Selected Haiku and senryu
from Woodnotes
From 1989 to 1997, in various capacities, I edited or helped to edit Woodnotes, the quarterly journal of the Haiku Poets of Northern California. It ran for 31 issues and became an independent journal in 1996, starting with issue #27. The following are my selections of favourite haiku and senryu from each issue (Woodnotes also published tanka, haibun, rengay, news, reports, essays, reviews, and other content). I do not include tanka, nor any of my own poems here (for the latter, please see “My Poems in Woodnotes”). I selected the following poems from a total of 2,537 haiku and senryu (not counting tanka or poems in rengay or other linked forms) published in 1,116 pages over the journal’s eight-year history. It is gratifying to see that some of these haiku and senryu are among the best signature poems written by these poets. I’ve no doubt omitted many additional notable poems. For commentary on sixteen of these poems, see “Woodnotes Triveni Spotlight.” See also “Selected Tanka from Woodnotes.”
#1, Spring 1989
midwinter,
a hearse passes
the lily pond
Jerry Kilbride (in memory of Nick Virgilio)
#2, Summer 1989
Bald tire
still getting good mileage . . .
as a tree swing
Garry Gay
#3, Autumn 1989
Summer twilight—
a woman’s song
mingles with the bath water
Patricia Donegan
high in the cherry tree
a boy singing
with his mouth full
Francine Porad
no sound to this
spring rain—
but the rocks darken
Anita Virgil
#4, Winter 1990
my father’s winter
coats still hang
in the closet
Tom Clausen
firefly there
not there
there
Mary Lou Bittle-DeLapa
A wounded bird:
My hands become an empty nest
When it flies away.
James Luguri
#5, Spring 1990
Saying the Pledge of Allegiance,
she feels her breast
for lumps.
Alexis Rotella
summer night:
Orion at the tips
of Daddy’s fingers
Adele Kenny
#6, Summer 1990
After the storm
the child pulling a wagon
of rain
Marlina Rinzen
sidewalk sale—
wind twists a lifetime
guarantee tag
Tom Clausen
Plum rain—
the young prostitute
washes her underwear.
Pat Donegan
#7, Autumn 1990
power restored . . .
around the switch
smudged fingerprints
Peggy Willis Lyles
the sky’s
whole silence
in the owl’s wings
June Moreau
Moonlit night
—aroma of yams
crossing the marsh
Matthew Louvière
#8, Winter 1991
a city parking space
appears and disappears
in fog
Marianne Monaco
hitchhiker
as we drive past
his eyes
Sharon Lee Shafii
pesky fly
in the polling booth
also undecided
Ruth Holter
raking aside leaves
on the backyard pool
I release the moon
H. F. Noyes
#9, Spring/Summer 1991
from the poet
from the flute—
woodnotes
Sister Mary Thomas Eulberg
Billie Holiday’s voice
light glints off courting
angelfish
Phyllis Walsh
winter into spring—
each day a little more song
spills through the trees
John Thompson
spring shower . . .
the robin returns
to the fallen oak
Lee Gurga
old friend . . .
a surreptitious glance
at the name tag
George Ralph
mother’s finger
star by star
the big dipper
Ebba Story
alone in the waiting room
checking the plant
for reality
Tom Clausen
which is the way?
