Ten Haiku by Sheikha A. | Zombie Logic Review

Sheikha A. is a Pushcart and Rhysling nominee from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her work appears in a variety of literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses such as Poets for Science, Immagine and Poesia, Strange Horizons, Ladies of Horror Flash Project, Pedestal Magazine, The Mackinaw, The Global South, Cattails, Frogpond, The Ekphrastic Review, The Asahi Haikuist Network, and elsewhere. Her poetry has been translated into 12 languages so far. Find more about her at sheikha82.wordpress.com 

dusk's chorus 

a supernova 

of red admirals 

dead lotus 

wearing acne scars

on the first date 

winter light

the slap

of a kelpie's tail

a stagnant pond's

poetry in motion 

darting dragonflies 

the starry hump 

on Milky Way's spine 

--- wisteria 

ridged swirls

a knoll of antlers 

dip into star-well 

turning within rubble fresh loam of drone-stars 

lungs' flutesong last few hisses in her inhaler

dawn's quiet nook chirp of a turning page  

shadow blossoms on a moonbow fallen cherry

Seven Haiku by Martina Matijević | Zombie Logic Review

Martina Matijević is a Croatian haiku poet whose work has been published in various journals, including Modern Haiku and Acorn. Under her haiku belt, she holds a spot as one of the top 100 European haiku writers and earned four Touchstone nominations during her debut year of writing. Bluesky: @vientoverde

Haiku poet Martina Matijević

thunderclap...
one more
accent mark

firewood —
with each cut
a new sunray

roasted chestnut
after one nibble
a child again

harvest moon —
sumi-e
of the forest

wet walkway
a street lamp
makes its sunrise

flower garden —
leafy wave
one breeze long

October drizzle —
a dotted view
of the sky

Six Tercets, One Monostich, Two Duostich By Alan Summers

Alan Summers: Chippenham, England UK, 6’3” dextromanual, carmina scribere cupiens, founder Pan Haiku Review, founder Call of the Page.

Six tercets, one monostich, two duostich:

green moon
rising wide-eyed
the early dog roses

drifting woodsmoke
the double-decker bus
bright as a movie

when and where
are the shared colours
poor-land daisies

wearing shorts
a smile on each knee
to the supermarket

autumn deepens
with a fleeting [blank space]
a day worn out

god rays for a cat
the rain clouds shift
mending things

so much for
the red sled
all snowbound
all forgotten
in light

after William Carlos Williams

worrdied = worredied = worridied = words died mama

after The Guild of Emotional Artisans

we never take them alive
each dream as snow

golden hour sketching
the charcoal late-emerging bumblebees

Ten Haiku By Tré

Tré is a Blue Ridge Mountain haikai (haiku, senryū, and haiga) author, fantasy writer, editor of the Wolf Twin Review, and Massurreal artist endorsed by The Museum for Massurrealist Art (Berlin, Germany). Drawing inspiration from nature and lucid dreams, Tré creates—while wearing pajamas—under the supervision of an articulate cat and powered by copious amounts of jasmine tea.

                          

Haiku poet Tré of Wolf Twin Books

With publishing partner Thomas L. Vaultonburg, Tré owns and operates Wolf Twin Books. The first edition of their haiku art book, Moonscape, is in the (University of Arizona) Poetry Center’s library collection. Along with many published poems in journals and anthologies worldwide, Tré’s haiku are also featured in The Museum of Modern Japanese Literature and the Basho Museum.

 

Tré's work has appeared (or is forthcoming) in many publications, including The Washington Post, Asahi Shimbun Haikuist Network, Cattails, Chrysanthemum, Cicada's Cry, Echidna Tracks, Five Fleas Itchy Poetry, folk ku, Haiku Dialogue, Haiku Girl Summer, Haiku Shack Magazine, HillRag, LEAF, Only Human, Pan Haiku Review, Poetry Pea, Presence, Prune Juice, Pure Haiku, Sense & Sensibility Haiku Journal, smols, Trash Panda, THF Monthly Kukai, The Solitary Daisy, and Wales Haiku Journal.

