Haiku is a form of Japanese poetry comprised of three phrases.
Traditional haiku uses 17 syllables (5:7:5) but contemporary haiku in English often ignores this rule. A haiku is typically about nature, the earth and the natural world and are designed to be thought-provoking. These original haiku poems are by Anthony Rutledge and are mostly written in the contemporary free style format.
There are over 2,000 Haiku on this site in ten different themes: Australian, Beach, Garden Sundial, In the Mirror,Kimono,Motherhood,Ships and Oceans,Spring,Windjammers and Miscellaneous.
waters breaking
the sun-blind windscreen
to the hospital
at breast
in tender joy
her second born
first kick
lightens the life
she grows
start of life
her first kick
in the guts
Now seeing
the ninth month shape
the way she walks.
home opened for sale
the way they scattered
our children's toys.
butterfly eggs
leaving the chances
for her generation.
Pregnant
the new flowered sheets
for our months ahead.
The baby turns
her super-market trolley
almost full.
Window breeze
her pregnancy enjoys
the curtain tickles.
Farm drought
among his other thoughts
his pregnant wife.
Swollen river
the mid-wife visit
just days away.
In her seventh month
the buffeting of school kids
inside the bus.
Burning raked leaves
the pregnant girl
twirls her mother's ring.
Interstate bus
near term she rubs her face
on the window mist.
Late guests
the pregnant hostess
nibbles at their cheeses.
Rolling over
her baby bump
the sea's soft swell.
Near her term
leaves falling
past the lace curtains.
Boat harbour
feeling all nine months
she feeds the gulls.
The whole of the paddock
to gambol
mother and foal.
Turning in bed
her pregnancy
between us.
Her eighth month...
stretch marks
along the sea shore.
School soccer ends
the halves of oranges
from their pregnant mums.
Dandelions
their pregnancy
to the whim of the wind.
Strolling past sunflowers at eight months now she accepts their nods.
Furniture shop the pregnant woman again opening drawers.
Burning raked leaves the pregnant girl twirls her mother‘s ring.
Interstate bus near term she rubs her face on the window mist.
Rolling over her baby bump the sea‘s soft swell.
The ward echoes... our teenager pushed to mother.
her eighth month… mid-summer grapes plump on the vines
cherry blossoms fall breast feeding into her smile
what approached the nine months for you I let in
kindergarten gate my childhood as her hand came free
nine month‘s sway serving their breakfasts in summer heat
dribbling on my arm I move the babe from my breast
Strolling past sunflowers
at eight months
now she accepts their nods.
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