About contemporary haiku and senryu

Contemporary english-language haiku are much more than the 5-7-5 syllable nature poems we studied in elementary school. At their core, haiku express a moment of awareness, usually occurring in the most ordinary moments of daily life. Haiku refer to nature, often to a season, and many haiku illuminate humankind's place in nature. Senryu express a moment of awareness about humanity or human interactions, rather than nature, and often are subtly humorous, but are otherwise like haiku. Haiku and senryu both contain two separate images. The juxtaposition of those images creates the resonance that draws the reader deeper.
Haiku and senryu are written in the present tense and are short - it is often said that they can be read in one breath - but they need not follow the 5-7-5 syllable format, and are, in fact, typically shorter. Although usually three lines, they can just as easily be written in one line, as in Japanese.
Haiku and senryu express our experience boiled down to its essentials. When a moment in life touches us, haiku and senryu answer the question, what moved me to be aware of this moment?

two canoes

chained to a rock

autumn sky

[Frogpond, Vol. 42, No. 2, spring/summer 2019]

the limping fawn

has lost its spots

winter dawn

[Modern Haiku, Vol 50.2, Summer 2019]

as fast as the bike will go blood moon

[Mariposa 38, Spring/Summer 2018]
June gloom
his cardboard sign
blank

[Mariposa 38, Spring/Summer 2018]
my fingerprints
no longer unlocks the phone
dark matter

[Mariposa 38, Spring/Summer 2018]
the dog stops
to sniff piss
lilies

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 48.2, Summer 2017]
the robin pulls
a worm taut
no word yet

[Mariposa 36, Spring/Summer 2017]
packed subway car
a mosquito attacks
the fluorescent light

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 47.2, Summer 2016]
wishing well
an old woman
reaches in

[A Splash of Water, Haiku Society of America Members' Anthology 2015]
waiting for beer foam to collapse my comment

[Mariposa 32, Spring/Summer 2015]
baptism
on the church steps a moth
blends in

[Mariposa 32, Spring/Summer 2015]
riverbank
the long wait
for darkness

[Tinywords, Issue 14.2, Nov. 17, 2014]
festival
the boy too young
not to dance

[Tinywords, Issue 14.2, Oct. 23, 2014]
summer dusk
the outline of the baseball
in the bruise

[Frogpond, Vol. 37:2, Spring/Summer 2014]
kleenex flower --
putting the kids to bed
over the phone

 From the Haibun "Tween"

[Frogpond, Vol. 37:2, Spring/Summer 2014]
first star
I make up
a reason

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 45.2, Summer 2014]
red light the tribe of this street corner

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 45.2, Summer 2014]
goose down
drifts to the floor
baggage claim

[Mariposa 30, Spring/Summer 2014]
trekking alone the path of a satellite

[Frogpond, Vol. 37:1, Winter 2014]
Indian summer --
stepping into the path
of her perfume

[Tinywords, Issue 13.3, Nov. 22, 2013]
spring moon
the alpine lake
refreezes

[Mariposa 29, Autumn/Winter 2013]
pine needles pressed in snow
the weight of a full backpack

[this world,  Haiku Society of America 2013 Member's Anthology]
Gutai at the Guggenheim

staying behind the line splatter art

thick swirls the neat signature

installation lingering in the bathroom

admiring the curves hand on her hip

intersecting lines a boy draws on the wall

Gutai the teacher tells the children what to see

[Frogpond, Vol. 36:2, Spring/Summer 2013]
first day of spring
not waiting for the kids
to fall asleep

[Frogpond, Vol. 36:2, Spring/Summer 2013]
holiday shopping carts collide

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 44.2, Summer 2013]
belly full
of black lager
dead of winter

[Mariposa 28, Spring/Summer 2013]
noon sun
pigeons peck
an empty bag

from the haibun "Jazz"
[Frogpond, Vol 35:2,  Spring/Summer 2012]

new year
the yogini next to me
copies my mistake

[Mariposa 26, Spring/Summer 2012]
Monday meeting --
the campfire scent
in my beard

[Mariposa 26, Spring/Summer 2012]
reunion
we talk about the last
reunion

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 43.1, Winter-Spring 2012]
empty sky
the soup kitchen line
stands still

[Mariposa 24, Spring/Summer 2011]
moonset
the dog places his paw
on the yoga mat

[Mariposa 24, Spring/Summer 2011]
dawn glow
the smell of her
shower steam

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 42.2, Summer 2011]
record cold
the half-empty tray
of rat poison

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 42.2, Summer 2011]
alley wind
a drunk asks
if I'm okay

[Mariposa 23, Autumn / Winter 2010]
lunch-hour yoga
a pigeon tiptoes
along the window sill

[Mariposa 23, Autumn / Winter 2010]
first day of spring
someone else's fortune
in my cookie

[Mariposa 23, Autumn / Winter 2010]
winter solstice
blue sky forming
on the jigsaw puzzle

[bottle rockets, issue 23]
autumn dusk
the subway preacher
counts his tips

[bottle rockets, issue 23]
august twilight
the tween gossips
with the grown ups

[bottle rockets, issue 23]
piano bar
the tip glass full
of morning light

[Frogpond, Vol. 33:2, Spring/Summer 2010]
talking politics . . .
brightening stars
hide Polaris

[Mariposa 22, Spring/Summer 2010]
downward dog
yoginis stretch
their tattoos

[Mariposa 22, Spring/Summer 2010]
funeral motorcade
through the financial district
January rain

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 41.2, Summer 2010]
autumn dawn
a dealer paces
his corner

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 41.2, Summer 2010]
sunrise
sunflowers painted on a fence
stretch toward it

[HPNC Newsletter #56, Winter 2010]
Times Square
a tourist photographs
herself

[Modern Haiku, Vol. 41.1, Winter-Spring 2010]
home office
my wife sends me an email
from the bedroom


[First place, senryu category, 2009 San Francisco International Competition for Haiku, Senryu, Tanka and Rengay, Sponsored by the Haiku Poets of Northern California]
long flight
finishing my book
before take off


[bottle rockets, issue 22]
camping alone
the big dipper turns
right-side up

[Mariposa 21, Autumn/Winter 2009]