Siddhârtha Gautama or Shakyamuni – was it not a lotus that he held up before his disciples, smiling, in response to an inquiry concerning th...

. Furrows in Fine Sand : Descriptions of Nature in the Journal of Eugene Delacroix , a Possible Resource for Writers of Haibun Well-written ...

A stiff photograph in sepia tones of a young Victorian woman in a dark high-necked dress with leg-of-mutton sleeves, her hair upswept; my gr...

Each time it rains the fire break road remakes itself, a tabula rasa . For miles along the powerlines, the soft, gray loam of coastal Georgi...

This caterpillar’s hibernaculum is flawed, frost invaded. No butterfly or moth bums an insulated ride. The metal playground slide conducts t...

. ............... as he dozes ............... pianos in the air ............... tip sideways ............... played by black gloved hands .....

ration books she was always a bad cook When I was very young, skies were filled. Always. With fire smoke and gun smoke, with Spitfire aeropl...

Metal wood, stone, concrete, both mole and pier. Great grey waves rolling through the gaps under tarred planks, fine spray chills face. Fing...

from the marae they wade waist-deep across the cold grey channel which veins the sand. for generations they’ve known the hiding place of ka...

shadow-patches , haibun by Janice M. Bostok, Bernard Gadd and Catherine Mair. Hallard Press. 1998. ISBN 0-86477-045-6. Reviewed by Patricia ...

Where did they go, those pretty words like ‘eventide’? Pushed aside to make room in our dictionaries for ‘phish’ or ‘spam’? Maybe it’s an ev...

You wear it and it snows: tracks empty the park outside the museum. A promo pen blues your breast-pocket lining, and a snag starts to pull a...

A warm spring sun, the fields finally free of snow. Yellow warblers, freshly arrived from places south, sing from the just budding trees and...

. . ................. The plum blossom ....... that I thought I would show to my man ........... cannot be distinguished now ..................

high from a house roof in the kasbah i look at snow covered mountains at a fertile green oasis neatly separated with a clean chirurgical cut...

a blue winter warsaw sky ice crystal stretched like a drum stretched like a bow ready to let the arrow fly stretched to the breaking point s...

Crayons spread across the bedside table in her room. She's had recent surgery but I don't know her name. Is she mom's age? I cli...

It's early December, and thick snowflakes are falling, brightening what's left of an afternoon. My sister and I clomp home in our un...

. Waiting for a chow-mein ― across the road the last horse chestnut leaves flap bedraggled, a few buds gleam... Always it seems I'm wait...

I often sit in cafes watching people of the town go by. People with shopping trolleys, wheelchairs, kids in buggies, white sticks, dogs... I...

In Scotland it is in Nottinghamshire; in England it is not. A sign colourfully states: ‘ Gateway to Lincolnshire .’ Once dedicated to St. Pe...

............ ‘Oh, that was the life of young gods in the forest, ............ and how could one think to live without it!’ ..................

Leaving a trail of wet fields, mists moved snail-like through the colored leaves of this Mississippi morning. All day long as we drive home ...

Correspondent: Lynne Rees A warm hello to all Haibun Today readers and many thanks to Jeffrey for offering me the opportunity to be UK Corr...

admiring roses given to me on my birthday my mother can’t recall my name it’s time to leave to go to the airport I come to my mum saying “ m...