Haibun Poems | Haibun Examples

Been raining all week. This morning started off with a bit of sun and it got me reminiscing. About my youth. About you. Next month marks one year since your passing. We spent the last seven months of your life visiting, chatting after a thirty plus year estrangement. As time passes rough edges begin to...

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Once upon a time, or a few times per day, we ponder just how many ways in which we must die. There are forewarnings. Let's consider the simple fairy tale - did anyone do a scientific study to check correlations of untimely death and not having read Little Red Riding Hood? Little Red skips out the...

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Back in school, it seemed time was at a standstill. In hindsight, it seemed like a hell we needed to to go through and survive as best we could so as to earn our freedom. Back then, I wish someone had showed me a jar of marbles ~ one marble for every year of my life. Let's...

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"Good morning," she softly whispered, thinking he'd spoken at her side. Then, Truly closed her eyes hoping to dream of him again. Sleep refused her desire to return to him in his rose garden. She tossed and turned, reached for the pillow that should be cradling his head. Frustrated, Truly rose and sat on the cold...

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"Nothing changes but the date on the calendar." By Poet We love our pretty calendars holding our favorite pictures. Many pictures of cute animals, some of majestic land or sea views. Each month changes with new pictures to enjoy. We circle the dates we need to remember, never wanting to forget our appointments or events. I like to...

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I cried earlier - just trying to describe how it feels to sing along with a spiritual choir, I made the error of singing a line and got all the feels. I was laughing too, but even thinking about beautiful moments is beautiful, like a loop of loveliness that can mess up your make up...

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The morning sun filters through dust-laden windows of the district education office like an unwelcome truth trying to penetrate wilful ignorance. Shelves buckle under the weight of untouched research journals like abandoned promises, their spines uncracked like vows never fulfilled, their wisdom sealed away like treasures buried by those sworn to unearth them. An academician...

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The laboratories hum with cold efficiency, believing they command the future, their sterile corridors lit by the relentless glow of progress. A miracle, they called it—stitching together creatures torn from legend and nightmare, two extinct beasts merged into a single entity through genetic alchemy. DNA of long-dead beasts resurrected into new life—their ultimate creation: a...

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War shapes the warriors it touches, leaving behind vestiges that linger in their lives long after the battlefield fades from view. In Recon Marines: Searching for the Real Enemy, we are thrust into the unrelenting grip of Vietnam's jungle, a landscape both indifferent and eternal. Yet the war waged in the depths of memory proves...

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Since I first put on the greasepaint, smooth as cream on morning toast, they said I had a gift for making people laugh. Natural as breathing. Effortless as falling. Born to perform like a bird in flight. So I've kept that image, polished it like brass until it gleamed. beneath the painted...

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My girlfriend Barbara one day introduced me to the five languages of love. I was in a relationship dilemna at the time and was hopeful it would shed much needed light. I thought surely I could figure out which language I exhibited, but more importantly at the time I desperately wanted to identify which love language...

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The ancient tomes speak of realms we cannot see. Wisdom waits to be rediscovered in forgotten corridors of stone where the past echoes through carvings and symbols. I stand at the threshold between worlds, listening to the rhythm of iron, the whispers of mortality. We are all travellers on this journey, carrying our deeds in...

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Beneath a Tree Diary Entry Winter Equinox 1670 Diary Entry Winter Equinox 1670 Upon the twelfth hour of Winter's gail, for a moment a glorious splashed painting appear.... as the sullin clouds run...run onward toward the east.. in a misty breath of distant dreams, I remember Basho an old friend of mine. Fugi lying silent....a summit to...

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When I am old and the hour of death is close at hand I shall count the falling grains of sand and traipse in dance a book of dreams to lie along the winding stream I shall confess each sin upon the sky and drown the guilt of days gone by..... held in his aged hands lie...

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As I lay upon a grassy bald in the Great Smoky Mountains on a clear August night, I gaze at the stars and muse about my Creator, the source of all dynamic energy. A tear forms in my eye as I contemplate whether or not he cares about someone as insignificant as me. After all,...

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