Haiku

People have spilled a lotta figurative blood over the exact definition of haiku. I don't care about all that. What I'm gonna explain here are what I understand to be the Japanese definition, and the rough definition I use for the haiku I've written.

That distinction aside, haiku are sometimes adapted into the longer tanka form.

The shared features

Haiku are short poems that often describe a single moment in plain language typically without explicit emotion, judgement, or metaphor, and depict two separate elements that complement and contrast each other.

The traditional definition

The haiku is a Japanese 3-part, moraic form with the parts consisting of 5/7/5 morae.

Haiku also include a kireji (often translated as “cutting word”), and a seasonal reference, often a kigo (often translated as “season word”) or the less prescriptive kidai (often translated as… “seasonal reference”). Kireji are actually morae (not necessarily words) that force a pause for breath. Kigo are words or terms selected from a saijiki, a regional almanac of seasonal terms including types of weather, plants and animals (or their behaviours), names of holidays, and features of the climate (e.g. “burning” or “hot” for summer).

The form was strictly codified in the late 19th and early 20th centuries based on an earlier, freer form called hokku. In fact, the term kigo was only coined in 1908. This codification has started to slip in recent decades, and there's debate in Japan over exactly how strict the form should be. At the same time, there's growing acknowledgement that several poets historically seen as masters of the form not only broke from tradition early and often, they also encouraged others to do the same.

My definition

As far as I can tell, this is basically the loosest common definition of haiku used by English-language poets (it's “my definition” in that I use it, not that I created it).

The haiku is a 3-line form. In English, the syllable count tends to be 10–15, 17 at most (due to the varying number of morae per syllable in English). The two parts are optionally divided by punctuation (e.g. an em dash, colon, or semicolon) or a line-end sound that doesn't easily run into the start of the next line. The haiku as a whole usually contains a seasonal reference, either directly or by implication.

There are many, many ideas about how haiku can be written. I think most end up as a mix of description and narrative of a moment/tableau.

Poems

  1. 2026-04-16

    pigeons scatter
at the shadow
of a fellow

  2. 2026-04-02

    white blossom shivers
on the dark side of the tree
last year's leaves float by

    A full 5–7–5 moraic haiku.

  3. 2026-03-19

    a black butterfly
flits and preens—
(motorway)

  4. 2026-03-18

    fat moss
overflows the drystone
wet with warmth

  5. 2026-02-06

    white winter light
on solar panels;
full moon

  6. 2026-02-06

    inside the cracked wall
cemented by moss,
snowdrops blooming

    Same subject and similar wording to a haynaku the same day.

  7. 2026-01-25

    shadows of seafoam
encircle the diving bird—
vice versa its prey

    I could do better with this… though I do like the phrase “shadows of seafoam”. Also, “diving bird” was originally “cormorant”, but I wanted to make the action clearer.

  8. 2026-01-21

    through the new-moon rain,
the lights of the last black train
give shape to the land

    5–7–5 moraic haiku. It wasn't actually new moon, but pretty close. Alternatively, the last two lines could go “the lights of midnight trains / give shape to shadow”, but that's not the right number of morae (I also thought about ending that version “give shape to darkness”, which feels better but sounds worse).

  9. 2026-01-20

    horse manure
and jewel flies
pressed flat by boots and rain

  10. 2026-01-17

    sheeps' breath
rising from the mist
rising from the mud

  11. 2026-01-17

    heavy clouds
below the horizon—
mosquitoes and mist

  12. 2026-01-13

    sodden snowberries melt;
a false spring
crests and recedes

  13. 2026-01-08

    wind shears the clouds;
sheep gather
in the mist

  14. 2026-01-07

    trapped in ice
in the birdbath,
a paw of moss

    I happened on the phrase “a paw of moss” and used it to write this and a tetractys from the same day.

  15. 2026-01-06

    golden hour;
the day's snowfall
rises as mist

  16. 2026-01-06

    cresting the ridge—
the golden hour
lasts a minute longer

  17. 2026-01-04

    mud and ice
swallowing up
property line stones

  18. 2026-01-04

    low noon sun;
moss in all-day shade
shelters under snow

  19. 2026-01-03

    dead of winter;
frigid snowberries
slip from the branch

  20. 2026-01-02

    on the sunken log,
blue with pre-dawn snow,
one bird sings

  21. 2026-01-02

    lilac
and marigold, too;
twilight on snow

  22. 2025-12-31

    the year's last light
lingering in contrails
frost and breath

  23. 2025-12-31

    sheathes of frost
sharpen their green blades
while birds chatter

    Very similar to another haiku the same day, but with more of a narrative. Remixed in a third haiku the same day.