the gentle taper
of a mountain—
dad's uniform

learning of her death—
a passerby
tells me to smile

the owl's golden gaze
measures my body—
kerning

dusk wefting—
the water strider's
suminagashi

wolf on the ridge
a grey cowboy's
last nod

midnight drone—
the farmer buries
another UFO

mammatus clouds . . .
dabbing
the cotton fields

flipped porch swing—
the green sky
freshly cut

ancestry
his vest and her scarf
in the quilt

open palms
the cherry petals
choosing me

 

SECOND NATURE: Salvaged Metal Sculpture and Haiku at Rockford ArtScene

This fall has developed in a way I did not particularly plan. What began as several separate projects—walking, writing haiku, making books, collaborating with other artists, paying attention to the animals and landscapes around Rockford—has gradually begun to look like one larger body of work. The connections were probably there all along. I just hadn't necessarily thought of them as parts of the same thing.

The newest manifestation of that work is SECOND NATURE, a collaboration between Rockford metal artist Michael Zant and haikuists Thomas L. Vaultonburg and Tré of Wolf Twin Books for Fall ArtScene at Rockford Art Deli. SECOND NATURE pairs Zant's salvaged-metal sculptures of animals with original haiku. Each sculpture is made from reclaimed and repurposed materials: old metal given another life as claws, wings, paws, fur, bone and muscle. Each animal is then paired with a poem responding to the creature rather than simply describing the sculpture.

The exhibition is also a benefit for Wild Roots, whose work with injured and orphaned native wildlife gives the project another natural connection. The Rockford Area Arts Council describes the exhibition as celebrating "the wild lives around us" and "the possibilities of discarded things." I couldn't come up with a much better description of what Michael and I are trying to do. Something discarded isn't necessarily finished. Something overlooked isn't necessarily unimportant. Sometimes it just needs to be encountered differently.

There is something appealing to me about making an animal from material that has already had another purpose. A piece of steel doesn't stop existing because a machine, chair, tool or piece of equipment has outlived its usefulness. It simply becomes available for another interpretation. Michael sees a claw where somebody else sees scrap metal. Eventually a collection of those transformations becomes a bear, a bird or an opossum.

Possum sculpture by Michael Zant

The same thing is probably true of places. For more than six years, photographer Ryan Davis and I have walked Rockford making Hike You!, a collaboration of photographs and haiku based on familiar streets, alleys, riverbanks, buildings and overlooked objects. That project will also appear during Fall ArtScene, at RevHaus. We have walked many of the same streets dozens or even hundreds of times, and the strange thing is that repetition doesn't necessarily make them less interesting. Sometimes familiarity eventually circles around and becomes mystery again.

That is remarkably close to what is happening in SECOND NATURE. In one project, an ordinary street becomes strange again because somebody stops long enough to look at it. In another, discarded metal becomes an animal because somebody sees a possibility that wasn't obvious before. Both projects are concerned with reclamation in one form or another, and in both cases the process begins with attention.

Over the past several years I have increasingly used the phrase Prairie Zen to describe this approach to my haiku. Prairie Zen isn't a doctrine, and I'm not particularly interested in turning it into one. It is an attempt to locate the contemplative impulse of haiku in the landscape where I actually live: Midwestern woods, prairie remnants, drainage ditches, county roads, riverbanks, abandoned things, birds, insects and animals. It is a Zen of bur oaks and utility poles, turkey vultures and strip malls, railroad tracks and vacant lots.

The central idea is probably that nothing has to become exotic before it becomes worthy of attention. A rusted fencepost can be enough. A possum can be enough. A bicycle pulled from the Rock River can be enough. A weed growing through concrete can be enough. You don't have to travel halfway around the world looking for a sacred landscape if you're willing to entertain the possibility that you're already standing in one.

That sensibility has increasingly become the connective tissue among these projects, and it is also central to my newest book, Vanished Roads. Published this summer by Wolf Twin Books, Vanished Roads collects 104 haiku and short poems moving through woods, prairies, abandoned roads, animals, weather, grief, humor, memory and renewal. The book is illustrated by Tré and represents perhaps the clearest expression so far of the kind of poetry I've been moving toward.

