| contents: current issue | contents: this issue | submissions | email | archive | about Roadrunner |
May 2008 Issue VIII:2
Haiku/Senryu
Mouse over the area below each group of poems to reveal the authors or click here to reveal all authors.
|
empty rooms—
a raven bursts
from the sun
|
|
Carolyn Hall
broken chords
from the carousel—
a whale off course |
|
amber waves
a tall man demonstrates
the dream |
Peggy Willis Lyles
| |
winter
sun
striping
one
skyscraper
hiding
another
|
|
on screens overlooking
the Shinjuku station concourse
seals slithering across a floor |
|
spring sunshine
wrapped in cellophane
the suction pads of squid |
dusk by the light of an acetylene torch, its bearer unseen |
| |
under closed circuit
surveillance
old snow
on an island
in the pond
|
|
Philip Rowland
| first day of spring grey matter clouds |
winter night settles into a predicted low |
thought I was going somewhere March wind |
John Stevenson
far below emerald water I peddle my bike
|
Elizabeth Crocket
| winter moon the ticking clock in my teeth |
this hand inside my head grasping at water |
Dana Duclo
From my skull
The nubs of antlers grow
In the snow
|
|
The day is done
I pat a tree trunk
and continue on |
| |
Through the corridors
Of my mind my father strides
Across the divide |
|
With your heart
Read the world:
Look, the rocks are soft |
|
Releasing myself
From a lifetime of pain
How bright the pines seem |
Jack Galmitz
| |
|
a friend's death
in the peach
a bug disappears |
| |
yes, slug,
each of us
a bag of juices
|
|
winter blues
too much earnestness
in my prayer |
|
|
William Ramsey
light bulb goes dead suddenlywearealltouching |
| |
new recruit
green as the cornfield
under his nails |
|
Chad Lee Robinson
|
|
The universe,
the metropolis,
muted by a nipple
|
| |
At the urinal
I throw out the voice
I've invented |
|
Like the womb the way you swim with me |
Paul Pfleuger, Jr.
| dawn mist pebbles stand their ground |
thru mist a leak of rhododendron green
|
invited in the fog of morning all it holds within |
marlene mountain
| |
|
empty church
richness in the flutter
of sparrow wings |
full moon her dress on the floor empty
|
Rafal Zabratynski
stand at
river
till you're
river's
standing
form
|
|
|
| |
jonquils
& violets
have you
in common |
|
petals
sitting down
together |
|
brick wall
out of the wind
weeping cherry |
| |
daily
more
wild
flowers
&
scraps
of my
roof |
|
|
|
plastic
storm
windows
taken
down
now
no more
ghosts |
john martone
from the car
bark inching
toward long good earth
|
|
how many skies
we have not
found ourselves whole |
Meg Pokrass
winter
thunder
your rhythm
then
mine
|
|
sun
sunset
dusk
stars
wasting the whole damn day
thinking
of
you
|
Lee Gurga
Tibetan bell
with a wooden stick
I circle Aum
|
|
breast feeding . . .
was the fragrance of champa
also born of a dream? |
Kala Ramesh
|
cherry blossoms
I tell my lover
a pink lie
|
|
Rob Scott
| |
|
returning bones
a stone unwinds
in the breeze |
|
|
hungover - ignoble
Jerusalem - cactus
pissing - the cats |
|
|
waning gibbous
the increasing density
of fall |
|
unable to find
the cry of the nextdoor boy
spring rain |
|
Richard Gilbert
crease of sunset the past tense of peony
|
Laryalee Fraser
| her going in her coming the rain before it falls |
breath in fog the lingering absence of her voice |
Jim Kacian
late sunflower a black hole
|
Helen Buckingham
| |
morning after
the wild deer turn back
into collies |
|
|
Copyright © 2004-2008 by Roadrunner Haiku Journal. All rights revert to the authors upon publication.
|