Rainbow Puddled

Leaf 375 – Reflections

 

Warning: Engines off. No naked lights.

 

 

Reflected in the sky –

rainbow puddled

beneath a petrol pump.

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'rainbow.'

Photograph Credit: Mathias Reding / Pexels

Unreachable

Loose Leaves – Reflections

 

We live our lives forwards. But at some point, that polarity shifts. In truth though, all we ever really have is the here and now.

 

 

UNREACHABLE

 

Having lived my youth

in the here and now,

while longing for the future

– I now look back

from that future, and long

for the nostalgia,

which I’ve already enjoyed.

 

 

(written whilst listening to Max Richter’s “On the Nature of Daylight”)

 

 

 

Photograph by Estelle Day (1995)

Open Curtains

Leaf 374 – Reflections

 

Andrew Wyeth - Wind from the Sea (1947)

Last year I had the real pleasure, not only of seeing two of my haiku published in ‘Chrysanthemum,’ but also of seeing them translated into German by the editor, Beate Conrad. I’ve only once before seen my haiku translated, and that was way back in the very early days of the internet, when I happened to stumble across one of my haiku which had been translated into Russian. Unfortunately, I’ve long since lost my record of which poem it was and who had translated it. I suspect it was most likely one of my early poems published in ‘still: a journal of short verse.’ It is always interesting to see your words and thoughts translated into another language by someone else, just as it is when attempting to translate one’s own works, or even trying to write them in a different language to our mother tongue.

 

 

Curtains

breathing

in and out.

 

 

***

 

 

Vorhänge

atmen

ein und aus.

(translated by Beate Conrad) 

 

 

 

 

Paul Klee - Fensterausblick, Nordseeinsel (1923)

This haiku was originally published in Chrysanthemum, No. 35 (October, 2025), p. 29

Goldfinches

Leaf 373 – Reflections

 

Kerry Buck - Charm of Goldfinches

Since I was very young, I have always loved goldfinches. When I was a child growing up on the rural edgelands of London sparrows seemed to be everywhere, while goldfinches were a relative rarity. By the time I moved to Japan (a fair few decades later), something had changed in London’s ecology. Sparrows had rapidly declined, while goldfinches had increased. Both birds are favourites of mine for similar reasons. I love hearing them chatter away as they seem to flock together, excitedly dashing from one place to the next. Consequently, goldfinches seemed to be a natural subject for my haiku. I’ve written several haiku about sparrows, but so far this is the first and only haiku I’ve written about goldfinches – and, personally, I think it is one of my best. But not so the editors of modern haiku journals! – I have tried to place it in numerous publications, yet each time it has been turned down and I can’t quite fathom why. A first draft of it was very nearly accepted by one very well-known and much respected haiku magazine; and so, it was duly re-drafted in an attempt to make it more concise, but alas to no avail. For what it’s worth, I present both poems here (the re-draft first, followed by the original version), because I still like both of them very much. I leave it to the reader to decide which they prefer.

 

 

Goldfinches

fast fleeting flashes

gone.

 

 

***

 

 

In fleeting glimpses,

flurries, flashing, fast,

– goldfinches, gone.

 

 

 

The Muezzin's Song (1992)

Loose Leaves – Looking Back

 

This poem is about a summer spent sailing the River Nile, exploring the ruins of ancient Egypt. It was written when I was sixteen years old. Misr is the Arabic word for Egypt; a Felucca is a traditional sailing vessel on the Nile with a distinctive triangular-shaped sail; Baksheesh means tip, a request for money.

 

 

THE MUEZZIN’S SONG (1992)

 

Looking out once more

in looking back again.

 

Upon the River’s expanse,

the sunlight rising, slow.

 

Along the shore –

the date palms, begin to stir

with the gentle breeze.

 

Of a well-travelled journal, only

these rough jottings remain;

of smooth desert sands;

Mosques and Minarets,

shady streets and busy bazaars,

reds, purples and yellows;

saffron, spice and silver,

Egyptian cotton, perfumes,

lotus, musk – glass vials;

onyx and carved alabaster.

 

Blue scarabs and

silver cartouches.

 

All these things slow to fade;

all memories golden now,

reminding me of you.

 

With the warm sun under sail,

barefoot on the bowsprit

breaking the silvered waters,

crossing the Cataract

from Kitchener Island;

Ibis, Egret and Hoopoe.

 

The bustle of Aswan shores;

the bells of the Coptic Cathedral

clanging loud; the rattle of ox carts;

dirt roads, dried dung and

stiblo tears; the throng, all

its noise, its dust and hustle.

 

The heat – burning;

the bright, the yellow

and the blue.

 

Beyond the Elephantine rocks;

trailing a hand, your fingers rolling

through the glinting dance of the Nile.

 

Feluccas racing broadsides,

closing in battle, crossing bows;

white triangles, weaving

across the wide waters.

 

Laughing –

you push your hair

back in the wind,

tilting your face

to Akhenaten’s

golden sun.

 

Walking barefoot

through the temples.

 

I watch you – moving,

beneath the waters,

gliding in blue pools.

