THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 12th March 2026. Linda Papanicolaou - Guest Editor
- Srinivas Sambangi
- Mar 12
- 2 min read
Editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
Guest Editor: Linda Papanicolaou
Featured Poet: Patricia J. Machmiller
Host: Srinivas Sambangi
A Thursday Feature
12th March 2026
In the thick of it . . .
Patricia J. Machmiller
This morning a dense fog muffles the sound of
breakers. It rolls shoreward, rises curling lightly,
passing around and over the house. A hawk on the
hunt flies low over the dunes. Today’s news arrives
sheathed in an opaque plastic wrapper. Locked down
we’re eager, yet anxiously dreading, to see the daily
numbers: how many got sick, how many were
hospitalized—how many died. We wonder about the
fog—when it will burn off? By eleven . . . or noon . . .
or one? Maybe it will last all day . . .
lost summer
how will we know
when it’s over
—between sun and shadow, ed. Naia, Yuki Teikei Haiku Society Anthology
2023 p 66
Commentary:
Patricia’s haibun begins by localizing it at the seashore between the
breakers the dunes, evoked in three sentences that suggest a curving
around and enclosing a beach house. The isolation of the Covid Lockdown
s broken by the arrival of a newspaper sheathed in plastic like what we in
the US called as PPE (personal protective equipment). The fifth sentence
introduces the occupants of the beach house who are wondering between
themselves about what’s going on beyond their immediate ken.
Most of my own haibun are written in first person singular and seek to
convey to a reader the particulars of a personal event Patricia’s choice is
first person plural, which takes us into the realm of a universal
experience—in this case the.
Prompt:
Write a first person plural haibun about the personal aspect of a
commonly shared experience.
***
This week's featured poet takes all of us back to covid period. I'm sure everyone likes the prompt that lets us share the shared experience in first person plural
And, thank you Linda for being with us through this month!
_Srinivas
#1
The Shadow
It has been over thirty five years. The gulf between haves and have-nots has widened more than ever. People leave the country after they fail to find hope.
With the revolt, they restore democracy. They hold several election. The candidates promise us for our prosperity. They win. We hardly could feel their sincerity. Every time, they win elections, they betray us. Their disregard to the people goes up. Their repeated lies and shamelessness drive people mad. They prove to be foxy and crafty. They earn their notoriety for corruption. Eventually, economy hits the bottom and things in the country gets chaos.
blizzard
of Gen-Z protest
our government uproots
Tejendra Sherchan, Nepal
Beautiful prompt, Linda. Thank you so much.
#2
Unknown Origins
I stand and feel the wind against my skin. The sky is deepening into a black husk speckled in starlight. I am wondering where I fit into all of this. The many threads of my soul reaching across the globe, my energy a lamp that flickers like a sparkle of fireflies. Parts of me left here and there; where I’ve been, who I’ve connected to. Aren’t we all a tapestry in the making? Unfinished stitches of ourselves laid bare in the air.
stargazing
my zenith fixed
on the first twinkle
Joanna Ashwell
UK
#2
Anything else
We tiptoed all the time. The air was always like broken glass. The grownups taught us hate. We anchored ourselves in survival dreams. Wrote school essays on flight.
scar tissue
every minute the galaxy births
new light
Alfred Booth
Lyon, France
#2
Shadows on the Concrete
The metallic clatter of the sliding gate wakes us—the sound that has marked our days for months. Beyond the rows of white containers, the smell of cheap tea and wet asphalt hangs in the morning air. We wait together, sharing a piece of bread, a cell signal caught near the fence, and the quiet hope that today’s list might call our names.
A man in a blue vest passes.
We fall silent.
In the evenings, as the sun slips behind the barbed wire, we tell each other about gardens that no longer exist. We have stopped asking what day it is—only whether the world beyond the wall still remembers us.
far from home —
only…