A Tritina-Haibun by Colleen M. Farrelly

Intergenerational Meditations

I think of my grandma,
growing up poor—mother-
less—raising her daughter.

I think of my daughter—
adopted—and her grandma
doting like a mother.

I think of my mother,
caring for my grandma
and her daughter's daughter.

swaddling babe grandma's mother also a daughter (once)

~

Colleen M. Farrelly is a mathematician and haibun poet who's been exploring the universe through mathematics and physics since childhood. She's an amalgam of mystic Jewish/Catholic traditions and mathematician-philosophers like Blaise Pascal, with a deep appreciation for meditation and what she learned about public health and spiritual health from South African village shamans in the mid-2000s.

An Esoteriku by Randy Brooks

so many unborn
milkweed silks alight
upon the lake

~

Randy Brooks is Professor of English Emeritus at Millikin University, where he teaches a haiku course. Randy and Shirley Brooks are publishers of Brooks Books and co-editors of Mayfly haiku magazine. His most recent publication is HAIKU DECK which features 52 haiku, one each for card.

A 9/11 Remembrance by Bruce H. Feingold

bronze plaque
for its lost 9/11 patrons
blood-stained bar

~

Bruce H. Feingold lives in the San Francisco Bay area and is a retired psychologist. His haiku have been published world-wide and have won numerous awards. Author of six collections, including everything with an asterisk (Red Moon Press, 2022), and a HSA Merit Book Award recipient, Bruce recently released a boy who lived one day. In the author's note he wrote, "I am more aware than ever of the fundamental value of one's unique haiku voice and authenticity and becoming who you are as a poet and human being . . . the practice of composing has become a truly amazing, mysterious, grounding, and joyful way of being." Bruce is on the Board of Directors of The Haiku Foundation, chairs The Touchstone Awards and is the Vice-President of the Haiku Poets of Northern California. Bruce's haiku may be found on Instagram (haikubruce) and at haikubruce.com.

An Esoteriku by Chad Lee Robinson

shadow moon—
my name keyed into the paint
upside down

~

Chad Lee Robinson has been writing haiku and related poetry for more than twenty years. He is the author of five award-winning haiku collections, including Pop Bottles (True Vine Press, 2009), Rope Marks (Snapshot Press, 2012), The Deep End of the Sky (Turtle Light Press, 2015), The White Buffalo (Backbone Press, 2023), and Dust of Horses (Brooks Books, 2026). Much of his haiku is about the prairie, but he also enjoys writing horrorku, which have appeared in a wide variety of journals, such as horror senryu journal, Otoroshi Journal, Circle of Salt, Haikuniverse, and Scifaikuest. He lives in Pierre, South Dakota.

A Cherita by Peter Jastermsky

when
wrapping
a blue whisper

in wizard skin

the pendulum says
better pass

~

A New England native, Peter Jastermsky lives among the Joshua trees in the high desert of Southern California. He is the author of twelve books of haiku-based work. Peter is a word alchemist. He resides in that magical space between reader and poem. To learn more, please go to peterjastermsky.com.

An Esoteriku by Daya Bhat

yatagarasu
mother turns into a song
on my window sill

~

Daya Bhat lives in Bangalore, India. To her, writing poetry is a never-ending quest to find the person she is at the core. She has contributed free verse and short form poetry to journals and publications in addition to publishing two books. Painting and digital art are other ways her thoughts find expression.

An Esoteriku by Adrian Bouter

mossy boulder   time has a soft spot

~

Adrian Bouter is a poet. For more details see HAIKUPEDIA.

His first collection of ku in English, DEW OF LIGHT, was released in autumn 2024 (Red Moon Press).

He wishes everyone the very best—😊

A One-Sentence Poem by Mark Valentine

The spilled beads from
Zarathustra's rosary
are found on any beach.

~

Mark Valentine is interested in bungalow visionaries, bedsit occultists, back-street brooders, bus station café poets, top floor troubadours, chip shop radicals, quayside soothsayers, semi-detached flying-saucerists, reading-room ruminators, rucksack ley-hunters, apocalypticks in creepered villas, terraced house neo-kabbalists, tower block zaum-niks, seekers of zodiacs, cliff-edge samphire-gatherers, and allied trades.

An Esoteriku by Shloka Shankar

the descent into oblivion player piano

                                               after Kurt Vonnegut

~

Shloka Shankar is a disabled poet, editor, and visual artist from Bangalore, India. A Best of the Net nominee and widely published haiku poet, Shloka is the Founding Editor of Sonic Boom and its imprint Yavanika Press. She is the author of the haiku collections The Field of Why and within our somehows, and co-author of the haiga anthology, living in the pause. Website: www.shlokashankar.com | Instagram: @shloks23

An Esoteriku by Anne Fox

a cock's crow
in the black of night
Abraxas

~

Anne Fox, considered a witch-child from birth, is an off-planet soul doing psychopomp work behind the scenes for our dying civilization.

