haiga and visual short-form poems
I write and photograph a short poem, usually a haiku or a senryu, at the start of writing sessions. These warm-up poems are rough and ready and unpolished, scribbled down on small scraps of paper or onto the back of envelopes. Some adhere closely to poetic forms, some don’t. Some rhyme, most don’t. They are my take on a blog, a photo montage, a journal, and a mindfulness practice. I thought I would share some of them here as well as on my Instagram and Facebook pages.
I have been invited to run a generative workshop about using haiga to sustain creative practice at the European Writers Salon Annual Conference in Brussels in September 2025. In this workshop, aimed at poets and aspiring poets alike, participants will write, photograph and share their own warm-up short-form poems and haiga. More information here.
haiku, 21st March 2023: morning thunder breaks dawn / the house braced against west winds—I face the blank page
haiku, 14th March 2023: ... and spring steps outside / behind smudged double-glazed panes / still in quarantine
haiku, 28th October 2022: pre-dawn gym session / sweat, bleach — the ache and relief / of empty changing rooms
tanka, 17th October 2022: Catherine wheels shriek—wake / memories of tortured saints, / past and present fears / anger — an auto-da-fé / of witches burning the night
tanka, 16th September 2022: she may be your rock / but her heart is still molten / —you solidify / far-off echoes; lava flows / too mercurial to love
tanka, 11th May 2022: late-evening spring prayer / through the window, the branches / of sycamore trees, outstretched / against unpainted skies / —some prayers must be left unsaid / electric in their absence.
senryu, 10th May 2022: life-changing moments / will pass you by, unnoticed /—some seconds echo
senryu, 5th May 2022: the delicate joy / of imminent nostalgia / —one day, I'll miss you.
tanka, 3rd May 2022: all the homes I have / called my own live on, frozen / in time—memories / where I stalk the familiar / rooms in search of belonging.
senryu, 2nd May 2022: for a month in bloom / a full five years from seed / to bulb—a rebirth
senryu, 2nd February 2022: her poem slices / cutting deep, a call to arms / —let the words drip blood
senryu, 28th January 2022: flutes, tambourines / guitars in every room / —silence, and keyboards
short poem, 26th January 2022: fruit breaks from the tree / in my outstretched hand / skin on skin, paper / thin and electric / as I dig nails in dew-wet / feel for its stone heart—deeper
senryu, 25th January 2022: to knit is to code / a binary language / yarn mathematics
senryu, 30th January 2022: her poem slices / cutting deep, a call to arms / —let the words drip blood
senryu, 24th January 2022: internal scorched earth / after antibiotics: / flora, fauna, thoughts
choka, 13th January 2022: smile my mother's smile / a waning crescent moon of self / and fall into sleep / half-remembered—lullabies / tightening into slipknots
haiku, 12th January 2022: along the canal / weeds encroaching the towpath / —boat-diesel rainbows
choka, 14th January 2022: still, I wait for sleep / as I curl into myself / dreading the darkness / and the inevitable / dawn chorus that comes / in from East-facing windows / midweek hush of 3 a.m.
senryu, 11th January 2022: most days, gratitude / is a whetstone, a chisel / —rock splitting open
senryu, 10th January 2022: cross-country shipping / —waiting for another book / to make its way home
senryu, 9th January 2022: vaccine side effects— / just my body relearning/ how to freeze, then fight
choka, 8th January 2022: Amstrdam lockdown / a cityscape of absence— / concrete-covered fields / churned up from greys and seabed / far-fetched and fleeting. / Gulls call to empty streets / from skies that match the season.
senryu, 7th January 2022: I speak mother tongues / in chameleon accents / not meant to be mine
haiku, 6th January 2022: In French, dusk draws blood— / twilight 'between dog and wolf,' / feral and yearning
senryu, 5th January 2022: extending kindness / to everyone but myself / —send (self-)help, a.s.a.p.
hybrid very short poem, 4th January 2022: "Cockroaches," you called / us. "Citizens of nowhere," /swarming your floodgates / —now you ask us why we left
senryu, 3rd January 2022: finding pine needles / hiding under furniture / all January
senryu, 2nd January 2022: our bodies like stone / geographies mapped in bone / —mineral archives
senryu, 1st January 2022: creativity / is an act of rebellion— / a manifesto
nonet, 16th August 2021: some two meters under sea level / dried by dykes and hydraulic pumps / the Amstel laps at its banks / a close-call reminder / of recent flash floods / melting ice caps / of every / single / breath.
