Before the light comes, her hands are already in the wet dark. She works the way a thirsty field works: it knows the rain is coming long before the sky admits it. There is no name on her badge. Her mother taught her this over roti dough: press slow, stay warm, trust a thing to give before you ask it to. So she presses, and the water wakes. Like her, it has no name, and like her, it moves anyway.
before the dawn wakes
her hands and the water move
as one quiet stream
On the roof, others hold her work up to the light. Their smiles are borrowed rain, bright for a moment and then gone. Their badges are puddles pretending they once fell from the sky. The crowd claps for the puddles. Nobody looks down to where the real rain runs.
puddle-badges shine
a sky they never came from
mirrored in their smiles
She walks home with mud on her knees and the smell of her mother's roti in her mind. A monsoon forecast glows in someone else's palm, unread, the way her work shines where no one looks. But water keeps its own accounts. It remembers every hand that set it free.
nameless as the rain
still the river learns to read
her hand on each stone
A whale moves through the clouds—no splash, no wake only its large blue body passing through white meadows of air. A rabbit sits between its shoulder, still as dandelion seed. Neither is surprised by the other’s presence. The whale carries its silent wisdom; the rabbit, its innocence. They travel together beyond roads and maps, where wonder is the order of things.
through drifting cloudbanks
a rabbit rides the whale's back
sky without ending
As far as I know, it depends on two things: first, Allah’s mercy and will; and second, what a person did — in word and deed — before his/her death.
Please, note that childhood is excluded from this concept, because, children (all young children, kids) are not held accountable. Because, kids die before reaching the age of puberty; they enter Paradise in peace.
Death is not the end!
There shall be "Parazach" life
Before Judgment Day
The summer of 1961 stays with me in small, steady ways. Bare feet on hot Texas sidewalks, jump-rope songs drifting between houses, mothers calling from screen doors—all of it part of the quiet world I grew up with. The box fan's low hum, the sharp crack of ice trays, the porch light warming the dusk—ordinary things that felt like the neighborhood holding itself together.
Rock ’n’ roll floated out of transistor radios, bicycles waited in the yard as if they knew we’d be back, and fireflies stitched their brief gold through the evening. I didn’t realize then how memory was already gathering these moments, saving them without asking. I only knew the slow stillness of night settling in and something larger than childhood holding me close.
dusk in my bones~
old summers rise like prayer,
soft and unbidden
for Wake Me Up When September Ends Contest
Sponsor: Daniel Henry Rogers
They’re in conversation
with a crisp breeze as it sings
about the summer lost.
The proud sun colors skies gold
but shadows grow long.
not much is said
but they know
something’s changing
Once young, they cling
onto branches but know
one day they will take
their last breath and fall.
a song
about passing days
lingers in the air
Frantic calls of grackles
stir the air as they land
on branches before a swirl
of them cloud the sky.
the cacophony
interrupts
tranquility of the day
the passing sun whispers
and at dusk skies bleed
leaves surrender to time
Every small town along Interstate 80
told a story as my car tires sang.
They reminded me I’d been
with them before, still nestled
in fields of corn as they witnessed
each season as it passed. I surfed the radio
and with a second ear, learned to listen
for secrets the land revealed.
Downstate, locals said were true
to life, away from glistening towers
of Chicago as it rose on shoulders
of a lake that thought it was an ocean.
A friend once told me about
a woman who never drove the Loop.
A mother in a diner with two toddlers
told them to use their indoor voices
such excitement found, their lives
lying ahead. Her father nodded
to the memories they stirred.
Geneseo, Mineral and Princeton—
the story played out everywhere.
This I knew. I checked the oil
tires and gas before I started.
my car
a vessel for life
as it passes
Rain on the road
The bus stops beside a flooded lane. Children step around the puddles as if they are crossing small oceans.
monsoon afternoon
a paper boat survives
the passing wheels
Some posters make fun of my language/s. I knew their mother/s language/s, but they do not know my mother language. Please, see who is who!?
I knew languages
Some ancient and some modern
I love languages!
Pachyphytum is a small genus of succulents in the family Crassulaceae, native to Mexico. Lovely rounded leaves and nice flowers!
sugar almond plant
neat silvery light green leaves
reddish-pink flowers!
When I was very young, I would inundate my mother with question after question about anything and everything. She tried very hard to answer them all. Of course, her kind and thoughtful answers would generate many more questions from her favorite (and only) son. What was she to do, especially since my sisters were inquisitive too?