I didn't write Vanished Roads as a manifesto for Prairie Zen, and I don't want to retroactively turn it into one. The poems came first. The terminology arrived later as I began noticing what I kept returning to: impermanence, overlooked objects, Midwestern landscapes, animals, strange little collisions between the natural and human worlds, and the possibility that something ordinary can suddenly become luminous if you happen to catch it at the right moment.

That makes this fall feel less like a collection of unrelated appearances and more like an interesting convergence. Hike You! takes the idea into the streets of Rockford through photography, walking and haiku. SECOND NATURE brings it into collaboration with Michael Zant's salvaged-metal animals and the wildlife rehabilitation work of Wild Roots. Vanished Roads gathers another part of that landscape into a book. Wolf Twin Books gives the work a home from which it can continue developing.

I don't know that any of this needs to be tied together more neatly than that. In fact, I'd rather leave some room around it. A book, a walking project, a salvaged-metal wildlife exhibition, photography, haiku, Rockford, the prairie, things discarded and found again. They seem to recognize one another.

Perhaps that is what SECOND NATURE means to me more than anything else. Not returning something to what it was, but paying enough attention to discover what else it might become.

 

Hike You!: The Bicycle That Came Out of the River

Some objects become symbols because somebody deliberately makes them symbols. Others just show up.

This bicycle came out of the Rock River.

By the time Ryan Davis photographed it, it was standing in front of the old Rockford Register Star building, looking less like a bicycle somebody might ride than something the river had made. Mud coated the frame. Rust had gotten into it. Whatever ordinary life it had once possessed was over. Someone had pulled it from the water and propped it upright, and there it stood: wrecked, filthy, strangely dignified.

We kept seeing things like this because we kept walking.

That is where Hike You! came from. Ryan and I spent years walking Rockford together, often covering the same streets and paths again and again. The exhibition is about what happened when repetition stopped making those places more familiar and instead made them increasingly strange: two people taking “the same steps in the same town” until ordinary Rockford became “new and mysterious... and magical.”

It wasn't conceived as a documentary project. We weren't compiling an inventory of Rockford landmarks or trying to photograph the city's most photogenic places. We walked. Ryan carried a camera. I carried whatever it is a poet carries around in his head. Things presented themselves.

A rock. A discarded vacuum cleaner. An old theater marquee. Something dragged from the bottom of the river. The eventual subjects of Hike You! could be beautiful, ridiculous, damaged, historic, nearly invisible or all of those things at once. Even magnet fishing at Fordham Dam became part of the vocabulary of the project: “dragging rock bottom / we reel in rusty remnants / of the Screw City.”

The bicycle was different.

By then, both Ryan and I were in motion ourselves.

We had previous lives behind us. Versions of ourselves, expectations, habits, destinations. Neither of us was simply walking around Rockford for exercise. Without necessarily announcing it to ourselves at the time, we were walking into new lives. The walks became part of that transition. So did the photographs. So did the poems.

And there, outside the Register Star, was this bicycle that had literally been pulled up from beneath the surface of the city.

It had been somewhere else.

Now it was here.

That was hard to miss.

The haiku that emerged from the photograph was:

a little mud in my
gears won't make me forget my
heart is the motor

I like that the poem doesn't pretend the mud isn't there.

There is mud in the gears. Of course there is.

Transformation is frequently described as though the old life simply falls away and the new one begins cleanly. That wasn't what this bicycle suggested to me, and it wasn't what our lives looked like. You bring things with you. Some damage remains. The gears grind. The frame shows where it has been.

But the heart is still the motor.

The bicycle became one of the pieces that most clearly expressed something I gradually understood about the larger Hike You! project. We thought we were repeatedly walking through Rockford, but Rockford was also providing us with a language for understanding what was happening to us.

The city was full of metaphors we hadn't asked for.

That mattered particularly in this location. Behind the bicycle stands the former Rockford Register Star building, itself a monument to a Rockford that was already changing. In front of it is an object recovered from the Rock River. And somewhere between the old newspaper building, the river mud, the rusted bicycle, Ryan's photograph and my seventeen syllables were two people trying to figure out what came next.

There was no reason to know, when we started walking, that any of this would become an exhibition.