senryu, 1st July 2021: drowning in blank verse / a poetry tsunami / —words my siren cal
senryu, 17th June 2021: in this museum / shields, swords, sacred artefacts / the bones of loved ones
tanka, 11th June 2021: what I remember / keloids you swore were seeds / swallowed by your mother / siting at the terminal / for a flight that would not land
senryu, 10th June 2021: I missed the eclipse / wrote instead, a fever dream / losing track of shadows
senryu, 7th June 2021: each family / once uprooted, replanted / empathy in blood
senryu, 5th June 2021: we all feel like frauds / words dipped in uncertainty / hold yourself closer
senryu, 3rd June 2021: vaccination booked / my phobia of needles / evaporating
senryu, 8th June 2021: soon-to-be sunburn / blush-hot heat across cheekbones / under the sunscreen
tanka, 2nd June 2021: hayfever season / all late-burgeoning birch trees / back-lit disks, and haze; / seed and blossom on the wind / weeping an absence of tears
tanks, 1st June 2021: I won’t let strangers / determine where I belong / which flags I can fly / being told I picked a side / don’t buy the bi-erasure
senryu, 31st May 2021: heatwave, finally— / dappled light plays hide-and-seek / across this cramped desk
senryu, 28th May 2021: sunshine and cheap wine / cuts through the cast of lockdown / —six feet from freedom
senryu, 27th May 2021: starting a new book / cells of scenes developing / —phantom pregnancy
tanka, 26th May 2021: put my headphones on / buffer out self-doubt / in angst-cancelling white noise / —every electro pop beat /dreaming of electronic sheep
senryu, 25th May 2021: hit by a migraine / all-day lightning and thunder / —shelter in darkness
haiku, 24th May 2021: a late-spring downpour / rain drumming on parasols / —oil-rainbows puddles
senryu, 23rd May 2021: my mother's guitar / dust and dreams between the strings/ —waiting in silence
senryu, 21st May 2021: where are poems born: / the hive mind, the zeitgeist or / imagination?
muki, 20th May 2021: cardamom and cloves / island cures for rain-soaked days / —homemade chai latte
senryu/muki, 18th May 2021: then, a sudden surge / a blind, voltaic exchange: / lightning, or desire?
senryu, 17th May 2021: faded memento / of memories so vivid: / red-eyed Polaroid
haiku, 15th May 2021: a parcel of fields / soil heavy with loam and sweat / —ancestral heartland
haiku, 14th May 2021: sea foam tumbles, flees / wave-sieved sand and bowed dune grass— / storm-clad horizon
haiku, 13th May 2021: primeval forest / undergrowth guards ancient oak / —folklore under threat
haiku, 12th May 2021: ... a line of paw prints / a flash of stark stripes: RACCOON! / —no eggs for breakfast
haiku, 11th May 2021: your lawn is in seed / blades now wild and untended / new-pitched for-sale sign
senryu, 10th May 2021: the delicious angst / of ordering a latte / once lockdown lifted
haiku, 9th May 2021: thunderstorms breaking / subside in the wash of dawn— / electricity
haiku, 8th May 2021: yucca and ficus / areca, ferns, calathea / supplant your absence
tanka, 7th May 2021: malachite copper / the colour meanders / mineral fractures— / colonial echoes, here / on the living-room table
haiku, 5th May 2021: look beneath the bones / parts of me I never saw— / oceans between us
tanka, 4th May 2021: feel the clay harden / with time, leather then bone dry / ready for the kiln — / but no slip, no dip in glaze / will now shield a fire-shrunk heart
tanka, 3rd May 2021: renovation blues / the new neighbours tear down walls / sledgehammer through brick /—right at the epicentre / of open-plan earthquakes, me
tanka, 1st May 2021: May Day afternoon / workers’ rights and distress calls / Beltane and maypoles — / and my mother handing me / a lily-of-the-valley
haiku, 23rd April 2021: of metal and flesh / spokes and shins; tires and hamstrings— / cyclists in the pack
15-minute challenge: lipogram in rhyming pentameter, 30th April 2021: Spring Still Unfolding in a Month of Rain
senryu, 29th April 2021: only poetry / can slur seconds into hours— / dusk disappearing
senryu, 28th April 2021: another birthday / celebrated in lockdown— / more leftover cake
senryu, 26th April 2021: see anxiety / tipped hourglass; whirling dervish / —breathe in and breathe out
haiku, 25th April 2021: gossamer ferns like / unfurling caterpillars — / cadmium amd cobalt
tanka for George Floyd, 22nd April 2021: try holding your breath/ a full forty-six seconds/ now eight minutes more—/ enough to let it sink in/ the whiteness that saves your skin
haiku, 21st April 2021: house hunters prowling/ on the move, on a budget—/ lime-green wallpaper
haiku, 20th April 2021: colour theory/ change shade, season; switch emotion—/ pick your nail varnish
senryu, 19th April 2021: relief, and envy/ now you're vaccinated—/ still lives through glass panes
tanka, 17th April 2021: canals froze over /blackened tapestries of ice /frayed at the edges, /locking us in the silence /of immobilised barges
tanka, 15th of April 2021: still, I water/the olive trees on the balcony/knowing they will only flower/ for grandchildren/ that may never be
haiku, 14th April 2021: desert rains/petrichor and jasmine—/dragonfly darting
senryu, 12th April 2021: social media/ welcomes us with open arms—/mirrors and apples
senryu, 11th April 2021: I self-censure...still/ placate and please the male gaze/ I internalised
senryu, 10th April 2020: insomnia now / knots my nights into nightmares/— dawn is a knife blade
haiku, 9th April 2021: the heron parades / alone down crowd-barren streets— / April in lockdown
haiku, 8th April 2021: a pipe bomb shatters / the stasis of this lockdown— / crosswinds rule the waves
senryu, 6th April 2021: widower; orphan— / language cannot comprehend / the loss of a child