  24. 2025-12-31

    New Year's Eve;
the unnoticed sun
slips away

  25. 2025-12-31

    green blades
glow with sheathes of frost
and birds chatter

    Very similar to another haiku the same day, but with a bit less narrative. The “and” in the final line is somehow important. Remixed in a third haiku the same day.

  26. 2025-12-31

    grass blades sheathed in frost;
birds wait for their turn
on the feeder

    A variation on two previous similar haiku from the same day.

  27. 2025-12-30

    staying warm
behind creased layers of cloud
midwinter sun

  28. 2025-12-27

    winter solitude;
echoing unseen,
fireworks

  29. 2025-12-27

    dusk
meeting
dawn frost

    A very terse rewrite of a previous haiku with kinda-awkward linebreaks. I also made another very terse rewrite that's a bit closer to the original in intent.

  30. 2025-12-27

    dawn frost
meets
dusk

    A very terse rewrite of a previous haiku with kinda-awkward linebreaks. I also made another very terse rewrite with more depth.

  31. 2025-12-27

    dawn frost
greets the night
at dusk

    A less-awkward rewrite of a previous haiku; I also rewrote it in two very terse forms.

  32. 2025-12-25

    night meets
the dawn frost
at dusk

    I feel like the linebreaks are a little awkward here, so I rewrote it three different ways. However, looking back, I don't think it's that bad.

  33. 2025-12-25

    moon alone in winter sky;
a crow's call
unanswered

  34. 2025-12-25

    across freezing mud,
a far house lights up—
but it's not mine

  35. 2025-12-24

    with eyes closed
the shortest day
passes for night

  36. 2025-12-24

    wind scours
snow strata
leaves dust

    Not current, actually based on a memory of the deepest snowfall my hometown ever had.

  37. 2025-12-24

    midday sunset;
darkness rises
up the valley

  38. 2025-12-24

    leaf-drifts
fill the spaces
where snow once gathered

  39. 2025-12-24

    at the precipice
where wind falls into town
winter deepens

  40. 2025-12-22

    smoke and mist
hang together
smudging sound

  41. 2025-12-21

    winter solstice
neither sun nor moon
join me outside

  42. 2025-12-20

    distant sun;
through dewdrops,
holly berries

  43. 2025-12-19

    hanging off doors
of empty houses,
plastic wreathes

  44. 2025-12-17

    days with no sun;
light or dark clouds
fill the night sky

  45. 2025-12-16

    acorn goblets
discarded in mud,
frozen over

  46. 2025-12-16

    a dull band of cloud
marks the waterline
of the winter day

  47. 2025-12-13

    winter morning dew
collects on the toilet seat—
an open window!

    A 5/7/5 moraic haiku.

  48. 2025-12-13

    colours mix at dusk;
amid December frost
early snowdrops rise

  49. 2025-12-11

    radio carols;
pine aroma fills the car,
resin smears the seats

    A 5/7/5 moraic haiku.

  50. 2025-12-11

    evergreen
webbed in white
plastic

  51. 2025-12-09

    rain taps on the roof—
wind snaps the umbrella
and I am outside

    A 5/7/5 moraic haiku.

  52. 2025-12-08

    winter blossom
the colour of the sky
drifts in the dusk

  53. 2025-12-05

    first of December;
the day moon shines
brighter than the sun

    Kept this one in the pocket for a few days for some reason.

  54. 2025-12-05

    dark Christmas lights;
the crowd disappears
into umbrellas

  55. 2025-12-04

    raindrops
from a dull winter day
shining in moonlight

  56. 2025-12-04

    bundled up;
moonlight scatters
in the pale sky

  57. 2025-12-03

    wind, cold, rain—
each preceding
the others

  58. 2025-12-03

    the sun's edge
cuts through thin mist;
winter weakens

    Recently I kept seeing the phrase “[season] deepens” in haiku translations and it just felt kinda hokey and half-assed, but then this happened and it legitimately made the winter feel shallower.

  59. 2025-12-03

    moonlight
reveals a black cat
by his shadow

    A non-seasonal precursor to another, seasonal, haiku the same day.

