buddhists might refer to as non-dualism. The author of the haiku is of secondary importance. A moment of insight into the nature of reality has been created, and it matters not whether it was you or I who brought it into existence.
In the early years when Basho and Buson were writing, it was not uncommon for poets to gather at places known for cherished subjects—bamboo groves, streams, mountain lakes, etc., to share their haiku. One poet would write a line, then pass it to another, who would add the second line, and pass it to the third, who would usually add a juxtaposition to the first two lines.
Sharing lines became accepted. It was not plagiarism to “borrow” a line. It was a sign of respect. Each haikuist might build on the work of another. A form of chain writing also developed where poets gathered to write haiku about an identical image. What variety that created! It became a form of “chain” haiku that is practiced to this day. Each poet contributes in a noncompetitive manner. All poets share the final product.
Recently, I sent my friend Joseph Davidson a casual haiku:
One drop of water:
Numerous protozoans,
Swim in their Cosmos.
Truly delighted was I when Joseph linked into my verse:
One drop of water,
Rain falling on small pond,
Music of the spheres.
Truly astonished was I when Ron LePere unexpectedly added:
One drop of water,
Another and another,
Making of a flood.
Even more gratifying, the small haiku circle wasn’t finished linking. Angie Davidson completed the play verse with:
Tug from gravity:
An atmospheric vapor,
Brings raindrops from the sky.
Haiku is a form of friendship, of unity. This is collaboration, not competition, in its purest form. Through synergy it is a form that becomes greater than the sum of its parts. All are welcome to join.
David McClintock lives in Liverpool, England. He believes the mundane can be poetic. For this observation alone, he is either an accomplished haikuist or a Sage . . . or both. Reminds me of J.P. Donleavy, one of my favorite novelists.
Under grey sky, surface
Water of pond scooped up high—
Yellow-legged ducks skip.
digger-bucket claws
a wall. bricks spill; rubbles scooped;
windows snag like rags.
Sun shuttered down street,
breeze, single car, bird: red brick
wall shouts angry quote.
David McClintock
Hanoch Guy is a poet bilingual in English and Hebrew. He has authored six collections of poetry.
Himalayan salt shaker
By a salt sea shaker
Meeting of ocean and mountain
Hanoch Guy
Joseph Davidson’s haiku are transcendent. He captures the true nature of the-thing-in-itself. Few can achieve that state of Being.
Wings drying in the sun,
Terrestrial no more:
Cocoon turns to dust.
Exoskeleton,
Hundreds laid out in column:
Frog poop on driveway.
(Great juxtaposition! Our Zen friends will appreciate this verse.)
Joseph Davidson
Cynthia Sharp enjoys sipping a latte while reading BTS magazine. Her “yin and yang at rest” line in the first haiku is a description of a Taoist Immortal’s life.
slender curve of moon
in the cool descending night
yin and yang at rest
Previously published in Haiku Journal.
sunfish in the sky
clouds dipping like quick minnows
turning lavender
Previously published in Haiku Journal.
rhythms of womb time
spilled like sunlight incarnate
when Gaia dreamed earth
Previously published in Three Line Poetry.
luminosity
exploding supernova
eternity blinks
Cynthia Sharp
David Bankson’s “one million raindrops” have the impact of a finely conceived Impressionistic poem. Mr. Bankson works well with rain.
one million raindrops
rendezvous at the puddle
to mirror the sky
rain beats the rooftop
mother washes the dishes . . .
water spills a rivulet.
David Bankson
Angie Davidson has sent one of the most rewarding haiku we have published this year. Ah . . . “Salted ash ascends.”
Swallow tail flutters
Among Buddha in the garden—
Salted ash ascends.
Slowly taking breath,
Laying on leather table,
At acupuncture.
Angie Davidson
Ray Spitzenberger’s elegant work is well-known to those who follow this column. Ray, who holds a doctorate from the University of Michigan, makes his home on a prairie near Houston.
hermitic heron
standing in shallow water
wind blows through salt grass
bubble-throat lizard
between the teeth of my cat
rolls his eyes at me
flat endless prairie
rare prairie cocks leave tall grass
must be seen to mate.
Ray Spitzenberger
Nancy Botta manages to blend both the ethereal and the concrete in her work. Her third haiku is absolutely haunting . . . and well-known to many of us.
