New haiku sequence and haiga by Charles Christian

13th July 2006

black smoke over Haifa –
this summer katyushas
arrive with the dawn

white con trails against the blue –
tumbling bombs glitter
in the Beirut sun

in Gaza life ebbs
from a fallen phone
its final message – unread

Udi – are you ok?
me and the cats and dogs
are waiting for you

• The photo shows the second stanza/haiku as a haiga

• The final stanza/haiku is a found haiku comprising the transcript of a text message – as yet still unanswered – the wife of Ehud ‘Udi’ Goldwasser sent her husband when she heard his platoon had been ambushed during the start of what is now known as the Second Lebanon War.

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Anti Robert Mugabe poem by Chris Major

Regular contributor Christopher Major has submitted this anti Robert Mugabe piece.

Anti Mugabe Poem
Long live Zim((()))we,
down with Mugab((()))
long live freedom            ((()))
long live hope………..                  ((()))
………bullet proof glass

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Three poems by Michael Lee Johnson


Watching doves
peck away,
all day long at
a full bowl
of mixed seeds,
out on the balcony –
the cat curls
up on the sofa,
after a meager
meal of house flies –
and dreams of
sparrows with
wide soaring

– – – – – – – – –

Hazy Arizona Sky

7:00 am
Sonoran desert,
sleep dust covering my eyelids.
Morning fireball
hurls into Arizona sky,
baking down on cracked,
& crusted earth –
makes Saguaro cactus
split its rubbery skull
flood dry & open
valley with one cup
of cool, clear,

– – – – – – – – –

Graying In My Life

Graying in
my life
growing old
like stagnant
bucket of
rain water with moss
floating on the top –
oh, it's now such
a bad deal,
except when
catches you
chilled in the
middle of a sentence
by yourself.
ticking away
like an old grandfather clock,
hands stretched straight in the air
striking midnight
like a final

• Michael Lee Johnson lives in Chicago, after spending 10 years Canada during the Vietnam era. He is a freelance writer and poet and says he is heavy influenced by Carl Sandburg, Robert Frost, William Carlos Williams and Leonard Cohen. He is presently self-employed, with a previous background in social service areas, he has a degree in sociology, worked on a masters programme in correctional administration, and took a creative writing course at university on a pass/fail basis – he failed. He has a huge box of “unfinished” poems dating back to 1965 – yellowed papers, wrinkled napkins and all, they await the hand of revival. Until recently he had not submitted any poems since the early 70's.

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At the Dawn of Adulthood – five poems by India Badiner

The Art of San Francisco

A scene of possibility
A mixture of every desire
Country and urban sea and beach
Fresh and crisp with rain
Bright and alive with sun
Mysterious and intriguing with clouds
An urban rainforest of action and excitement
A cozy and quiet peaceful view of the bay
Luxury in every shape and form
Small and large
Disguised and undisguised
A world of change and beauty
Passages of the imagination's reality
And this is San Francisco

– – – – – – – – –

Sunset Poem

The icy smooth water ripples
into time
into space
into non-existence

Gliding gracefully
and then brushing abruptly at the shore
Strawberry melon painting cloud streaks the sky
leaving a path of faded bushy clouds behind

The baby blue glazed horizon left alone in a cool brisk evening
The deepness and darkness of the painted waves
Every moment beauty is born
in static but ever changing form

A shot of moonstone light shines upon the hills
Beauty is alive

– – – – – – – – –

Web of Understanding

A wheel turning water over and over again
Is where I am standing
In a forest of forgotten dreams
Every person, every thing, every piece of life wants to feel respected and understood
So maybe you do understand
But is that enough
Because I know that it is only partial
Let me show you something else
A girl lying helplessly, motionless on the floor
The day you learn to awaken her is the day you will understand her
You will experience selfless understanding
A glacier that has frozen a river solid to the ground
The day you bring out the sun
Is the day you will grow to understand that river
To truly bring all the life back to it
To bring yourself back
To understand that river is to understand you
Think if you could really unfreeze that river?
Think if you could really understand me?

– – – – – – – – –

Black Rain

Defined as abnormal
too much for anyone to truthfully love
torn and ripped apart
and taught to hate
drowning in the water
floating lifelessly down the stream
trying to leave a message
a message to shock and enforce change
but change is only entirely possible for nature
undefined unrestrained uncontrollable
we are glass statues
only the strongest of us,
the most beautiful don't break
love is too great to completely understand.

– – – – – – – – –

A Melancholy Dream

Your angel eyes gleam gracefulness in the moonlight
lit by the dreamy streaks of clouds onto the sky
anger, sadness and all emotions deteriorate into peaceful stillness
an expression of delicate memories
painted and glazed into the bold radiance of the sky
blue river tunes drizzle and trickle in the ear of hollow memories
touching and tickling warmth of the heart

echo of darkness
the owl chimes the hour of night and day
running in fields of wildflowers
in old fashioned dresses and bonnets
in fading sunlight
orange moon-cream skylight embalming the air with warm memories
tricking into the eye of memory
passing out into the time between day and night
her dress gently resting on the tip of the summer grass
her strings of curls gently brushing against your face
the truth and essence of life laying between the seeds of earth
ending and beginning once again.

• India Badiner lives in Big Sur, California, with her parents, five semi-feral cats and Raindog, a sloppy, overly friendly Rhodesian Ridgeback. She is a graduate of Robert Lewis Stevenson School in Carmel and currently enrolled at the Big Sur Charter School. She has traveled widely, including Kyoto, Paris, Amsterdam, Shanghai, and lived in Rome for two years studying Italian and the 'sweet life'.

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Anna – a new haibun by Zane Parks

The fiercest of lovers. Even in sleep, she holds me tightly in her fist. As if to be sure she's wrung the last drop from me. When I've packed, she kneels offering her mouth. To delay my departure if only a little.
the heat
a bee nestles deeper
in the pansy's pink folds

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An Easter piece by Chris Major

Easter Piece
it's not for me.
You go if
you want to,
another 'tourist'
swelling the faithful few.
I hate this weekend,
these 3 days:
the TV,
the papers,
you can't bloody
escape it.
Chicks 'n' chocolate,
that's fine,
why spoil it
with wood 'n' nails ?
sod B 'n' Q
and Do It All –
I'm going church……..

• Christopher Major is a regular contributor to IS&T

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A seasonal haibun from Zane Parks

Easter Chicks

My brother and I get Easter chicks. Down so soft. Dyed pastels – one purple, one blue. One day they are no longer chicks.

“They're hateful. They peck my feet when I'm hanging the wash,” Mom complains.

Then the ultimatum. “They go or I go.”

At dinner, Dad says that some of the under feathers still showed the original dye. My brother grabs a drumstick, but I can't eat.

mom happy
with the new craze
pet rocks

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