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# / Author
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MCCI
Michele Harvey
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fireflies...
all the lovers
I'll never know
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MCCII
Robert D. Wilson
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those blossoms . . .
fireflies spiraling
around the moon
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MCCIII
Zhanna P. Rader
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They call him Firefly —
his name should have been
Meteor.
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MCCIV
Michele Harvey
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falling stars...
a moment shared
with my ex
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MCCV
Zhanna P. Rader
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A writer in love
with his invented heroine —
tears on the rose.
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| This is my 400th haiku in the Eros sequence. I am running out of steam. :) Zhanna |
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MCCVI
Hugh Bygott
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Wisps of hair,
so fragile yet so powerful . . .
a Spring wind claims my cheek.
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MCCVII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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First plum flowers —
Am I the fragile desired
as he unclasps my robe?
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October 17, 2009
Dear Subscribers
Perhaps some of you have thought that Eros had run its course. No, far from it! We have barely started finding out the subtleties of this universal topic of love and sexuality. From the beginning of the series in December 2006, the inspiration has been the great poetry of Chiyo-ni. Perhaps few of you have been to her beautiful museum in Matto, Japan. Perhaps even fewer have held in their hands Kaga no chiyo zenshû. These are treasures indeed! Of course, there are some English translations, and so her inspiration continues.
I encourage you to return to Chiyo-ni and to your own many experiences and contribute to reaching the next target of 2000 haiku. For new subscribers, please look at the Archive to see the many varied, and beautiful haiku.
http://haikuworkshop.pbwiki.com/ErosHaiku
Sincerely,
Hugh Bygott |
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MCCVIII
Hugh Bygott
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Rising winds,
a falling maple leaf rides high . . .
Oh, so like false love!
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MCCIX
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Broken silence . . .
at this moment of desire
I hear a nightingale . . .
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MCCX
Hugh Bygott
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Under lime leaves' shade
she sits with such composure,
but I, fragile with Love's wound . . .
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| With acknowledgement to the Silver English poets of the XVI Century. HB |
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MCCXI
Zhanna P. Rader
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The pink buds
get fuller each day...
as our date approaches.
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MCCXII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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First autumn winds —
How sad the petal-flecked grass . . .
those loves now past . . .
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MCCXIII
Zhanna P. Rader
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The wind chimes' sound
on this breezy evening —
thoughts of our love...
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MCCXIV
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Under new linden leaves,
his first kiss . . . the realisation . . .
our newer fate.
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MCCXV
Zhanna P. Rader
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The rosebud
opens up a little more —
his warm breath...
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MCCXVI
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Little tea-flowers,
how can you bear this autumn rain?
I too long for dusk.
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MCCXVII
Hugh Bygott
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Yet untouched,
this newest opening rose —
Oh chaste beauty!
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MCCXVIII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Walking at ebbtide —
I lift my skirt to clear the gem-weed . . .
Did I see him blush?
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MCCXIX
Hugh Bygott
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Such a lady —
I glimpse her delicate ankle,
whiter than the lily.
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MCCXX
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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I kiss his lips,
gently, as Spring gossomer . . .
Passion awaiting . . .
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MCCXXI
Hugh Bygott
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A wither'd leaf drifts,
clinging to a tangled web . . .
Yet once here was love . . .
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MCCXXII
Zhanna P. Rader
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His pencil, a stub,
and yet another haiku —
passion flowers.
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MCCXXIII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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The stone chat tilts its head . . .
but I cannot tell it the pleasures
of last night’s love.
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MCCXXIV
Zhanna P. Rader
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The pleasure
of sunning on the beach . . .
next to you.
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MCCXXV
Hugh Bygott
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Cherry blossom-wind —
Are our kisses no more than petals
that fall and fade?
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MCCXXVI
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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My curls in disarray,
we lie in summer grasses . . .
Such sweet intimacy!
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MCCXXVII
Zhanna P. Rader
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Autumn wind
snatches leaves from the elms —
the warmth of your embrace.
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MCCXXVIII
Hugh Bygott
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Letting down your hair —
even the wild violets
deepen in the night.
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MCCXXIX
Cecelia Quentin- Webb
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Winter dawn —
the mistletoe still clings to the hawthorn . . .
the thrill of last night’s kiss!
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MCCXXX
Zhanna P. Rader
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Last-night's kiss —.
the morning glories look brighter,
the dove's call, happier.
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MCCXXXI
Hugh Bygott
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Wild geese departing —
Love also knows its seasons . . .
. . . dreams and undreams.
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MCCXXXII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Primroses watching:
he gently kisses me . . .
Such sweet restraint . . .
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MCCXXXIII
Zhanna P. Rader
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In your arms
under a weeping willow —
I'm a supple branch.
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MCCXXXIV
Hugh Bygott
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First distant snow —
The icon-lamp burns low concealing
Natasha’s kiss.
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Inspired by Tolstoy's description of Natasha visiting the seriously wounded Prince Andrey in War and Peace, Volume III, Part 3, Chapter 32. HB
Hi, Hugh, Zhanna, and Cecelia. I don't remember if I mentioned it before, but I much enjoy your Eros series. I feel as if I know you three, having read your sensitive poems.
Thanks,
Spiros |
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MCCXXXV
Zhanna P. Rader
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The wind blows
the spring snow off the daffodils —
the lovers reconcile.
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MCCXXXVI
Hugh Bygott
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Waiting
for the unspoken word,
the daffodil wilts.
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MCCXXXVII
Zhanna P. Rader
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The hummingbird
chooses the red petunia —
my love's rejected.
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MCCXXXVIII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Once she said goodbye,
now she holds his hand to her lips . . .
mournful Autumn winds . . .
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| Inspired by Natasha’s remorse for her rejection of Prince Andrey. Cecelia |
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MCCXXXIX
Zhanna P. Rader
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A bumblebee,
making a bellflower quiver -
your hand's on my breast.
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MCCXL
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Depth of desire —
So gentle are your fingers,
placing the satined rose . . .
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MCCXLI
Zhanna P. Rader
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Your passionate kiss...
Who cares how many "coo-coo"
the wall clock strikes!
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MCCXLII
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Timed and timeless —
How beautiful is chastity . . .
more than the lily . . . ?
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MCCXLIII
Zhanna P. Rader
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Winter solstice —
one more child's expected
next September.
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MCCXLIV
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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Inner life —
We walk the soft wet sands,
hand in hand at ebb tide.
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MCCXLV
Hugh Bygott
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Dawn light —
the satined rose still new,
I kiss her sleeping lips.
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MCCXLVI
Zhanna P. Rader
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His kiss —
the sun comes out
again.
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MCCXLVII
Hugh Bygott
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Coral lips —
the petals ease one by one . . .
she draws me closer . . .
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MCCXLVIII
Zhanna P. Rader
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Her passion —
a ripe rye field ignited
by lightning.
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MCCXLIX
Cecelia Quentin-Webb
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The dragon fly
cannot settle . . . nor can my heart ,
until his lips touch mine.
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MCCL
Hugh Bygott
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Mystery girl —
Orange blossoms in your hair.
did you smile at me?
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