One day, after a marathon series of questions and answers, my mother simply said, “Ahda Bahda.” “What’s that mean?” I asked. She kindly replied, “It means Ahda Bahda. Think about that for a while.” And then she gave a wink. “Ahda Bahda” was my mother’s playful way of ending a flood of questions without ending curiosity.
many questions raised
Mark’s first venture into art…
ahda bahda (wink)
A beautiful Gaelic phrase exists
that in itself sounds soul stirring.
It encompasses everything you desire in a true friend - it reaches somewhere deeper than simply knowing a persons name or one or two details about them, for which the title "friend" is used.
Friends and acquaintances come and go. Sadly most are not in for the long haul.
When an Anam Cara comes into your life, you know you have someone special. You can feel it to your very core that this is a treasure - true and real. Anam Caras sincerely care about you and how you feel.
A miraculous bond formed as two naturally gel together. Not to be confused with soul mate and romance... like such, Anam Caras are forever!
~~~
Blessed with one you'll know
"Soul Friends" are a unique gift...
Oh, Anam Cara!
I’m channeling this morning
unsure of what words will come.
Brilliant? I realize the poem
laid before me needs work.
Sunlight through window
brings another day. I let it speak.
The television in another room drones.
Background sounds rustle
and I set them aside
although they are a part of my life.
Two cats rush under my chair
then they’re gone. I laugh
this life, this poem is not my own.
I struggle to squeeze in time
to write before going to work.
This is how I seek my peace
discovering what words find
their way to paper.
every breath
[taken in]
clouds in the sky
El salto Ángel Falls in Venezuela, about 1000 meters (3281 ft).
it is Angel Falls
waterfall in the whole world ~
tallest and highest!
Family Portrait of Lucky, Willem Joseph 1738-1798.
wow! the farmers life!
countryside weather and food
so natural drink!
Forest fires in Canada
leave a haze in Iowa
and I can’t help but think
of how they have consumed
the land.
As I go for a Sunday drive
a wall cloud of smoke
in the sky before me
hides the sun
but the river
is at my side
rippling reflections
of sky.
A voice inside says
we must embrace
before it's lost
as I count the miles.
I round a curve
and for a moment I see
the face of someone
I loved as she smiled,
a memory unveiled.
Yet I know
fires are burning
out west
a story played out
every year.
I look into my self
and feel assured
as the sun emerges
and opens the skies.
for every charred trunk
that falls a seed
left in its wake
Introduction
The pleasure often arrives at the seam: a prose passage establishes a world, then a few brief lines alter its temperature. The second movement may sharpen an overlooked image, expose an emotion the narrator withheld, or leave a silence larger than the stated event. Reading haibun side by side makes that moment of transition especially rewarding, because each poet decides differently how much connection, contrast, and interpretive space to offer.
As you browse the community poems, you may encounter travel scenes, diary-like recollections, compressed stories, domestic observations, meditations, and encounters with the natural world. Voices can be intimate, humorous, reflective, reportorial, or dreamlike. Some writers keep the prose spare and let the haiku carry the sensory intensity; others create richly textured prose before ending with startling simplicity. The contrast between expansion and compression gives poets room to move between narrative time and a single illuminated instant.
One isolated example can suggest that its approach is the approach. Reading beyond the first example reveals a more useful truth: the relationship between the sections is an artistic choice rather than a mechanical handoff. Compare how different writers manage distance, imagery, pacing, and closure. Notice whether the final lines confirm the prose, question it, widen it, or quietly refuse to explain it. The collection becomes most instructive when readers treat each poem as one answer to the same demanding question: how can two distinct modes of writing become one emotional experience?
Reading Guide
Read each haibun twice if possible. On the first pass, follow its movement without trying to solve the relationship between prose and haiku. On the second, examine what changes at the seam: the scale of attention, the speaker's emotional distance, the sound of the language, or the meaning of an earlier detail. The strongest connection may be indirect. A repeated object, seasonal cue, bodily sensation, or tonal echo can bind the parts more powerfully than an explicit explanation.
- The prose speaker's stance: Notice whether the voice reports, remembers, confesses, wanders, argues, or observes from a distance. That stance determines what the brief verse can reveal or resist. When comparing community poems, ask: what does the speaker permit the prose to say, and what remains unsaid until the end?
- Selection of detail: Look for the objects and sensations given unusual attention. In this compact setting, a gate, cup, road sign, birdcall, or gesture may carry narrative weight. Ask: which detail survives most vividly, and how does the haiku change its significance?
- The hinge between modes: Study the transition without assuming it must be seamless. A leap can create surprise; a close echo can create inevitability. Ask: does the shift feel enlarging, disruptive, clarifying, or merely attached?
- Image migration: An image may appear directly in both portions, return in altered form, or be answered by an apparently unrelated image. Such migration creates coherence without requiring explanation. Ask: what visual, sensory, or emotional thread crosses the boundary?
