Spring Haiku by greenfrog

Welcome to WIZ’s Spring Poetry Runoff open invitation haiku chain.   This is a non-competitive (that is, not part of the poetry contest), come-as-you-are,   just-for-fun activity that we run from time to time here on WIZ.

A haiku is a classical Japanese poetical form, usually 17 syllables all in a single line in Japanese, but I understand that there are longer and shorter forms.   In English, a haiku often takes the form of one short line of 5 syllables, a long line of 7 syllables, and a short line of 5 syllables, but there are many paths–take your pick.   Often, haiku mention the season under scrutiny–in this case spring, obviously.   If you wish to learn more about haiku, you can go here or here.

The rules: Really, there aren’t any.   How it usually goes is someone starts the chain–today, it’s Sean aka greenfrog.   Somebody follows him, adding a single haiku in the comments, and then another person takes a turn, and around we go.   Other than the informal, “one-at-a-time-please” tradition, there’s no limit to turns a participant can take and no deadline for this activity.   It runs as long as it runs.   So if you feel inclined to add a thread to the tapestry, don’t be shy.

Here’s Sean’s opening haiku:

The bud embedded
In the matrix of branch and
Earth and sun and spring.


Sean/greenfrog makes his home in the Denver area and blogs occasionally about yoga and meditation.   You can visit his blog In Limine here.


14 thoughts on “Spring Haiku by greenfrog”

  1. Wind tears sand from stone,
    Scouring the untarnished sky,
    Rasping its bowl blue.

    Wanted to try to work in the auditory effect, which around here could be said to be grating.
    [edited 3/27 @ 7:40 pm (inverted “blue” and “bowl”)–a perk of blog administration]


  2. In the Pines

    Resplendent columns
    descend thick boughs–new-growth tips,
    needle-covered loam.

    Gentled sun rays touch
    opening violet petals
    with yellow centers.

    She plucks slender stems,
    a full bouquet for mother
    amid the needles.


  3. Trio

    leaves from a distant
    fall, turkey vultures blow in
    on spring’s tumble-winds

    mountain bluebird lights
    in an unbloomed peach tree, a
    brief cobalt flower

    mourning dove’s soft drawl
    adds warmth to an evening’s
    low-burning silence

    (First stanza’s for you, greenfrog.)


  4. wild phlox blossoms in
    sunrise-tinged clouds–pink, lilac–
    across spring’s expanse

    Am I the only one playing in the sandbox now?


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