Early Fall Haiku and Tanka
15 poems from early autumn, 2025
A Net of Fireflies by Harold Stewart has long been one of my favorite collections of haiku in translation. It’s somewhat unique in that his translations don’t necessarily include strict syllable counts, they’re divided into two lines instead of three, and each haiku is introduced by a title. I find that the titles really add something to the poems. Using this book as inspiration, I’m giving titles a try in this post.
Two attempts to capture this silly moment, pictured above:
Unexpected Shower
Midday watering the hanging baskets—surprise! the wet gray tree frog. - Watering, and then— glistening gray tree frog on the basket's lip.
Wasp Season
Buzzing wasp, unseen, immanent, close—another MRI needed.
Degeneration
The pileated worries the willow’s old holes— back pain worsening.
Brief Showers
After such a long drought, this whisper of light rain is inadequate. - After a long drought a light rain whispers fears, inadequacies.
Broken Drought
Rain casts its lament everywhere—remembering how I lied and lied.
This October my husband and I travelled up to visit family in the Upper Peninsula. It was my first time seeing my nieces and nephews in several years, thanks to my neck injury. It was a lovely trip that went off without a hitch, apart from the wicked head cold that made its way through the whole family (including yours truly) while I was there. The poems below were all inspired by the experience.
Driving North
Sunset colors, wild as the lake reflecting them— oh, Superior.
Woods Walk
The toddler, who found no rest in bed, now, beneath leaves golden and bronze, soundly asnooze, lolling in the carrier on dad’s back.
The kids and I did lots of fall crafts together, including paper bag owls. This inspired the haiku and tanka below.
The Flock
Excited to craft paper bag owls, together the kids hoot, hoot, hoot. - Excited to craft paper bag owls, nieces and nephew, the whole flock flapping over, singing out a greeting of hoot, hoot, hoot.
Eight
She’s already old enough to lift her baby brother off the floor.
Impromptu Thanksgiving
Sunset at grandpa’s— backyard bridge, stream flowing, kids write water letters.
A Hellish Cold
Sinus inferno— like Dante, I must descend deep to convalesce.
Saying Grace
Through this haze curtain of head pounding congestion I recall its source— in play, in prayer, nieces and nephews reaching out to touch.