  60. 2025-12-03

    freezing night;
the moon reveals a black cat
by his shadow

    I started with a haiku without a seasonal reference, then tweaked it to “freezing night; / moonlight reveals / a black cat's shadow”, but that felt unclear so I went with the version above.

  61. 2025-12-03

    dark clouds
hiding bright clouds
hiding the moon

    At first I had the second and third lines as “concealing bright clouds / hiding the moon”, but I think the repetition—layers—works better here.

  62. 2025-12-03

    cold black clouds
show their colours
in the moonlight

    Same idea as a Kelly lune from the same day.

  63. 2025-12-02

    in the distance,
a lone dog barks
at my shadow

  64. 2025-12-02

    December night;
through barren branches,
stars shine

    A clearer version of a previous haiku (that was already a rewrite). This time I started from the most general thing—the time period—and worked down to the most specific—stars shining.

  65. 2025-12-01

    weathering winter;
even the windchime
rains all day

  66. 2025-12-01

    the lightest rain,
invisible in darkness
except as light

  67. 2025-12-01

    rain-burdened wind
turns my umbrella
into a bowl

    Originally I had the first line as “misplaced wind”, but I felt it wasn't clear enough.

  68. 2025-12-01

    it can't be that late
if the house over the street
still has its lights on

  69. 2025-12-01

    colder still outside;
the restless cat and I
go from door to door

  70. 2025-12-01

    all-day rain;
the downpour curtain
can't be drawn back

  71. 2025-11-30

    the silhouette
of the barren oak
carries stars

    I think this is a clearer version of a previous haiku on the same subject, but I also rewrote this in a conceptually even clearer version.

  72. 2025-11-30

    steadfast in the cold,
the veteran cat stands tall
half-inside the house

    At first I had this as “unflinching in the cold / the black cat stands tall / in the open doorway”, but I decided against it because 1) I felt like the colour of the cat matters less (even though it was my cat, who's all black) than the age/experience, 2) people can substitute whatever cat they feel like, and 3) I felt like doing a 5/7/5 moraic haiku for a change.

  73. 2025-11-30

    dusk horizon;
colours of the day
elsewhere

    Rework of a haiku from the day before. “Dusk Horizon” is also the name of the music that plays in one of the first levels of the groundbreaking early FPS, Unreal.

  74. 2025-11-30

    dawn snow;
black roofs change colour
following the sky

    Based on a a recent haiku, but with a clearer throughline.

  75. 2025-11-29

    red cloud-wall
vanishing into blue sky;
shining moon haze

  76. 2025-11-29

    over the worksite
a red constellation
blocks the stars

  77. 2025-11-29

    one cold red star
hangs over the town,
enticing me out

  78. 2025-11-29

    mist over the moor;
whirling among bare branches,
car highbeams

  79. 2025-11-29

    clouds at dusk;
colours of the day
still bright elsewhere

    Reworked the following day, though I think the best form of this might be a combination of the two (e.g. “clouds at dusk; / the day continues / elsewhere”.

  80. 2025-11-29

    before the flock
after the storm
a lone sparrow

    Very similar to another haiku from the same day, but with a tighter focus that allowed for better wording. I thought about ordering this more spatially as “before the flock / a lone sparrow / after the storm”, but I think it flows better this way.

  81. 2025-11-29

    bare witch's broom;
between the flock and storm,
a lone sparrow

    Very similar to another haiku from the same day, but with a wider range.

  82. 2025-11-27

    through ice water
ferrying dead leaves,
living moss gleams

  83. 2025-11-27

    dewdrops
cradled
in a bug-eaten leaf

  84. 2025-11-25

    gust sweeping snow;
white winter rose
left behind

  85. 2025-11-24

    words slough off
the sunken sign:
Flood Warning

  86. 2025-11-24

    white hot breath
swelters the frost;
naked tarmac

  87. 2025-11-24

    the black cat sleeps;
no lights allowed
at dark midday

  88. 2025-11-24

    rain passes on;
shining in the field,
a foil balloon

  89. 2025-11-24

    noisy playground;
rain splashes in puddles
while children hide

  90. 2025-11-24

    noisy playground;
behind the fence,
the motorway

  91. 2025-11-24

    lightless cloud;
something echoes
up the valley

    I came to this through “lightless cloud / something roaring / through the valley”, which I got to from another haiku on the same day.

  92. 2025-11-24

    lightless cloud;
something roaring
overhead

    This led me to another haiku on the same day with a similar idea/experience.

