Haiga, by Oscar Luparia

 —Oscar Luparia

Douglas J. Lanzo

vast mountain skies

the hope

in my father's voice

—Douglas J. Lanzo

Hasan Aspahani

lamp light 

shadows running 

across the puddles

—Hasan Aspahani

Ravi Kiran

pastel shades

she stopped using

all those words

—Ravi Kiran

the glow rises

in a child’s eyes

sky lantern

—Ravi Kiran

Splintered, a haibun by Kenneth Arthur

He now existed as fragments suspended above the barren landscape of after work cocktails and idle chit chat. Where time flowed slowly like ripples in the sand. He felt truly lost wherever people gathered for laughs – the one who never got the joke. More observer than participant, alien spaceship that had slipped its moorings to hover in the distance, he barely cast a shadow on the lives around him. No longer belonged. Unwanted. Unwelcome. He’d rather be home alone, disappeared in a favorite fantasy novel. He had no idea how to put all the fragments together again and sink into the sands of life where he might matter once more, or for the first time. 

blue sky 

in the desert 

the sun's glare

Chen-ou Liu

I seem happy

in this wedding photo

with brown edges ...

on my then-wife's face

a look I never knew

—Chen-ou Liu

Richard West

winter trees

their only leaves

a flock of finches

—Richard West

a raven’s call dissolves in the silence of snow

—Richard West

Malcolm Highfield

stillness

that moment

before you reply

—Malcolm Highfield

unused slippers 

in the hall 

the clock ticking

—Malcolm Highfield

Joanna Ashwell

river tide

the shape of wings

in twilight’s brush

—Joanna Ashwell

Partha Sarkar

sanguine music 

fall of innocent 

starlings 

—Partha Sarkar

Philip Davison

winter solstice

lifting the centre of the lake

the moon

—Philip Davison

Manasa Reddy Chichili

needle ice

knitting for

newborn

—Manasa Reddy Chichili

Julie Bates

winter’s end

the lengthening branches

of moonlight

—Julie Bates

Haiga (Xiaoou Chen, Yuhan Wang)

Text by Xiaoou Chen,

Photo by Yuhan Wang

Bona M. Santos

placid morning

out of my tea cup rim

a flock of ducks

—Bona M. Santos

breaking dawn

I let go of making sense

of your silence

—Bona M. Santos

Diane Webster

gleaming sun

through the rainbow prism

a columbine blooms

—Diane Webster

Jerome Berglund

pounding rain

splayed sunflowers

litter the pathway

—Jerome Berglund

M. R. Pelletier

the sky more blue

did I miss the start

of spring again?

—M. R. Pelletier

the view

from the porch

neighborhood watch

—M. R. Pelletier

Daniela Rodi

silent bells trumpet out

the arrival of spring...

snowdrops

—Daniela Rodi

Laila Brahmbhatt

a deep breath 

my scarf welcomes 

spring wind

—Laila Brahmbhatt

taking a nap 

with a full stomach, I hear 

my neighbor snoring

—Laila Brahmbhatt

New Year’s long gone

fireworks still flickering

inside the house

—Laila Brahmbhatt