November & December 2019
Vol IV No VI
Not your ordinary poetry magazine!
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Published bi-monthly
Haiku
with Kevin McLaughlin
Haiku and Maggots
The aesthetics of haiku are non-judgmental. The natural world, including the quantum and macro realms, is indifferent to the sufferings and joys of humanity. Some of the finest haiku present with pure objectivity. In this regard, haiku may be compared to some of the best-known Zen koans such as “The Buddha is a shit-stick,” “The sound of one hand,” and “Does a dog have Buddha nature?” Many haikuists are capable of reflecting an image or the-thing-as-it-is without encumbering the 17 syllables with the afflictive emotions.
Haiku’s subject matter is wide open. There are no appropriate or inappropriate topics.
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Another difference between classical haiku and traditional poetry is a kind of non-duality in which the separation of subject and object is removed. This non-duality removes judgmental thoughts and the afflictive emotions. The strong sense of Self is replaced by an interconnected-ness with all images and entities. In Zen this is known as mushin, no-mind. The poet has an unselfconsciousness wherein they are not divided from their subject, the knower from the known.
Attaining this state of mind makes even the most mundane subject a source of wonderment. Everyday objects and images reveal the inner world. The plop of Basho’s frog jumping into a pond resolves the mystery of the Universe. Rejoice in the sight of a dog pissing as you would the spectacle of a waterfall roiling into the rapids. Do not overlook the jewel in the mundane because you are scanning the heavens.
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Fat maggots wriggle,
On the open trash can’s lid:
Early morning light.
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Kevin McLaughlin
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Observe the maggots mindfully.
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Gerry Fabian lives in Doylestown, Pennsylvania. He is a retired English instructor who has been published in many journals. His novels are available at Smashwords and other ebook publishers.
Wandering jew vines
hang from a rough oaken beam —
the snow falls outside.
The river current
bubbles over long flat rocks
forming white rapids.
In early morning
a skyline with streaks of red
and clouds hanging low.
A northern chill falls
across the leaf covered lawn.
A slight white coating.
Gull prints in the sand
are erased by foaming tides;
leaving shell debris.
Gerry Fabian
Anthony Watkins, a renowned poet in many different forms, has written a wish-fulfilling jewel.
When the wind blows waves
Into whitecaps on the bay
The flounders don’t mind.
Anthony Watkins
David VanderMeer is a recent college graduate, returned to his native Colorado. He enjoys working around machines.
That car is gone
But never gone, just smaller:
The vanishing point
Cotton candy clouds
In the sunset’s afterglow:
Ferris wheel lights up.
An old address book
Digits on yellow pages
Line disconnected
David VanderMeer
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
Sarah Calvello is a student at City College of San Francisco. Her “empty thoughts” are the emptiness of the absolute realm that lies beyond the conventional world.
between the lines
I try to step outside
daisies light up sweet grass
empty thoughts
forget-me-nots
windy sun blows circles in my mind
I thought I smelled cigar smoke
stopping midstep
ghosts whisper in these walls
Sarah Calvello
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Raj K. Bose demonstrates what is like to be awake and present in the moment. He is a mindful man, aware of moonbeams and the smell of rain. All of the senses, all of the time.
barred window,
silently entering the room . . .
moonbeams!
waking up . . .
earth and my nose tell me,
it rained last night!
winter night
the breeze carrying
the distant notes of a guitar.
Raj K. Bose
Joseph Davidson, a classicist and an advanced spiritual practitioner, has written a unique “Chain haiku,” each poem riffing from the first, each poem flowing like a mountain stream.
Watching river flow,
Lost soul’s bottle drifting by,
Every breath anew.
Watching river flow,
Leaves of yesterday’s storm pass—
Turtle suns on log.
Joseph Davidson
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Andrea Cecon gives us pathos, hope, light, darkness, and the moon. He lives in Italy with his Russian haijin wife, Valeria Simenova-Cecon.
withered fields
beneath the moon
my aging face
First published in Haikuniverse November 10th, 2018.
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I light a candle
with a candle —
memorial day
from darkness
to darkness —
winter dawn
(This piece celebrates, indirectly, a holiday sacred to many, the Winter Solstice.)
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subzero morning . . .
my breath
in the teacup
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winter afternoon
the long shades
of my mistakes
fragile moon
a leaf falls
pianissimo
meditation retreat . . .
a candle melts
into candle’s remains
Andrea Cecon
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Dylan Hull is a high school English teacher in Japan. He has been published in a variety of journals.
wringing dishwater
from the putrefying sponge—
I’ve my mother’s hands
Hiroshima dome
the toddler wraps his fingers
around balloon strings
(The first line is an image Yeats would have called “A terrible beauty.”)
cherry blossom
cherry blossoms . . .
so?
(This entrancing poem has the feel of a Zen koan. So?)
Punching in and out—
beyond the factory gates
wild strawberries
Dylan Hull
Paula R. Hilton is a novelist who explores the way deeply flawed people can still be forces for good. Her debut novel, Little Miss Chaos, received the Kirkus Star.
Birds trill, hoot, coo. Palms,
pines, magnolias stretch for sky.
Dawn in Florida.
Fall fox is hidden.
Stealthy. Camouflaged. Even
when the world burns orange.
From the dry, brown twigs,
cottony buds burst open.
We survived winter.
Paula R. Hilton
Tate Lewis will be graduating from Wesleyan University with a degree in English Writing and a degree in Religion.
flowers bloom
in graveyards—
bees don’t mind
(Agreed. This is not a realm for nihilists.)
darkness—
i cannot imagine
nothing
October—
trees on fire remembering
my father’s cremation
Tate Lewis
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Jake Maze was raised in Hollister, California. He is a Professor Emeritus of Botany at the University of British Columbia. Mr. Maze is eminently qualified to write haiku, and this is reflected in his work.
inevitable—
pretty yellow flower
now dingy gray seedhead
(Thing of beauty. This haiku conveys the same sense of impermanence as Blake’s “O Rose thou art sick.”)
fading from view—
forsythia flowers
hidden by emerging leaves
small-leafed ivy
along an old picket fence—
gray-green lichens
lumbering biped
follows a squirrel down the street—
bare branches
under the maples
but still apprehensive—
bare branches
first cherry blossoms
alongside a hospital—
bed by the window
Jake Maze
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Goran Gatalica is an avid haikuist from Zagreb, Croatia. We have been fortunate enough to become a frequent publisher of Goran’s work. In particular, the first haiku has the “feel” of one of the ancient masters.
father’s memories
flowering
in roadside ditch
new moon
smeared the windshield
with the moths
other side of river
hulking body
of a buffalo
warm afternoon
this untamed landscape
in the cicada’s song
spring melancholy —
an old railway line
after rain
turbulence —
traffic snarled city
in my veins
Goran Gatalica
Mark Gilbert writes poetry and prose. He has recently been published in Sonic Boom, Human/Kind, and Twist in Time.
black-capped chickadee
just a few syllables
remaining
(Enjoyable twist on classic haiku’s 5-7-5 syllable structure . . . bit of well phrased irony.)
the cold flames
of fireflies
playing our song
(Buson and Issa would have enjoyed this haiku.)
Mark Gilbert
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Alan Watts has provided a unique insight into the poet/subject nature of haiku. “Words are not used to express anything but rather to clear away something that seems to stand between us and the real things—which are, in truth, not separate from ourselves at all.”
Kevin McLaughlin