  93. 2025-11-24

    leaves fall;
the forest disappears,
revealing machines

    Later rewritten as a Kelly lune.

  94. 2025-11-24

    dry and still inside,
yet the storm
shades each room

    More on the same theme as a Crapsey cinquain from the same day and an earlier Kelly lune.

  95. 2025-11-23

    the lantern
completes the night;
moonless darkness

    Thought about ending this one “shadows swell and dance”, but it felt too explicit a personification. I ended up putting that idea in a haynaku written the same day.

  96. 2025-11-23

    leaf litter;
through unseen trees,
broken twilight

    Later rewritten in a clearer(?) form.

  97. 2025-11-23

    empty branches,
invisible
against the stars

  98. 2025-11-23

    an old jacket
abandoned in the cold;
moon sliver

  99. 2025-11-22

    thick on the window,
cloud-bellied droplets;
the sky falls

  100. 2025-11-22

    the deluge
wrenches leaves from trees—
wind drowns in rain

    I first had “snatches leaves from trees”, but it didn't feel violent enough.

  101. 2025-11-21

    persisting
where moss grew strong,
shadowed frost

  102. 2025-11-20

    whip-fingered winds
compel the trees
to dance

  103. 2025-11-19

    winter night,
black with towers;
stars switch on

  104. 2025-11-19

    the dying light
eases clinging snow
into the earth

  105. 2025-11-19

    river rises;
in the black water
fish peck at snow

  106. 2025-11-19

    ripples in the reeds;
snowmelt delivers
new territory

  107. 2025-11-19

    gutted towers
devour the sky,
but stars spill through

  108. 2025-11-19

    green grass returns
where hungry rain
termites snow

  109. 2025-11-19

    fish eye the moon—
the walls of the river
wax and wane

  110. 2025-11-19

    first snow
recolours the world;
young sparrow's eye

  111. 2025-11-19

    cat's pawprints
appearing nowhere
but mud and snow

  112. 2025-11-19

    black rooftops
reflect the sky;
snow leads the dawn

    Later I wrote a clearer version.

  113. 2025-11-19

    a smudge of sun—
birds feast on worms
in pure snowmelt

  114. 2025-11-18

    on the pavement,
a mock forest floor
appears in death

  115. 2025-11-18

    concrete comes alive;
plastic evergreens
crowd out moss

  116. 2025-11-16

    having touched earth
offended raindrops flee
to the grey sea

  117. 2025-11-15

    ants drowning
in a puddle—
the festival's over

  118. 2025-11-14

    cold rain—
even the wind hides
in my jacket

  119. 2025-11-13

    the last green tree;
in lightning-blasted walls,
saplings grow strong

  120. 2025-11-13

    fragile pale mushroom
so far from home—
you've got to live!

  121. 2025-11-13

    black ferns
blanket naked
sweet chestnuts

  122. 2025-11-11

    snails and I
walking in the dark
slowly

  123. 2025-11-11

    grey clouds
straining, straining
to be seen

  124. 2025-11-11

    a spiderweb
sags under the weight
of success

  125. 2025-11-10

    the treetops
flatten to earth
and drink the rain

  126. 2025-11-10

    in the blue hour,
gravestones and mourners—
no, just gravestones

    Thought about ending this “no, only stones”, but I feel like the repetition of the full word “gravestones” is clearer and works better? Also, I considered startin this with just “blue hour” instead of “in the blue hour”, but I think the latter has a sense of time and place, while the former only has a sense of time. Could also have ended the middle line with an ellipsis.

  127. 2025-11-09

    tough spikes
mellow in the rain—
chestnuts peek out

  128. 2025-11-09

    tiny snails
each dwarfing the next
summit the boot

  129. 2025-11-09

    pedestrians
help fallen leaves
rejoin the soil

  130. 2025-11-09

    grey lichen
livens up the fence—
winter colour

  131. 2025-11-06

    a blazing sky
warms up the eyes—
cold earth grips feet

  132. 2025-11-05

    muddy sunset;
smudged brass and silver
on the mantelpiece

  133. 2025-11-05

    children scream;
exhausted parents
feed them worms

  134. 2025-11-05

    cars lunge
from streetlight camouflage;
highbeams slash crows

  135. 2025-11-05

    bones of trees
litter the blue-black path
and snap with the frost

  136. 2025-11-02

    evergreens
blacken the night sky;
white clouds of breath

  137. 2025-11-01

    sombre streetlights
veiled in spidersilk;
autumn morning

  138. 2025-11-01

    ink and cotton;
black and white clouds
cross the moon

    Not the “purest” haiku, I guess, but I had to write something.