 

Spinning thoughts;

an eternal thread,

but transient in

its diminishing line:

 

(Grace and beauty

held in her form.

 

She is sure beauty

– beauty I have seen.)

 

Leaning together on

the riverboat’s rail.

 

Gazing along the green banks

where the children play;

the many pillared halls,

sacred lakes, lapis hue;

the pyramids, passages,

tombs and statues, the

obelisks and age worn altars.

 

Bats clinging beneath

the niches, chattering

shivers, swooping down

the ancient ante-room.

 

Such sights, such scenes.

 

A camel train, crossing

the curving desert levee.

 

The afternoon haze,

smudging the view;

a shimmering city spread

below a rough stone parapet,

and in the far distance,

three points ascending

beneath the desert blue.

 

Baksheesh clamour,

Baksheesh clamour!

 

Explorations and Arabesques;

Dervish flutes and tambourines,

swirling – turning – burning.

 

Upon the River’s expanse

– gliding.

 

I see you.

 

Smiling still – you push

your hair back in the

warm air’s gentle trace.

 

Dusk falling, its amber light

fading on the Muezzin’s song.

 

Glinting.

 

A golden sun,

caught in your eye.

 

Looking out together, over the

warm, North African Night.

 

This – the sweet, soft

Cairene Dream.

 

Time though stilled;

still passing, slow.

 

Misr, in memory, warmed

as burnished bronze,

though slowly changing

into softer, sepia tones.

 

The moon fills the space

where the sun once shone;

The stars above, continue to turn

in their spheres between us,

a celestial dance – serene.

 

That deep night sky, remains warm

with me; for grace and beauty,

such is its longevity;

wherein, this ancient land

I once did travel, so there remains

A face in time, your face sublime

– the sweet, soft dream.

 

Laughing,

you push your hair back

in the breeze.

 

 

Egypt, July 1992.

 

  

Illustrations first published by Thomas Cook & Son

Summer Rain

Leaf 372 – Reflections

 

Shoda Koho - Peonies in the Rain (c. 1912-1926)

Another poem about our chatty little neighbours (see, Leaf 8 and Leaf 229).

 

 

Sparrows huddle

in the hedge –

summer rain.

 

 

 

Pictures by Famous Artists / Meika gafu (1814) Met Museum

Crushed Lavender

Leaf 371 – Reflections

 

Edvard Munch - Summer Night, Inger on the Shore (1889)

Sometimes the simplest memories are often the most evocative.

 

 

End of the walk –

her fingers scented

with crushed lavender.

 

 

 

Sarah Ross-Thompson - West Coast of Scotland

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt: 'crush.'

Winter Moon

Leaf 370 – Reflections

 

Katja Lang - Road to E (2022)

No road is lonelier than the road through a deep winter night.

 

 

A puddle

fracturing underfoot

– winter moon.

 

  

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'winter moon.'

Cannon Beach

Leaf 369 – Looking Back

 

Growing up in the 1980s, I remember going to see the film, ‘The Goonies’ (1985) when it first came out at the cinema. I was exactly the right age to see this movie at the time – the same age as Mikey and his friends, and so the film has been one of my firm favourites ever since. Fast forward several decades to 2012. Where I found myself working in Portland, Oregon, and so I decided to make a pilgrimage to Astoria and Cannon Beach, where I was impressed by the sheer power of the ocean. A mini-Goonies adventure all of my own!

 

 

Relentless roar –

roller upon roller

breaking at Cannon Beach.

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #vssdaily writing prompt: 'roller.'

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

My Last Coin

Leaf 368 – Reflections

 

True story …

 

 

My last coin

rolls under the

vending machine.

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt: 'lost.'

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

Fresh Tea

Leaf 367 – Reflections

 

Leah Gardner - Tea

This poem was originally written and posted on Bluesky in response to a #dailyhaikuprompt to write a haiku using the words: ‘withering’ and ‘tea.’ Like almost all people from Britain, tea has always been one of my favourite drinks – but not just the usual black tea with milk preferred by many in the UK, from an early age I also liked Earl Grey, Assam, Orange Pekoe, and Lapsang Souchong. Jasmine Pearl has always been a favourite of mine too. I’m not sure when I first tried green tea, but I do remember the first time I tried Houjicha in Japan, Puer in China, and Masala Chai in India (see also, Leaf 288). I think one of the things I like most about tea-drinking is the great variety in both taste and aroma. To my mind, at least, there really is nothing more relaxing than a nice cup of tea.

 

 

Scenting withered grass –

steam rises from

fresh green tea.

 

 

 

Leah Gardner - Tea and Books

Rhyming Haiku?

Leaf 366 – Senryu (or witty, tom-foolery)

 

Last autumn I was gifted three bottles of red wine by a family member who had been given them by their old boss. Their boss was a doctor who was retiring, and when shutting down his practice, he’d re-discovered the bottles of wine which he’d been gifted by some of his grateful patients over the years. He wasn’t sure when, but some of them had probably been given to him many, many years prior. The label was missing from one, another looked as though it might not be too old, but the third had a distinctly dried-out and brittle label which was almost detached – held in place only by a rubber band! – This bottle, so the label attested, was a Château Gombaude-Guillot Pomerol, 2001. Almost twenty-five years old!

