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Back to the Modern American Haiku Poets

Margaret Chula's Haiku


Sudden shower
in the empty park
a swing still swinging

saying good-bye
snow melting
from the roof tiles

Through the slats
of the outhouse door

New Year's Day
my overalls stained
with last year's garden

reading a Harlequin
in the shade of a tree -
the heat

late into the night
we talk of revelations
moon through the pines

this early heat
a carp arches
into the raindrops

in strawmat raincoats
farmers plant rice
their boots croaking

the borrowed umbrella
splattered with blossoms

sawing afternoon
into evening

old man speaks
the breath
before the sound

lying side by side
separate letters
from our divorced friends

hibachi embers -
red berries
dusted with snow

on the second floor
with the night light on

long winter night
tangerine peels
piling up

they have discovered
my flowered kimono
those relentless ants

how hard the gravestone
an ant disappears
into the crevice

grinding my ink—
a black cat
howls in childbirth

spring cleaning
a white kitten
rolls in the dust

sound of a moth
trapped in a paper lantern
summer rain

top of the mountain
snow, sky, the outlines of birds
I disappear

entering the tea room
the tea master
and a firefly

host and guest
breathe together
powder becomes tea

Easter morning
the bread dough breathes and rises
under its damp cloth

end of summer
the rust on my scissors
smells of marigolds

teacher’s question
hangs in the drowsy classroom
a crow answers

Stars, stars’ reflections
mirrored in the paddy field
oh! the fireflies

wrapping my hands
round the warm teacup
the waning moon

watching the fish pond
fill up with shadows
a distant train

in the flutter
of a hummingbird's wing
last night's dream

summer morning
the tiger lilies open
to the hummingbird

saying goodbye
snow melting
from the roof tiles

closing his fan
the cool fragrance
of a kimono sleeve

paying respects
wiping my nose on the rough wool
of my black coat

cold wind stirs my hair
and the fern fronds
the bald Buddha

sweeping, sweeping, sweep—
the old woman’s broom
no match for the wind

blowing soap bubbles
on her eightieth birthday
the years glide away

Star Festival eve
in the mail box a letter
from an old lover