  139. 2025-11-01

    hidden fireworks
shake the black windows;
laughter pierces rain

  140. 2025-10-31

    moss shelters
in gravestone words
as autumn ends

  141. 2025-10-30

    moss shrouds
summer's last logs;
mud won't let go

  142. 2025-10-27

    wind drifts
through last night's carnage;
hazy morning

  143. 2025-10-27

    sun glares
off the solar panels
on the dark house

  144. 2025-10-27

    golden rot
blesses the apples
and bows the tree

  145. 2025-10-26

    morning rain
fills last night's glasses
in the garden

  146. 2025-10-25

    October buds
greet grey with joy;
wine-dark mist

  147. 2025-10-24

    the sky blinds—
sunlight smooths over
many-featured clouds

    I wrote another haiku on the same subject the same day, which I think works better.

  148. 2025-10-24

    sunlight flattens
the many-mountained clouds
into whiteness

    I wrote another haiku on the same subject earlier the same day, but I think this one's better.

  149. 2025-10-23

    trees in green seas
distinguish themselves
on autumn's stage

  150. 2025-10-23

    shadows look back
from shelter and warmth
across the valley

  151. 2025-10-23

    fallen leaves
form imitation trees
on bare concrete

  152. 2025-10-23

    a trampled fence
by the screaming gate—
birds watching

    Based off a fragment written a few months earlier.

  153. 2025-10-20

    black leaves
canvas the wet earth
for next year's hues

  154. 2025-10-19

    genteel rain
papers cracked tarmac
in ice and leaves

  155. 2025-10-18

    in the headlight,
gliding over walls—
a shadow car

  156. 2025-10-17

    a mass grave—
dismembered
widowmakers

  157. 2025-10-15

    leaf and branch
reconciled
on the ground

  158. 2025-10-12

    a ragged day—
even the clouds
are tired

  159. 2025-10-08

    the path
that cuts the grave
vanishes

  160. 2025-10-06

    weathering
October's downpour—
piercing sunbeams

  161. 2025-10-04

    wind nestles
between the songbirds—
the world holds its breath

  162. 2025-09-30

    the storm has passed
but rain still falls
beneath the trees

    I think I'm happier with this wording than in the three previous versions of this haiku.

  163. 2025-09-30

    rainbows in the dark;
a car urinates
in the alley

  164. 2025-09-30

    ivy deathgrip
wraps the stump;
shoots push through

    Reworked a previous haiku.

  165. 2025-09-30

    clap-clap-clap!
scattering acorns
scatter crows

  166. 2025-09-29

    scent blooms
beneath the apple tree—
sweet and sour

  167. 2025-09-28

    sundown
shortens
the meadow

  168. 2025-09-27

    night rises
as the days end
all at once

  169. 2025-09-27

    lone red leaves;
trees catch fire
at sunset

  170. 2025-09-25

    soft noise
overwhelms
tinnitus

  171. 2025-09-24

    green leaves
feeding the tree
as they brown

  172. 2025-09-22

    the cat
makes busywork
of his tail

  173. 2025-09-22

    alone at night,
the sentry sings
off-key

  174. 2025-09-21

    greenery returns
to the copper city
with nourishing rain

  175. 2025-09-19

    daisies push up
from the tarmac;
the old grave breathes

  176. 2025-09-18

    the dig site
erupts with grass
scabbing over

  177. 2025-09-18

    dark tires
renew the tarmac
in beetle black

  178. 2025-09-12

    wet clippings
flood the graveyard;
a train croaks by

  179. 2025-09-10

    no more to take;
ivy deathgrip
holds the stump

  180. 2025-09-09

    bugs
draining sunlight
from blackberries

  181. 2025-09-02

    near and vast
the ridge's silhouette
swells in the mist

  182. 2025-09-01

    dry leaves
embracing pupae
at dawn

    Same subject as a Kelly lune the same day.

  183. 2025-08-17

    tired butterflies
let the breeze take them
into the earth

  184. 2025-08-17

    moss masks
oak-bark cracks
open wide

    Just messing around with verb/noun confusion.

  185. 2025-08-17

    each day
a new branch falls
on the path

  186. 2025-08-14

    dust and dew
reveal the spiderweb
through its ruin

  187. 2025-08-08

    moonlight
draws clouds
in the dark

    Based on a fragment from the same day. This is one of those haiku that could also be a haynaku.