Bustling white sidewalks
displaced coyotes yip, howl,
slink through midnight streets.
Early winter fog
envelops a neighborhood—
the burial shroud.
In a rusted town
weeds entomb old railroad tracks—
new necropolis.
Nancy Botta
On or off his motorcycle, Bob Whitmire has a steady poetic eye. He also has a fine understanding of how this planet functions.
the bell’s toll
vanishes in air
sea mist rises
sluggish breakers
night sifts slowly through the mist
cry of the white gull
the moon
behind thick clouds
may still be the moon
Bob Whitmire
Harold Whisman, from Virginia, is a retired English and Journalism teacher. It is clear, especially in his third poem, that he perceives the cycle of birth and death, and beauty’s paradox.
surrounded by drab,
near lifeless green, a bright red
bloom springs forth, smiling
a November wind
blows and stunning beauty falls
to a quiet death
standing alone in
a dull field of grass and weeds,
the oak never sighs
Harold Whisman
Christy Burbidge, who grew up spending summers on Martha’s Vineyard, has been published in six literary journals and one anthology. We are delighted she decided to make BTS her seventh journal. I love her “Canadian geese” verse.
Canadian geese—
silhouettes stirring
forgotten snow.
sheep by stone walls
bathed in maple air—
equally aged
(Maple air . . . how fulfilling for the senses.)
younger fisherman
casting hope—
pulls in rejects
Christy Burbidge
Yet once more I encourage all haiku writers to share their work, their insights into the nature of all things, with fellow poets and BTS readers.
For those interested in haiku, I recommend you cast back into the BTS archives and reference the September 2016 column. It provides a pretty thorough explanation of the basic format.
- Kevin Mclaughlin
Linda Scott writes she partakes of the joyousness of a brain ramble. What a lovely, energizing thought!
Aging friends recall
the days of fun and dancing
as if yesterday
(True, true.)
What are you dreaming?
Such a precious babe!
Life has just begun!
Linda Scott
Jeffrey Thomas submitted an entry that, to me, combines a subtle feeling of both selected finality and wistfulness. Well done.
Benevolent winds
Blowing me away from here
Never to return
Jeffrey Thomas
Gerard Sarnat has been published extensively. He has won the Poetry in the Arts First Place Award in addition to the Dorfman Prize.
Tutsi beauty — head
cut off along with breasts — new
Hutu massacre.
Two glasses of wine
a day — more than exercise
— helps live past ninety.
Liberated — arhat
zilch sexual desire — not
advertised widely.
What differentiates
states of enlightenment from
just getting real old?
Patriarch in pain,
though loved, no one cares as much
as moi about me.
I’ve been a student
of desire for more than
seventy-two years.
Forks in roads soon yield
clean well-being — or swoons on
muddy spoon-chocked paths.
Gerard Sarnat
Joan Fingon from Ventura, California, enjoys entering (and frequently winning) writing contests. Matsuo Basho would have walked miles to enjoy the jacaranda leaves in Joan’s third poem.
salt water catches
sand between my toes
leaving footprints behind me
two hummingbirds
circle and dance—
marriage in the sky
a gust of wind
drops Jacaranda leaves—
painting a purple carpet
Joan Fingon
Joyce Kopp was kind enough to indicate she enjoys reading BTS. Ms. Kopp let me state I enjoyed reading your work.
dawn squints through dark clouds
soaked trees drip leftover rain
birds feast on wet worms
Shinto shrine of rocks, wood
sacred water
sprouts new life and ripples peace
Joyce Kopp
Professor Ram Krishna Singh sent us haiku from Dhanbad, India. His work, at least this set, is especially eclectic, featuring masses of people and a wonderful image of “decaying fireflies.”
crowded streets
moving among the years
wretched faces
fingers feel
decaying fireflies
in night lights
slowly rising
from the cloud’s edges
autumn sun
Prof. R.K. Singh
Faiz Ahmad is in the final year of pursuing Bachelors-Masters Sciences, at IIT Madras. He believes in poetry as the “ground of bewilderment,” or just “simply being.”
perched mynas;
pecking at the sun with
thin yellow beaks
winter night;
silver moon hatching into
young moon-birds
Faiz Ahmad
Please Note: Once a haiku is written, it belongs to all of us.
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