February 2017

all day long
Lake Ratapiko laps
a summer lament

shrove tuesday
my whakapapa stacked
against me

no moon tonight
for my words to muse on
bare-faced death

just an apple
scored
beneath a tree

all about
tundra
defrosting

finale — 
the wind mumbles on
about bees

the slow swell
of ripeness into
feijoas

just this once
and no other

acid reign
morphing words into
the one ring

star-gazing
within Salome's
seven veils

birth cry
the silence around
these words

quiet now
flesh felt scent
aquiver

morning light
is my awakening
again stillborn

still unborn
the weight of light
in his coffin

trailing off
in a whisper of wish
summer clouds

breathing out
words of consecration
breathed out

all the words
ever uttered
tidal flats

toon world . . .
Mickey and Donald
take the cake

(post US Trump/Pence inauguration)

dark is life
dark is death
das lied
von der erde

(after Gustav Mahler)

far away —
the sound of water
filling gaps

dawn chorus . . .
the theme echoes on
in the dew

a vast sky —
shards of darkness
hold the whole

heat wave . . .
a pond shuffles off
its sheen

dawn vigil . . .
light, in silence,
becomes light

desolate beach —
loneliness gnaws away
the edges

somewhere a tv
numbs the sound of nothing —
moonless night

morning fog —
brushstrokes from a dream
painting light

traces of dreams . . .
high winds shape cumuli
pregnant with change

fossil forest —
incoming waves obscure
a distant past

summer stream —
a mayfly breeding
shadows

her ankles . . .
a path into mist's
endlessness

(Cattails Haiku Editor's Choice)


 Editor's Comments

Hansha Teki’s beautiful haiku catches the reader’s imagination and attention with the first line and holds it as a lingering image with the use of ellipsis.

her ankles . . .

Where could this be leading? The poet leads us onto a path and the haiku effortlessly moves forward into the mist and beyond. The skilful use of the last word ‘endlessly’, leaves the reader with endless opportunities to interpret the poem in myriad ways. An open haiku with ample space for the reader to step in. Is it the mist of spring or is it the mist of autumn? Again, it is left to us, the readers.

- Geethanjali Rajan

I am now
in your third person
also present

pine lesson
it is what
it is not

autumn cloud
a sun dial measures
the time we lost