  188. 2025-08-08

    a long-dead thorn
strikes between my toes;
its tree is gone

  189. 2025-07-12

    thorns outshone
by new barbed wire
over the roses

  190. 2025-07-12

    human hands
force the wire fence to bow
before revered tree stumps

    Kinda rough.

  191. 2025-06-30

    a kite's shadow
passes over me—
mine, the ants

  192. 2025-06-24

    the storm has passed,
but rain still falls
under the trees

    Variant on the same idea as another haiku on the same day, tweaked from a previous haiku, and later rewritten again.

  193. 2025-06-24

    after the storm
rain falls
under the trees

    Variant on the same idea as another haiku on the same day, tweaked from a previous haiku, and later rewritten again.

  194. 2025-06-23

    summer rain
empties the air
of hidden water

  195. 2025-06-17

    new shoots
armoured
in old stems

  196. 2025-06-15

    the motorway roar
blends with the murmuring trees
on the hedge-hemmed lane

    5/7/5 feels maybe too long for English-language haiku.

  197. 2025-06-15

    calm shadow
dismisses the heat
guarding the bus stop

  198. 2025-06-12

    summer resistance—
even the bonfire
is overgrown

  199. 2025-06-10

    blinding glare:
gives form to windows
hides shadows

  200. 2025-06-09

    a nesting queen
scrabbles in hard-packed track dirt;
car lights loom

  201. 2025-06-08

    a dead and broken branch;
the tree stands firm,
alive with moss

  202. 2025-06-06

    sky pours in—
an unnoticed path
trampled by many feet

  203. 2025-06-06

    caught in rain
not far from home—
snails peek from undergrowth

  204. 2025-06-06

    bright saplings
crushed
under the old felled tree

  205. 2025-06-06

    ageless gleam—
plastic trash
grasped by grass

  206. 2025-06-04

    wheat bows,
overburdened
by the sun's gifts

    I feel like this could get really minimal, something like “wheat bows; / sun's weight”.

  207. 2025-06-04

    after fleeting rain
slugs flee the sun
over hours of dust

  208. 2025-06-02

    sudden wingbeats
and scattered leaves—
cars shake birds from the trees

  209. 2025-06-02

    moss grapples
a discarded paintbrush—
spring flowers fade

  210. 2025-06-02

    campers' dreams climb
ice-white canvas mountains
under the trees

  211. 2025-06-01

    sun-baked mud footprints
lead nowhere
come summer

  212. 2025-06-01

    lichen persists
on charred wood—
last spring rain

  213. 2025-06-01

    hawk in the low valley;
sun sets early
in the kingdom

  214. 2025-05-30

    rich ladybirds
dot branches
where berries should be

  215. 2025-05-21

    board by board
year by year
the fence comes down

  216. 2025-05-20

    ripples on the air—
the empty saltbox
gathers heat

  217. 2025-05-20

    gathering moss
adds weight
to the stone

  218. 2025-05-20

    flowers crushed
to safeguard me
from metal bulls

  219. 2025-05-19

    weather-beaten fence
tenderly caught
by barbed wire

  220. 2025-05-19

    burning shade
even the bluebells
turn black

  221. 2025-05-17

    blackbird and I
equally shocked—
it landed on my hand

  222. 2025-05-16

    scraping life
off the pavement
for the festival

  223. 2025-05-16

    no bars;
lost among mossy
telegraph poles

  224. 2025-05-16

    dappled light
on the path ahead—
or flickers of crows

  225. 2025-05-14

    time
renames
the gravestones

  226. 2025-05-14

    strangling vines
follow dead branches
into darkness

  227. 2025-05-14

    breezing shadows;
flies and car alarms
buzz hot

  228. 2025-05-12

    bright sun
darkens
the stormfont

  229. 2025-05-11

    warm relief
in the cold stillness
a car exhaust

  230. 2025-05-10

    rising red
before dawn—
spider bite and I

  231. 2025-05-10

    plastic birds
crowd the pond—
bugs drink free

    Same inspiration as a Kelly lune I wrote the same day.

  232. 2025-05-09

    thirsty trails
suck down blood;
gold dusk

    Variant on an older haiku.