the fallen pine needles point
in all directions
John Thompson
#10, Autumn 1991
Passing through the crowd
as the Blue Angels perform
monarch butterfly
Tom Tico
bright moonlight
suddenly he sees
her wedding ring
Margaret Molarsky
roller coaster—
my Hindu friend riding
again and again
Christopher Herold
#11, Winter 1991
she lifts the broom
as if to sweep
—a gust of wind
Matthew Louvière
windows filled with light
at the home for the blind,
christmas night
Jerry Kilbride
looking at the air
where the bear passed
last night
Paul O. Williams
blackberry brambles
propped by the barn
or vice versa
Francine Porad
retired racehorse
running the pasture
counterclockwise
Marianne Monaco
first frost
one puddle frozen
the size of my skate
Kimberly Cortner
#12, Spring 1992
brushing my old dog—
a house wren waits
to line her nest
Hank Dunlap
upon reflection
only myself
in the pool
Laura Bell
spray from the hose—
my home
at the rainbow’s end
Barbara Herold
the thin soles
of old sandals:
summer’s end
Peggy Willis Lyles
sixteen floors up
on the window ledge
a grasshopper
Marianne Monaco
immigrant graveyard
tombstones lean east
lean west
Jerry Kilbride
strangers claim
the pup we found
my daughter’s tears
J. Ervin
#13, Summer 1992
morning breeze
pulsing in the Buddha’s palm
a spider web
Ebba Story
I shake the vase—
a bouquet of red roses
finds its shape
Peggy Willis Lyles
where the scarecrow
used to stand
a snowman
Mark Arvid White
Plow scraping
the road sparks
shoot through the falling snow
David Elliott
No matter
where I stand
barbecue smoke
Garry Gay
haiku reading
the frog
in his throat
Laura Bell
#14, Autumn 1992
still in my headlights the deer
Brian Tasker
Frosty morning
—a horse leaves its breath
on the hitching post
Matthew Louvière
so still
snow settles
on a chickadee
J. Ervin
all the birds
suddenly quiet . . .
first drops of rain
Jim Kacian
sound of shading . . .
the edge of his palm darkens
with the sketch
Ebba Story
rainy day—
sharing my bread
with a peg-leg grackle
Kay F. Anderson
home again—
the terminal cancer patient
plants another tree
Mark Arvid White
from earth to moon
in one jump
frog
David E. LeCount
sunrise . . .
a fireworks wrapper
tumbles down the street
Ebba Story
#15, Winter 1992
the slow dewdrop
down a length of leaf
bumps the snail
Elizabeth St Jacques
Silencing the cricket,
silenced by it
—the night stars
vincent tripi
new widow
turns the chipped side of the cup
to the wall
Lequita Vance
one more ride
with the top down—
winter stars
Yvonne Hardenbrook
#16, Spring 1993
morning walk
warbler’s song
changes my route
Naomi Y. Brown
such a small pebble . . .
the big dipper wobbles
in a mud puddle
Christopher Herold
Reflected
in the sword’s blade
soft summer clouds
Garry Gay
the touch of the air
just before
the touch of your paw
Regina F. Smith
evening silence;
beneath the street lamp
rain becomes snow
Ce Rosenow
a warm bus seat—
my breath clouds initials
left on the window
Ebba Story
#17, Summer 1993
fields flooded—
beneath the surface, somewhere,
the river bends
Christopher Herold
Summer dusk
—puddles
where the melons were
Matthew Louvière
afternoon heat—
caught in the semi’s slipstream
a butterfly
Gene Doty
Through the voices
of carolers
falling snow.
Alexis Rotella
peeping . . . peeping
the lost duckling’s wake
through evening shadows
Ebba Story
#18, Autumn 1993
November mist—
wood smoke scents
the jogger’s way
Peggy Willis Lyles
autumn mist
taking its color
from distant hills
Patricia Neubauer
first sumi-e lesson—
what I need
is the teacher’s brush
Kay F. Anderson
rain . . .
a book left behind
on the café table
Jerry Kilbride
#19, Winter 1993
falling snow
white envelopes drop
through the mail slot
Winona Baker
snowman finished . . .
thought the carrot they begged
was to be his nose!
Patricia Neubauer
wren eggs!
my foot
in mid-air
Marian Olson
snapped line—
the salmon’s full length
in the air
Francine Porad
#20, Spring 1994
knocking on the hive—
the hum of winter bees
rises a moment
Paul O. Williams
Spring wind
—waking
the snow-covered bell
Matthew Louvière
deep woods
rain runs off the ancient fir
down my forehead
Jean Jorgensen
on a telephone pole
the wind-torn picture of a girl
missing for a year
Dick Holmes
early snow—
he shakes the dust
from the sleigh bells
Lois Gregory
new snow . . .
waxing the toboggan
with a hollyberry candle
Evelyn Lang
#21, Summer 1994
nursing a friend with AIDS
I close the window
against rain
Jerry Kilbride
this bad T.V. news
just like that commercial
keeps going, and going . . .