An Esoteriku by Vidya Premkumar

carrying what will be the malabar grey hornbill

~

Vidya Premkumar from India is an educator, poet, writer, digital librarian, graphic designer and visual artist. Her works reflect her multidisciplinary interests in life, society and nature.

An Esoteriku by Ravi Kiran

no man's land between friendship and love

~

Ravi is a late-blooming haiku poet with a penchant for minimalism. His haiku have won awards and have been featured in leading journals. He is the editor of Leaf haiku journal.

A Tanka by Joy Hallinan

underwater
the undine lies
waiting
not waiting for a man
to grant a soul

~

Born in the 60's flower child era, Joy spent many happy unsupervised hours roaming the woods. Her haiku, tanka, haibun, and tanka prose can be found in journals internationally. Sometimes her haiku may also surprise you on a street corner sign or in a botanical garden. Winner of the 2026 Ecopoetry Award, Fiiloli Gardens and Finalist Washington, D.C. Golden Haiku Competition.

An Esoteriku by Ravi Kiran

. . . and then ashes and peace

~

Ravi is a late-blooming haiku poet with a penchant for minimalism. His haiku have won awards and have been featured in leading journals. He is the editor of Leaf haiku journal.

An Esoteriku by Maria Tosti

cosmic breath—
we are sleeping stars
waiting for dawn

~

Maria Tosti is an Italian poet, author, artist and also a photographer for passion.

She made her literary debut in 2014 with a multilingual book of poetry spanning various genres, including her first short poems written in the Japanese style. She has several publications of her literary and artistic works around the world.

She loves angels and everything that represents divine light.

On this journey between earth and heaven, she is always in search of beauty; she loves to linger over details and read between the nuances of existence.

"The Eternal Search for the Perfect Purse" by Nolcha Fox

The Eternal Search for the Perfect Purse

Griselda thought herself a princess who deserved the most and the best. Especially when it came to purses.

"This purse doesn't work anymore!" she complained to her friend and advisor, Brunhilda, over lunch at the finest hamburger restaurant in town.

Brunhilda almost sighed. Griselda frowned at her, so Brunhilda's sigh turned into a hiccup.

"My dear friend, what is wrong with your beautiful new purse?" Brunhilda asked. "Does the color not perfectly match your divine outfit?"

Griselda snorted. "It's not the color, you twit! It hurts my shoulder."

"Perhaps if you didn't stuff your bowling ball in your purse . . ."

Griselda waved the thought away. "This is not the perfect purse after all. We'll go shopping after lunch."

Brunhilda heard her feet scream in dismay. "Perhaps tomorrow?"

Griselda shook her head. 

"Perhaps an extra slice of cherry pie instead?"

"No, I want another purse. Now!" Griselda stood up and brushed the crumbs from her clothes. "Let's go." She pulled Brunhilda out of the booth and marched her to the nearest mall.

"What about this purse?" Brunhilda dangled a bag in front of Griselda's eyes. "It has padded shoulder straps, and it's expandable. Plus, it has wheels so that you don't strain your royal self."

"No, that won't work. It's too awkward to throw into my carriage. Let's keep looking."

"My dear princess," Brunhilda said. "Let me take a quick beauty break while you find the perfect purse."

Griselda nodded, barely listening. She might have spied The One.

Brunhilda walked quickly out of the store. She stopped at a travel kiosk and booked a one-way ticket to Jamaica. She was done with Griselda. And her purses.

Meanwhile, Griselda asked the sales clerk to bring her an odd bag on a hook near the ceiling.

"An old magician left the bag in the store and never returned," the sales clerk said.

"Is it used?" Griselda asked.

"We don't know. We've never been able to open it."

Griselda gave the sales clerk twenty dollars for the purse. Brunhilda could open the purse for her. After all, Brunhilda did everything else for her.

But Griselda didn't see Brunhilda anywhere. Griselda shrugged her shoulders. "Brunhilda has gotten worn around the edges. I can replace her."

When Griselda returned to her palace, she used every tool in the King's workroom to pry open the clasp. She tried a screwdriver, a hammer, a saw, a drill, and even a rake. Nothing worked.

Finally, she tried to force the latch open with her fingers, but she only broke a fingernail. She sobbed in frustration. "I give up!"

Those were the magic words. With a soft click, the clasp released and the purse opened.

Griselda gasped. Finally! She stuck her head in the bag. And fell in.

"Ouch! That hurts!" She rubbed her head and sat up. And sneezed. The purse was full of drifting, glowing dust.

She looked around. She saw no corners, no sides. As far as she could tell, the purse expanded into infinity. "Oh goodness, think of all the things I could fill this with!"

She looked up. More stars than she had ever seen twinkled above her head. "Oh, no! The clasp is closed again! How will I get out to collect everything this bag could hold?"

A realization melted into her brain. This bag was her empty soul. Stuffing the bag would never fill what was missing inside her. She had no idea how to find it.

But Griselda was a stubborn princess. "I get everything I want. I'll figure this out. Someday."

