Tim, you said audience participation, so I'll start it off with these three "maybe haikus" that have been buzzing in my head today, and invite others to post theirs.

When Lee gets a chance perhaps he'll tell us if they fit the mold, and if not what they would need to be called haikus or senryus. By the way, are they supposed to have names?

Rain on dandelions;
another lazy Sunday--
Cut the grass next week.

Fog forms on cold glass;
the smell of morning coffee
fills my small red car.

Five pounds are gone.
You, last praline in the box,
reward my long fast.


Carol

Those are good, Carol. And by all means let's have everyone think seriously about what Lee is telling us and pitch in.

A snowflake in May,
a sailboat hauled from storage
is offered for sale.

April

April’s sound echoes
Tap tap tap across still ponds
First haiku of Spring

April mockingbird
Twittering on the rooftop
Reminds her of me

New Godzilla foe
Sci-fi cult classic: April
Is the Cruelest Moth


Sonnets turn and twist
Villanelles repeat themselves
Haiku jumps – kerplop!

Here's an up-dated version of the very first 5-7-5 poem I ever wrote--wherein I attempted to show how it "felt" to write a haiku:

Westwind Torments


One naked oak groans

<dd>with its limbs twisted eastward--

I button my coat.

Here's the second one (up-dated version), wherein I was discovering how difficult it was to think without meter intruding:

Hunter, Out-of-Season


Approaching footsteps

warn calling birds to silence--

still . . . trees whispering.

===========================================
Uh-oh!
In his message to Carol (below), David Anthony said that "You never name them." Don't know if that's a "rule" or not; but . . . here's the latest updates--without titles:

One wind-stripped oak groans
<dd>with its limbs twisted eastward--
I button my coat.


Hunters' footsteps near
and the songbirds fall silent--
still . . . the trees whisper.


<dd><u>or</u>

At hunter's approach,
bullfrogs fall silent and--sh-h!
the willows whisper.

[This message has been edited by Patricia A. Marsh (edited May 02, 2004).]

Here's a version of one I once posted at the Deep End. My question: Does the attempt at a combination of forms (and the resulting syntactical development, esp., in this particular example) stray too far from the Haiku tradition to be considered "haiku"—even that word as an adjective, if not as the form?

Butterfly Haiku Rondeau

Tend toward joy although
butterflies in spring bestow
no flutter: vague dreams.

Other seasons' memes
lost in chrysalis are flow—
hard heart but no show.

Hot wet and cold snow—
old men and their older themes
tend toward joy.

Grave waters shall go
to fill the tomb, and we know—
whole love like that seems

like loss; but Loss! deems
the butterfly born, and so
tend toward joy.

Carol,
I think you nailed it with your first two: seasonal references, but you mustn't specify the months or the seasons (as you know, Michael). Also there's a good haiku feel about these. Your third's a charming senryu, I believe.
Others follow with varying degrees of success.
You never name them.
Best wishes,
David

Hey there, Curtis!

Would you believe that, in 2002--intending to give your newfangled form a try--I made a printout of your haiku rondeau, slipped it between the pages of my copy of Turco's The Book of Forms, but . . . http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/frown.gif

In any case, I like the changes you made in Lines 2 & 3 of S-4. http://www.ablemuse.com/erato/ubbhtml/smile.gif

[This message has been edited by Patricia A. Marsh (edited May 01, 2004).]

Wildly mixing cultures, I pared one from the bone pile according to the 2/3/2 scheme. It may not be haiku, but it’s terza rima (down from 4/3/4 and, I hope, an improvement on the original):

Mezzogiorno

In Sicily
the summer’s old despair,
for I can see

the trees grown there
endure a sun that’s bled
through dusty air.

My forebears fled
this midday poverty
with roots half dead.

Transplants across the sea
revived their family tree.

------------------
Ralph

[This message has been edited by RCL (edited May 02, 2004).]

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN
from the point of view of a frog

... Youth, two lilly pads
drift within my leaping range.
... One of them still drifts.

Hobie Haiku

A snowclad roof
hides a hundred boats,
going nowhere in a flurry.

Bird on the boatlift,
take wing. Fly further north
and leave no droppings here.

Cats paws
riffle the lake on race day.
Turtles outswim my idle cat.

Flags on the dock
snap in the last warm wind.
I sail onto the trailer.

--Alan Sullivan


This is the first new verse I've written in more than two years. And it took thirty minutes. Go figure. I'll post it at The Deep End also. Maybe I can draw some more regulars to the haiku discussion.

P.S. I love Carol's offerings above. Way to go.