onebreathpoetry

Tag: #thehaibunjournal

  • The Haibun Journal

    The Haibun Journal is a print journal published from Ireland, specialising in the haibun literary form.

    Grateful to the Editor Sean O’Connor & Assistant Editors—Amanda Bell, Kim Richardson and Paul Bregazzi for featuring my haibun “Utopia”in this beautiful journal issue 7:2, October 2025. This is the last issue of this journal.

    Congratulations to all featured poets.

    Utopia

    We stand on the bridge and watch the swollen river carry broken branches, an upturned sandal, a pale flowered shirt tangled with reeds.

    My grandson asks if rivers have memories. I want to say yes—that water remembers the way a body falls, remembers how the sky cracks open with bombs, remembers fire.

    At night, I read him a bedtime story of a magic forest where wolves and sheep drink from the same stream.

    He scoffs, “Daadi, wolves never share”.

    “That’s what stories are for—to imagine what isn’t yet,” I smile.

    ceasefire—
    a baya weaver bird
    stitches the green

  • The Haibun Journal

    The Haibun Journal is a print journal published from Ireland, specialising in the haibun literary form.

    Grateful to the Editor Sean O’Connor & Assistant Editors—Amanda Bell, Kim Richardson and Paul Bregazzi for featuring my haibun “Heartspace”in this beautiful journal issue 7:1, April 2025.

    Congratulations to all featured poets.

    Heart Space

    silent walk
    her dog collar
    in my pocket

    H. Gene Murtha Memorial Senryu Contest 2024, Honorable Mention

    The leash still hangs by the swing in the garden. its metal tag with her name clinks softly when the wind nudges it.

    The walks are lonely now—no eager paws tapping against the floor, no warm nose nudging my hand. I still follow our usual path, but the collar stays curled in my pocket.

    At the neighborhood park, the sun spills across the grass in long golden streaks. I imagine her beautiful form there, ears perked, eyes bright, nose to the ground, chasing shadows that no longer move.

    I call her name once, softly. The breeze carries it away.

    first light…
    paw prints etched
    on the walkway

    Neena Singh, India