~

Nolcha Fox's poems have been curated in print and online journals. A best-selling author, her poetry books are available on Amazon and Dancing Girl Press. Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize multiple times. Editor of Chewers by Masticadores and LatinosUSA.

Website:  https://writingaddiction2.wordpress.com/ and https://nolchafox2.wixsite.com/nolcha-s-written-wor/blog

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/nolcha.fox/

An Esoteriku by Vandana Parashar

pill moon
another night
out of my body

~

Vandana Parashar is an associate editor of haikuKATHA and one of the editors of Poetry Pea and #FemkuMag. Her debut e-chapbook, I Am, was published by Title IX Press (now Moth Orchid Press) in 2019 and her second chapbook, Alone, I Am Not, was published by Velvet Dusk Publishing in April 2022. She won the 2025 HIGH/COO Chapbook Award, and her third chapbook was published by Brooks Books. She is a Lord Shiva devotee but believes in goodness of thoughts, words and deeds rather than following elaborate rituals to appease God. She likes to spend time with nature and herself.

Short-Form Poetry by Patrick Sweeney

turning lane, a coffee cup for loose change,
and the distinctive hand salute of a Marine

A Personal Essay by Kim Underwood

The other day I met my friends Bob and Kelly at Pulliam's—the renowned restaurant on Old Walkertown Road that has been serving hot dogs and barbecue since 1910.

The next day—in the course of continuing to have fun talking about hot dogs with Kelly—I mentioned that I had participated in two hot dog eating contests over the years. The first one had been at the city recreation center supervised by Art Blevins, a man renowned for inspiring young people and treating them with respect.

I like to say that Art had such a remarkable balance in the Bank of Good Will that people were happy to do whatever he asked them to do. When Art invited professional basketball players and TV anchor Cameron Kent to participate in the annual basketball tournament at the recreation center, they said "yes".

At the time of the hot dog eating contest in the late 1980s, I was writing for the Winston-Salem Journal. Art invited me to be their sole adult competitor in a contest in which the rest of the participants would be young people at the center.

On the day of the tournament, as the time for the competition approached, Art plunked down a mysterious closed white box in front of me. It contained special hot dogs he had fixed just for me, he said. More available if I needed them. When the bell rang for the competition to begin, I opened the box to discover that, while all the young people would be eating regular-sized hot dogs, mine were all footlongs.

Knowing that Art had ensured that, when he announced the winner, there was no way it was going to be me, I had to smile. Nonetheless, I forged ahead. I am sorry to say that I no longer remember how many footlongs I swallowed.

I can say that, along with the winner, I received a trophy. The boy who won thought my trophy was more impressive than his and asked if I would trade him. One of my regrets in life is that I told him "no" because my trophy had my name on it. If I had it to do over, I would definitely give it to him.

I can also say that my friend John Downey—who no longer remembers how many I ate either—told me that he could have most certainly done better. Back and forth between us led to deciding to have our own competition with regular-size hot dogs.

Our friends Kelli and Liz decided to join and, with the help of a couple of friends who agreed to be in charge of ensuring that we had all the hot dogs we needed, we were set.

The first few dogs went down quickly and easily. It wasn't long, though, before the process slowed down. By six or seven dogs each, Kelli and Liz were done.

John and I kept at it, though. In my memory, I am soon in a super slow-motion world where each bite takes forever. My eyes are locked on watching John eat and there is no way that I am going to let him have the satisfaction of lording it over me as the contest winner.

Eventually, with 11 hot dogs behind us and halfway through the 12th dog, both of us reach the point at which it is not possible to take another bite.

We reluctantly declare a tie.

These days, after finishing two hot dogs at Dairi-O, along with sweet-potato fries and endless refills of soda, it's hard to imagine I once lived in a universe in which I ate more than 11 hot dogs.

What's not hard to remember is how amazing Art Blevins was.

It has been my good fortune to meet many people such as Art who have a gift for bringing love into the world.

~

The son of a Presbyterian minister, Kim grew up in North Carolina and West Virginia. After he took a leave of absence from college, he spent his 20s in New York, Atlanta and San Francisco.

After he moved back to Winston-Salem. N.C., he spent 25 years as a reporter and columnist for the Winston-Salem Journal and another 10 years writing for Winston-Salem/Forsyth County Schools. During those years, he met many remarkable people.

Along the way, Kim wrote and his wife, Garnet, illustrated two picture books—His Dogness Finds a Blue Heart and The Wonderful World of Sparkle Girl and Doobins. Since retiring he has written Cat & Wren, a chapter book for young people he hopes will be published one day.

"Substrates" by Peter Jastermsky

Substrates

Describe the room in which one day you'll forget to wake up. How many steps did you leave behind? Can you make the describable unrecognizable? Are songs of extinct people still audible? When your call drops is there a bucket it falls into? A tree topples in the forest and we never make a sound.

~

A New England native, Peter Jastermsky lives among the Joshua trees in the high desert of Southern California. He is the author of twelve books of haiku-based work. Peter is a word alchemist. He resides in that magical space between reader and poem. To learn more, please go to peterjastermsky.com.