That is one of the things I love most about Hike You!

It emerged.

A walk became another walk. A photograph became a poem. Familiar streets became unfamiliar. Things we'd passed dozens of times suddenly demanded attention. Eventually we had accumulated evidence of something neither of us had quite intended to make.

The project's subjects can appear almost comically insignificant. That's part of its philosophy. The Times Theatre doesn't need a magnificent restored marquee to become worthy of attention; its modest one can resemble “the proud grin of a third child / missing their first tooth.” A dirty bicycle doesn't have to be repaired, polished and returned to the road before it can tell you something about continuing.

Sometimes you get dragged out of the river covered in mud.

Sometimes somebody stands you back up.

And sometimes that is enough to begin again.

Hike You!
Thomas L. Vaultonburg + Ryan Davis
Fall ArtScene 2026 — Rockford, Illinois

 

Moonscape: A Year of Haiku Under the Same Moon

MOONSCAPE HAIKU PHASE I is the first of three collaborations in Thomas L. Vaultonburg and Tré's “SCAPE TRILOGY” series, but the book began with something much simpler: two longtime friends, separated by distance, looking at the same moon.

For one year, we wrote.

The idea behind Moonscape was to create a series of paired haiku moving through the calendar and the phases and mythology of the moon. One poem would encounter another poem. One imagination would answer another. Tré then created the illustrations that transformed those exchanges into their own strange visual landscape.

The result was Moonscape: Haiku Phase I, published by Wolf Twin Books in 2022.

The book moves chronologically from January through December. It begins with “Wolf Moon / Ōkami Lune”, travels through Snow Moon, Worm Moon, Pink Moon, Flower Moon, Strawberry Moon, Hunter's Moon, Beaver Moon, Cold Moon and dozens of stranger places in between.

There are coyotes and ravens. Wolves and dragonflies. Robots and black holes. Koi, ocelots, resurrection lilies, vampires, shadows, carnival rides and lost socks.

In other words, eventually we wandered pretty far from the moon.

But we always found our way back.

That wandering became part of the point.

Moonscape isn't really a collection of two people attempting to write traditional nature haiku side by side. The moon provides the gravity, but the poems are allowed to orbit wherever they want. Pop culture enters. Science enters. Buddhism and mythology enter. Friendship enters. So do jokes, memories, animals, monsters and whatever else happened to cross our paths during the year.

The visual world of the book developed the same way.

Tré's illustrations use bold blacks, whites and velvety fields of gray to create what we described as massurreal landscapes—places that seem simultaneously familiar and impossible. Some are playful. Others are eerie. Some feel almost like images recovered from dreams. Across the book, the poems and pictures begin functioning less as separate elements than as parts of one continuing conversation.

And conversation really is the key to Moonscape.

One of my favorite things about the book is that neither poet is simply illustrating what the other has already said. The pairings can agree, contradict, tease, echo or wander away from one another entirely. Sometimes the connection is obvious. Sometimes the reader has to find it.

That was intentional.

In the book's three-part dedication and acknowledgment, we thanked the moon itself—humanity's first timepiece and one of its oldest sources of inspiration. We also acknowledged the Japanese poet Yone Noguchi, who more than a century ago challenged American poets:

“Pray, you try Japanese Hokku (Haiku), my American poets!”

We did.

Not by attempting to impersonate poets from another century, but by seeing what two contemporary American poets could make from the form in their own time, with their own lives, obsessions, humor and friendship.

The third part of the dedication probably explains the book better than anything else:

“In the end, Moonscape is a love letter of enduring friendship.”

That's what it became.

A year-long record of two people noticing things and sending those observations back and forth.

A celebratory journal.

A playground of words and pictures.

And a reminder that friendship doesn't necessarily require two people to occupy the same physical landscape.

Sometimes it only requires them to look up.

MOONSCAPE HAIKU PHASE I
Thomas L. Vaultonburg & Tré
Cover design and illustrations by Tré
Wolf Twin Books, 2022
ISBN: 979-8-218-04516-6
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022914098

Moonscape is the first volume of Thomas & Tré's SCAPE TRILOGY.