Mark Arvid White
reaching for berries
the tip of my nose
in thrush song
H. F. Noyes
A father’s stare
—the nurse leaving
with his stillborn son
Matthew Louvière
light spring rain
the sound of an airplane
circling above the clouds
Jeff Witkin
window almost closed
one tendril of ivy
creeps into my room
Margaret Molarsky
#22, Autumn 1994
hand to hand
the unframed photos
of her life
Gary Hotham
Along the way
an old oak branch
becomes a walking stick
Garry Gay
featherless chick—
the yellow jacket crawls in
a hollow eye socket
B. H. Feingold
five years
in the wrong window;
the violet’s first bloom
Kay F. Anderson
#23, Winter 1994
palominos—
curve of the winter hills
in moonlight
Cherie Hunter Day
???
? ? /\/\
? (cat)
catcatcatcat
catcatcatcat
a a a a
t t t t
Carlos Colón
end of a long day
the old bartender’s feet
take the floorboards home
Jerry Kilbride
white sail . . .
whiter still
under my shading hand
Kohjin Sakamoto
#24, Spring 1995
little woodsflower
I almost stepped on
taller today
H. F. Noyes
votive candles—
so much movement
in the empty church
Richard Goring
after his death—
snow falling, falling
in the paperweight
Mark Arvid White
#25, Summer 1995
daybreak—
from the bread truck’s roof
frost swirls
Tom Clausen
foggy park—
toy dump truck
loaded with leaves
Tom Lynch
The deep shade
of the ancient oak
quiets the wind
Dave Sutter
From pitcher’s mound
to home plate
slushy snowball
Carol Purington
#26, Autumn 1995
fresh-fallen snow—
footprints leading away
from the grave
Mark Arvid White
combing the last tangle
from my hair, I remember
our one night together
Jenniffer L. Lesh
Christmas morning—
misty breath of cows
rising where they lie
Randy Brooks
before the sled moves
the little girls already
squealing
Ruth Yarrow
antique train
kids line up
to view the privy
Jocelyn A. Conway
First day of spring—
me and the teakettle
both whistling
Tombo
#27, Winter 1995
toy shop window
a tiny sleigh waits
at the doll house door
Patricia Neubauer
December mist
where he buried bones
burying our dog
R. A. Stefanac
thunderclap
the frayed shoestring
snaps
Peggy Willis Lyles
scenic viewpoint—
we gaze
into fog
Tom Lynch
#28, Spring 1996
for a moment
in the nearby air
the hummingbird’s eye
Paul O. Williams
silent
resentments
the
barber
bends
an
ear
John Stevenson
at the church door
a man flicks his cigarette
into the snow
John Hudak
#29, Summer 1996
staff lounge chess game—
a pawn on the verge
of promotion
Carlos Calón
Snowflakes fall
into the darkness
of the tuba
Garry Gay
unmelted
in the dead fox’s fur
first snow
Grant Savage
philosophizing
I put my foot in the stream
a second time
Makiko
#30, Autumn 1996
ambulance
in rush hour traffic
turns its lights off
Timothy Russell
graduation day—
my son & I side by side
knotting our ties
Lee Gurga
out of
the fog
fog
Barry Goodmann
missing the turn sign
missing the turn
—wild lilies
Ellen Compton
toad
on the log
the log
George Ralph
#31, Autumn 1997
[published after a delay]
with the numbers
my daughter knows—
the stars counted
Gary Hotham
just a minnow
the granite mountain wobbles
on the lake
Christopher Herold
Old retriever;
he opens one eye
at the tossed stick
Garry Gay
frog@pond.jump.splash
John Sheirer
old lab licks my hand
after watching me
dig her grave
Diane Tomczak
last bale of hay—
we sit down on it
and watch the moon
Lee Gurga