THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 19th March 2026. Linda Papanicolaou - Guest Editor
- Srinivas Sambangi
- Mar 19
- 2 min read
Editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh
Guest Editor: Linda Papanicolaou
Featured Poet: Michael Rehling
Host: Srinivas Sambangi
A Thursday Feature
19th March 2026
in my mind i still need a place to go
Michael Rehling
casual as the moon. my mind wanders through the big dipper and into
countless stars. as i gather myself deep into old age and the sky seems to
have a strange pull. wondering where will i go when this body ceases to
breathe for me and with each celestial movement another question appears
in my mind. meanings and the blue blue mountains behind the sky will
materialize later. but right now a trillion stars beg me to stop counting
them…
in the quiet
of night sky
buddha stares back
—Facebook Jun 9 2025
Commentary:
Experiments we commonly see with the prose in haibun include fragment
or run-on sentences, non-standard punctuation, justification, or page
layout… In his case, the prose is all in lower- case letters such as we
generally associate with E. E. Cummings. In haiku it conveys simplicity, and
the open-ended immediacy of a moment in time. Here, the humility of the
lower-case first person “i” dovetails with the haibun’s Buddhist theme.
Punctuation is not run-on; rather, a simple period articulates both clauses
and sentences, trailing off into an ellipses at the end. Rather than
compress the prose, the effect is a measured rhythm, almost like breathing.
As for descriptive detail, here it’s the purpose is not objective but an
inwardly focused soliloquy where the mind “wanders through the big
dipper” as “countless stars: become “a trillion starts beg[ging] me to stop
counting them.” So much for those who say that haikai forms shouldn’t be
anthropomorphic!
Prompt:
Write a haibun with imagery that is purely subjective.
***
One day or the other, we will all experience what Michael Rehling says. Another thought provoking prompt this week.
And, thank you Linda for being with us through this month!
_Srinivas
#1 Revised
With Linda Papanicolaou’s input.
The Swallow Nest
Business is slow and quiet. I busy myself opening the teashop--- sweeping, wiping the furniture, kneading dough for chapatti, boiling milk. I hate doing the last chore. Suddenly I hear the chirpings of the swallows. They must be couple hopping from corner to corner, conversing. I wish I could understand them. They make a few trips back and forth.
Our community believes swallows bring fortune and good luck if they build their nests in a house.
surveying my house
I keep
my fingers crossed
Tejendra Sherchan, Nepal
#2
Liquid Blue
The walls have lost their density. They pulse. A forest I’ve never visited breathes through the plaster. I reach for the glass on the nightstand. My fingers dissolve into the light before the touch. No floor. Only the cold, velvet hum of a cello string stretched inside my skull. Time is no longer a line. It is a blue ink drop spreading in a bowl of milk. I am blurring. I don’t wait for the morning. I wait for the ceiling to finally let go.
falling —
the weight of a shadow
against my skin
Jacek Margolak
Poland
Where the soil thins…
They have always blessed me. Though some days they are restless and cranky. After all they were babies once. When that happens my life goes haywire and I feel lost in a jungle.
wild nasturtiums
slowly the horizon burns
Arvinder Kaur
Chandigarh India
#2
Nexus
i am here yet not only the body the mind is elsewhere so often is the case wildflowers tempt me their dance on the breeze their colours
afloat in a dream i see a cloud and wonder is there more than rain
within the rainbow surely has an end somewhere will i find it perhaps the star above shines for me yet so many miles
stretch beyond our comprehension bumblebees i’ve wandered again
butterflies ladybirds birdsong moonlight wild horses
a brimstone butterfly
skims my window
today I settle here
Joanna Ashwell
UK
#2
Encounter on the street
The lady with elaborate hats, my elder by fifteen years, calls me Monsieur Neige, because she says when she doesn't see me in the neighborhood, she knows I must be at the chalet in the Alps. She told me you can bargain with doctors. I ask can you bargain with death? She scolds me with fondness. I have not yet come to rest on the plateau of acceptance.
setting sun
her smile is as wide
as life itself
Alfred Booth
Lyon, France