- Pacing and silence: Prose can accumulate time through sentences, while the shorter verse may halt that movement. Punctuation, sentence length, and the visible pause between sections affect the reader's breathing. Ask: where does the poem accelerate, and where are you made to linger?
- Closure and aftereffect: The final lines need not summarize the episode. They may open a second perspective that continues after the poem ends. Consider the title as well, since it can redirect both sections. Ask: does the ending close the experience, deepen its ambiguity, or send you back to reread the prose?
As you read the community poems, compare several poets' approaches to the same craft problem. The aim is not to reward one degree of connection, but to discover which relationship between the parts feels purposeful, proportionate, and emotionally alive.
Writing Tips
Begin with an experience that contains more than one field of attention: an outward event and an inward pressure, a remembered journey and a present sensation, or a small observation with consequences the speaker cannot fully explain. Haibun thrives when prose can carry context while the haiku discovers another angle. Draft for relationship rather than mere assembly; the creative work lies in deciding what each mode alone can accomplish.
- Choose material with a residue: A complete anecdote may leave the haiku with nothing to do. Favor material that retains a question, sensory trace, contradiction, or emotional remainder. Ask what continues vibrating after the prose has reached its stopping point.
- Let the prose earn its space: Do not treat it as a runway for the final lines. Give it its own movement through scene, thought, character, or perception. Remove background that merely prepares the reader, but preserve details that establish pressure or complicate the speaker's understanding.
- Control the narrative distance: Decide whether the speaker is inside the event, looking back on it, or withholding judgment. A reflective voice can supply perspective, while an immediate voice can preserve uncertainty. Sudden changes in distance should create meaning rather than accidental confusion.
- Build with concrete particulars: General statements about grief, beauty, loneliness, or wonder rarely generate a strong hinge. Specific textures, sounds, temperatures, and gestures give the haiku something tangible to answer. Replace emotional labels with evidence when the evidence can carry the feeling.
- Avoid the summary ending: A common beginner mistake is to retell the prose in shorter lines. Another is to add an unrelated nature image and expect juxtaposition alone to create depth. Seek a connection that is discoverable but not exhausted on first reading.
- Use contrast deliberately: The prose and haiku may differ in scale, time, tone, or point of view. A long memory can meet one present-tense perception; comic narration can end in quiet unease. Make sure the contrast intensifies the subject instead of functioning as decoration.
- Revise sound across the seam: Even when the prose appears conversational, its consonants, vowels, sentence rhythms, and pauses shape the arrival of the shorter verse. Read the entire draft aloud. Listen for a heavy sentence ending that smothers the transition, or repeated sounds that can create a subtle bond.
- Make title and ending collaborate: A title can provide setting, irony, withheld context, or a third interpretive angle. Test whether it merely labels the topic. Then examine the last image: does it leave useful resonance, or does it force a lesson the poem has already allowed readers to feel?
During revision, separate the sections and test each one for vitality, then reunite them and assess the exchange. Cut any sentence that interprets an image the haiku needs to keep open. Replace forced poetic diction with precise language, and check whether the pace permits a genuine pause at the transition. Finally, give the draft to a reader without explaining the intended connection. If the reader sees only repetition or randomness, revise the image pattern, tonal movement, or narrative emphasis rather than adding a blunt explanation.
Interesting Facts
- The smallest portion can hold the greatest emotional weight. A substantial prose account may appear to be the center, yet one restrained final image can revise everything before it. This reversal of scale is part of the form's unusual pressure.
- Omission can create unity. The prose does not need to name the feeling that joins it to the haiku. When both sections circle the same absence, readers participate by making the connection, and that act of discovery can become the poem's deepest pleasure.
- The title can function as a third lens. Rather than merely announcing a subject, it can place the prose and haiku in tension, identify a context neither section states, or introduce irony. Rereading the poem after reconsidering its title may produce a different interpretation.
- More lyricism is not always more effective. If the prose is saturated with poetic effects, the shift into haiku may lose contrast. Plain syntax or documentary detail can create a surface against which the closing imagery becomes more vivid.
- Unequal scale creates several possibilities. Expansive prose followed by extreme brevity can feel like sudden stillness, emotional restraint, or a camera pulling into focus. More compressed prose can make the whole poem resemble a flash of perception rather than a narrated episode.
- Backward reading can expose the craft. After reaching the haiku, return to the opening and notice which details now seem charged. Comparing this delayed transformation across community poems reveals how carefully placed images can prepare an ending without announcing it.
Popular Themes
Subject matter matters here because the movement from prose into haiku changes how an experience is understood. Some subjects benefit from narrative context followed by concentrated perception; others gain force when explanation gives way to silence. The following are literary possibilities, not statistical rankings of what appears most often in the collection.