We had no idea what conditions the bottles had been kept in. For all we knew they’d been successively exposed to the huge seasonal swings in temperature and humidity which afflict and overwhelm Japan each summer and winter over the course of the last two decades or thereabouts. So it was with some trepidation that I fished out my corkscrew from its kitchen drawer.

The first, unlabelled bottle of wine was undrinkable. It quickly disappeared down the plughole of the sink, followed by the sludge which had accrued at the bottom of the bottle. But, the Château Gombaude-Guillot Pomerol, 2001! – Well, contrary to expectations, it was really rather good. A splash of it helped to spice up a very delicious spaghetti bolognese and the rest of it was imbibed with suitable alacrity. It was only after opening it and discovering that it was indeed drinkable that a little research revealed that a bottle of this vineyard and vintage retails today for around $55! – and so the last few glasses were downed heartily with an honourable salute to the good doctor and his continuing health; may he have a long and happy retirement!

In addition, the following aberration of a haiku – or rather, a somewhat unconventional senryu – was penned after a couple of glasses of this very delicious Pomerol. With a somewhat nostalgic sense of amusement, it harks back to memories of many a local character I’ve met over the years, propping up the bar in the pubs of Cornwall. Every small village seems to have at least one such character, usually an old salt with a silver tongue!

This verse was originally posted on Bluesky, in response to a #haikufeels writing prompt, with the following explanatory prescript:

 

Somewhat shockingly, this one breaks a rule about NEVER writing haiku that rhyme. But if I blame the two very delicious glasses of red wine which I've just drunk a little too quickly this evening, maybe just this once we can let this one slip by unnoticed?  ... Cheers!

 

There he goes again!

 

For a pint of beer –

spinning another yarn

the grockles love to hear.

 

Dod Procter - Tolcarne Inn (1935)

Photographs by Tim Chamberlain

Red Summer Sun

Leaf 365 – Reflection

 

This poem consciously emulates a haiku by Bashō (see below). But it also attempts to connect Bashō’s poem to our own life here in modern day Tokyo. From our balcony we can see Mount Fuji to the west. Throughout the course of the year, I like to watch the wandering progress of the setting sun as it moves along the mountain ridge first one way and then heading back again. The late summer and early autumn sunsets are always the most spectacular, and they always seem to coincide with the setting sun’s alignment directly behind Mount Fuji. In my mind, it’s as if I’m seeing summer packing up and departing Tokyo for the winter, to spend the cold season of each year’s end in some other, warmer place somewhere beyond Mount Fuji. (As always, I’m not sure how well my Japanese version works; but both versions are 5-7-5).

 

富士山や   赤々の暮れ   秋の風

ふじさんや | あかあかのくれ | あきのかぜ

Mount Fuji | the crimson summer dusk | autumn wind

 

 

A last red sunset –

summer slips past Mount Fuji

with the autumn wind.

Or:

On the autumn wind –

summer’s last warm glow, setting 

behind Mount Fuji.

 

 

Tsukioka Kogyo - Barley Field at Sunrise (c.1900-1910)

 

Bashō’s haiku:

あかあかと日はつれなくも秋の風

 

     The sun bright red,

Relentlessly hot, –

     But the wind is of autumn.

(translated by R.H. Blyth)

 

 

Tsukioka Kogyo - Barley Field (c.1900)

Top photograph by Tim Chamberlain (2024).

Living Room

Leaf 364 – Art Inspired

 

Caroline Johnson - The Living Room at La Mardelle, Brittany

This painting by Caroline Johnson, ‘The Living Room at La Mardelle, Brittany,’ reminds me of several comfortable abodes I’ve known over the years – my own, as well as those of family and friends.

 

 

A clock ticks –

in comfortable

silence.

 

 

 

Feathered Flotilla

Leaf 363 – Art Inspired

 

Print by Sue Welfare

This print by Sue Welfare echoes many a similar scene which I’ve witnessed at the Cornish fishing port of Newlyn. You can almost hear the chaotic, jubilant cries of the seagulls mobbing the small boat as it motors homeward.

 

 

Approaching the narrows –

a feathered flotilla follows

the fishing boat in.

 

 

 

River Twilight

Leaf 362 – Art Inspired

 

Kawase Hasui, ‘Twilight at Kiba Lumber Yard’ (c.1920)

This wonderfully evocative Shin-hanga print by Kawase Hasui, ‘Twilight at Kiba Lumber Yard’ (c.1920), reminds me of many a river scene I’ve encountered here in different parts of Japan. It also reminds me of similar scenes among the muddy inlets along London’s tidal Thames. Captured perfectly in this particular print, I can feel that magical sense of time which only becomes perceptible at certain points at the start and close of day, when the world (and time with it) seems stilled. Almost as though one can reach out and touch the faraway sky, I suppose it has something to do with the riverine acoustics, when the wind drops and the very essence of the outdoors seems to echo deep within.

 

 

Sun dips

in evening deeps,

river stilled.

 

 

 

This haiku was originally written and posted on Bluesky.