  233. 2025-05-09

    day by day
the highway daisy
reaches for the scythe

  234. 2025-05-08

    torn feathers
mingle with cattails
in the dirt

  235. 2025-05-08

    coppices wilt
beneath the oak
a fledgeling

  236. 2025-05-07

    white whiskers
leaps on the greenhouse—
high noon

  237. 2025-05-07

    spring hunt's last grouse
skulks in the heath—
last year's grouse too

  238. 2025-05-07

    rain falls
on distant peaks
and ambles down

  239. 2025-05-07

    grey breeze;
windswept gravel
dams the drain

  240. 2025-05-07

    grass flows
through the comb;
last season's fashion

  241. 2025-05-07

    darkness pools
in the dry pond
tea leaves eddy

    Slightly rewritten form of an earlier poem. Sort of a narrative equivalent to the first poem's tableau.

  242. 2025-05-07

    clouds
beyond clouds—
untrodden sky

  243. 2025-05-06

    dry leaves scrape
something adjusts its weight
a poem's birth

  244. 2025-05-04

    the promised rain
falls thin, as expected;
ants ramble around

  245. 2025-05-04

    bats peek
from under the eaves
of the unsold house

  246. 2025-05-02

    the wasp queen's din
rattles the window;
day moon

  247. 2025-05-02

    shattered barn doors;
daffodils prospering
in untracked mud

  248. 2025-04-30

    pearlblack beetles
marathon the road;
roadkill city burns

  249. 2025-04-29

    caterpillars flex;
sinewy beech bark
glints in the sun

  250. 2025-04-29

    blood-red shadows
against the white sun;
mosquitoes gather

  251. 2025-04-27

    the bluebell creaks
under a bee's weight
no death knell sounds

  252. 2025-04-27

    formidable
serried pigeons
scatter with a glance

  253. 2025-04-27

    darkness pools
in the dry pond
leaf bones eddy

    Later very slightly rewritten with more of a narrative, but I think I like this one better.

  254. 2025-04-26

    moss anchors
dinful church spires
under waves of leaves

    Same inspiration as a Crapsey cinquain I wrote the same day.

  255. 2025-04-25

    woodpecker knocks
cease as I pass;
ding-dong ditch

  256. 2025-04-24

    a delicate shoot
in a tire track;
softly splintered sticks

  257. 2025-04-23

    deer stream past
flowing through the trees;
a faun freezes

  258. 2025-04-19

    thin grey paint
can't blot out graffiti;
shorter days end

  259. 2025-04-19

    singing coarsely
at the edge of the field
rags on a wire

  260. 2025-04-19

    silken light;
a caterpillar's thread
caught on my brow

  261. 2025-04-19

    graveyard dust
smudges stained-glass stories
into misty twilight

  262. 2025-04-19

    decorating the wreath;
the holly
draws blood

  263. 2025-04-19

    broken brick roads
held together by mud;
a tyre swing creaks

  264. 2025-04-19

    brilliant tar and moss
paint the tree stump
behind the bluebells

  265. 2025-04-19

    beneath the bulwark
a fox's bones
breathe in the breeze

  266. 2025-04-18

    wind quakes on the trees—
ivy's embrace
holds firm

  267. 2025-04-18

    funeral knells
collide overhead—
the rain hardens

  268. 2025-04-18

    clouds overwhelm;
elderflower blossom
turns the colour of sky

  269. 2025-04-16

    clouds shot through with light—
the entire sky
is the sun

  270. 2025-04-16

    cigarette stumps;
heavy sun presses out
last night's rain

  271. 2025-04-16

    a windblown rope
to the boudoir window
spider silk

  272. 2025-04-15

    snow drifts scurry;
fox footfalls follow
to gaps in the maps

    Experimenting with consonance, assonance, alliteration, and (internal) rhyme in haiku.

  273. 2025-04-15

    slug migration—
thin grit creaks underfoot
in my streetside waltz

  274. 2025-04-13

    fair skies now
but rain still falls
under the trees

    Later rewritten in three different ways.

  275. 2025-04-12

    the motorway darkens
the faces
in the cars

  276. 2025-04-12

    petrichor lingers;
echoes of a train
die away

  277. 2025-04-12

    moonlight
can't dry the rain
though it tries

  278. 2025-04-11

    “Are you human?”
ghosts of bonfire lights
in the window glass

  279. 2025-04-10

    tenderly
carried on a twig
a wounded worm

  280. 2025-04-10

    stark shadows
crossing the field
to greet me

    I later used this as the basis for two tanka.