- Travel and passage: Roads, stations, coastlines, walks, and arrivals allow the prose to register movement while the haiku isolates one moment of attention. The closing image can transform a route into an emotional or philosophical journey without stating a lesson.
- Memory and autobiography: Recollection naturally contains two times: the lived event and the present act of remembering. Prose can reconstruct what happened, while the haiku reveals what remains vivid, uncertain, or newly understood.
- Loss and absence: Grief often resists complete explanation. Narrative can provide human context, then a spare image can embody the absence more persuasively than commentary. Restraint is especially important so that compression does not become sentimentality.
- Domestic life: Meals, repairs, pets, rooms, and family habits provide concrete details whose emotional significance may emerge gradually. A modest object in the final lines can expose affection, estrangement, humor, or change within an ordinary scene.
- Nature and seasonal awareness: Weather, plants, animals, and shifting light can connect private experience to a world beyond the speaker. The most effective use of nature usually involves precise observation rather than attaching a ready-made symbol to the prose.
- Dreams and altered perception: Prose can follow dream logic, fragmented memory, or uncertainty, while the haiku offers either a grounding sensation or a further disturbance. The contrast lets writers explore ambiguity without having to resolve it.
- Social encounters: A conversation, public place, or witnessed act can be narrated with apparent neutrality before a final image complicates the observer's position. This approach can create ethical reflection without turning the poem into an argument.
Browse the poems in this collection to see how different writers transform related subjects. One journey may become comic, another elegiac; one household object may suggest intimacy, another distance. Comparison shows that theme supplies the material, but selection, voice, juxtaposition, and silence determine the experience.
Editorial Insights
The central artistic tension of haibun is that its parts must remain recognizably different while feeling impossible to separate. If the prose and haiku say the same thing, the poem becomes redundant; if their relationship is arbitrary, the ending feels pasted on. Memorable work occupies the charged interval between those failures. It gives readers enough connective tissue to sense an organic whole, yet preserves enough distance for discovery. The seam becomes not a technical requirement but the location where meaning changes.
Strong poems make the structure feel necessary because each mode carries a different burden. Prose may hold chronology, social circumstance, voice, reflection, or accumulating detail. The haiku can interrupt that movement with immediacy, alter the scale of attention, or reveal a pattern the narrator has not named. Editors notice when an image is doing several jobs at once: establishing a physical scene, carrying tonal pressure, and preparing a later resonance. They also notice pacing. A dense paragraph may require a clean, quiet release, while restrained prose may support a more surprising final leap.
Technically recognizable drafts often weaken through predictability. The prose tells an episode, and the haiku simply supplies a scenic caption; or the prose explains every emotion, leaving no interpretive work for the reader. Forced poetic language can make the transition feel ceremonial rather than lived. Mechanical patterning appears when the writer treats one section as content and the other as ornament. At the opposite extreme, insufficiently developed prose may provide too little pressure for the final image to transform. Revision should therefore ask not only whether both parts are present, but whether each changes the reader's experience of the other.
Individuality remains visible through attention: what the poet notices, what the speaker withholds, how sentences move, and where the poem chooses to stop. Two writers can begin with similar material and produce entirely different emotional geometries through humor, reserve, fragmentation, candor, or tonal dissonance. This is why comparing multiple community poems develops judgment more effectively than treating one example as a template. Across several readings, visitors can distinguish novelty from mere surprise, restraint from vagueness, and meaningful juxtaposition from accidental distance. Quality becomes perceptible as a relationship among voice, image, pacing, and the afterlife of the final lines.
Read, Write & Share
Read several community poems before settling on an idea of what haibun can accomplish. Compare how each poet handles the seam between narrative and concentrated image, and notice which endings invite you back into the prose. When a poem stays with you, leave a thoughtful comment about a detail, tonal shift, or connection that shaped your reading.
Then try composing your own. Choose an experience with something unresolved, let its two movements speak differently, and publish the result on PoetrySoup. Your interpretation can add another voice to the ongoing conversation between observation, memory, and the revealing final moment.
Collection Statistics
This collection currently contains 325 haibun poems, offering ample room to read beyond a single model and compare multiple interpretations. Some poets may follow familiar conventions closely, while others may adapt or challenge them through voice, proportion, pacing, or the degree of connection between sections. Taken together, the entries provide opportunities to examine how shared formal expectations can lead to markedly different imaginative and emotional results.
Haibun Categories
Read wonderful haibun poetry on the following sub-topics:
autobiography, diary, essay, prose, story
and more.
Definition | What is Haibun in Poetry?
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.