“A Few Haiku (9)” published at Gobblers by Masticadores

On By Mike U.In Poetry

Hi, friends. The ninth installment of my short haiku/senryu collections titled “A Few Haiku (9)” has been published at Gobblers by Masticadores. These small collections consist of six haiku and/or senryu. Sincere thanks to Editor Manuela Timofte for sharing this mini-collection with her readers. I hope they resonate with you.

“A Few Haiku (9)”
© 2021 by Michael L. Utley

(#49)

The silent garden
My mother’s memories
Germinate

…..

(#50)

There is never joy
In the dark night of the soul
I embrace the dawn

…..

(#51)

I still hear the sound
Of breezes in bamboo groves
When I think of you

You can read the rest of this mini-collection here:

A Few Haiku (9)

Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers by Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.

25 thoughts on ““A Few Haiku (9)” published at Gobblers by Masticadores”

    1. Thanks, Diana. I had to use my imagination for this one, of course–I’ve never heard the breeze in bamboo but I remember well the sound of wind in the trees before my deafness set in. Each tree seemed to have a different voice, you know? On the farm, there were elms surrounding the house, scrub oak, pinyon pine, and junipers, and about three miles away (in a magical place called Secret Springs) there were a few Ponderosa pines and spruces as well as a lone stand of aspens. Such a variety in the vocalizations of these different species. It can be such a forlorn sound, the movement of leaves and branches in the wind, and my love for Japanese art and culture prompted me to imagine standing in a grove of bamboo, listening to the secret communiques of the swaying stalks while remembering my lost love. 😊

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      1. Your imagination is superb, and I’m so glad that listening to the trees lives in your memories, Mike. I like sitting in my backyard on windy days to watch the alders billow. They’re so graceful.

        Bamboo “clacks” (the best word for it). The sound is distinctly tied to the wind. So one hears the gust come through the leaves, and then all the bamboo stalks start clacking. When the gust passes through, all is silent again. I’m sorry that your won’t hear it yourself, but I’m hoping you can imagine it now. Hugs, my friend.

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  10. Dearest Mike, I have just read the first three, but I, too, am grateful to Manuela Timofte for sharing these beautifully written verses.

    “The silent garden
    My mother’s memories
    Germinate”

    When you write about your mother, every phrase always evokes an incalculable sense of love. I read this and see an endearing canvas of the happiness you paint of your mother in the garden. Perhaps this comes from other pieces like “Snap-Beans in a Wooden Bowl,” – published by SpillWords this year, ©️by Mike Utley in Sept. 2024. These words will be enduringly captured within my heart visually from this hauntingly beautiful poem.

    “corn silk
    her hair was corn silk
    as she merged with
    row upon row
    of papery whispering stalks
    her naked feet
    rooting into earth
    deeply
    deeply
    where her spirit lived
    safe in cool moist soil
    a fertile loam
    a secret energy
    regenerating her
    scarred soul daily”

    I am moving on to read the rest, and thank you, Mike, for sharing your work with us as it is always a gift. Big hugs, Joni ❤️

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