  281. 2025-04-10

    snow blossom
melts from the trees
onto black earth

  282. 2025-04-10

    rusty gates
tied with frayed plastic;
the new fence

  283. 2025-04-10

    coppiced tree—
shelter on the lane
while cars pass

  284. 2025-04-10

    contrails
a flitting bird
spiderweb

  285. 2025-04-09

    ripe fish
barrels boiling over—
the sun hums

  286. 2025-04-09

    in the refuse
of a freshly-dug sett
broken bricks

  287. 2025-04-09

    cold red lights
over the valley
dark houses

  288. 2025-04-09

    a lost fawn
behind the kuti
leaves snap

  289. 2025-04-08

    red brick
crumbles in my hand
freeze-thaw

  290. 2025-04-08

    patient bees
bumbling in line
first flower

  291. 2025-04-08

    old trees bend
holding, avoiding
empty air

  292. 2025-04-08

    motorway roar
baffled by leaves;
seasonal relief

  293. 2025-04-08

    intruder!
sparrows raise the alert
oh! so sorry

  294. 2025-04-08

    busy writing
imaginary photographs
April showers

  295. 2025-04-08

    black water
not cold enough yet
to kill

  296. 2025-04-07

    yellow fields
stinking in the sun;
shut them out

  297. 2025-04-07

    screams in the woods
camp children at play—
gunshots

  298. 2025-04-07

    padlock and chain
on a gate I can climb—
the gate falls down

  299. 2025-04-07

    mossy tarmac
a road without cars
under rich decay

  300. 2025-04-07

    moon in the blue
am I that interesting
for you to stare at?

  301. 2025-04-07

    in tall trees
a little privacy
is hard to find

  302. 2025-04-07

    hardy roots
even underground
can be hurt

    Plant roots really do get hurt if thousands of people walk all over them all year long, as a park near me found out.

  303. 2025-04-07

    foil balloons
fallen from somewhere
HAPpy BIRthday

  304. 2025-04-07

    fallen trees
dig up the world
where they once stood

  305. 2025-04-07

    fallen fence posts
mark the old border;
who cares?

  306. 2025-04-07

    delicately hover
on the motorway margin;
bee orchids

  307. 2025-04-07

    crushed raisins;
a starving wasp
quivers and rasps

  308. 2025-04-07

    crows perch
on the bus shelter—
April showers

  309. 2025-04-07

    crisp morning
a ragged butterfly
dies in my hand

  310. 2025-04-07

    burnt-out wreck
a driverless machine
loose in the paddock

  311. 2025-04-07

    bleached eyes
neighbourhood watch signs
facing the sun

  312. 2025-04-07

    a raging steer
charges over the hill
oh, bullshit

  313. 2025-04-06

    witch's broom
blanketed by snow;
delicate and coarse

  314. 2025-04-06

    on the first warm day
people pack the streets
a bicycle crash

  315. 2025-04-06

    old piping bag
drying on a door handle;
scent of strawberries

  316. 2025-04-06

    kneeling in shade;
a cat circles me
smelling the town

  317. 2025-04-06

    high hot sun
shadows cast so deep
street lights turn on

  318. 2025-04-06

    fungal baubles
cling to dead wood;
the sky turns white

  319. 2025-04-06

    falling, growing
out of an empty sky
blue butterfly

  320. 2025-04-06

    bonfires at dawn;
low smoke warms up
by leftover embers

  321. 2025-04-06

    between trees
staccato in my eyes
the chattering sun

  322. 2025-04-06

    dog and man
stand in the road
watching twilight

  323. 2025-04-06

    a circle of ash
quite calmly
smoking at dusk

  324. 2025-04-05

    thirsty trails
suck down blood—
outlaw season

  325. 2025-04-05

    the night shrieks;
inside, soft darkness purrs
in my arms

    Really not sure whether to remove some of these words. Something like “night shrieks; / soft darkness purrs / in my arms” might work just as well.

  326. 2025-04-05

    pale primrose
through the camera lens
brighter than the sun

  327. 2025-04-05

    dappled light;
a squirrel darts
on a shadow branch

  328. 2025-04-04

    stumbling
pries a heavy stone
from dry earth

  329. 2025-04-04

    barbed wire
pierced the grand old tree
before I was born

  330. 2025-04-04

    a plaintive cry—
birds who haven't learnt to sing
inside the hedge

  331. 2025-04-04

    the crow departs
the memory of a crow
from barren fields

  332. 2025-03-31

    a keening jet plane
silences the murmurs
of the day