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THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 23rd October 2025. Joanna Ashwell - Guest Poet

host: Rupa Anand

editors on haikuKATHA: Shalini Pattabiraman, Vidya Shankar, Firdaus Parvez and Kala Ramesh


Lorraine Haig has stepped down from being a mentor for this forum. Triveni Haikai India and The Haibun Gallery are grateful for her exceptional feedback and responses over the last few years.


Guest Poet: Joanna Ashwell

A Thursday Feature 23rd October


INTRODUCTION

 

Reading is the cornerstone of being a good writer.  It is where we learn, get inspired and continue to adapt our own voice.   I have many notebooks where I gather ideas.  Sometimes a haibun begins with the title or a thought of what I want to say.  Other times I find a haiku that seems to fit into the tapestry of a haibun.  On a really good day, the haibun just flows fully formed. 

 

I prefer to read slowly,  holding a book in my hands.  It may not be fashionable but there is something about the way the words settle on the paper and the weight of the pages as I turn them.  I also often write pen to paper, type the drafts then edit from there.  Although I touch-type and can hammer a poem out on the screen, ink gives me that touch and feel that I crave as I write. 

 

This brings me to the five senses: sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch. A good haibun brings these alive, there may be one prominent sense or a mixture drawing the reader in. For our prompts this month I invite you to use these to inspire your writing.

***

 

Week 4

 

TOUCH.  It is said that we are losing our ability to touch, to connect with one another.  There are some age groups where their friendships are all virtual or where they are geographically apart from physical family or friends as they age. 

Touch can be a texture, an ‘idea’ of closeness, holding something/someone.  What does touch mean to you, explore that this week…

Notice how Terri  has threaded touch through the example below and consider how you can be inspired.

 

Bloodlines

 

Little sister and I laugh when I pinch the top of grandmother’s hand and the skin stays up, slowly melting back to join the rest of her flesh.

 

Typing this remembrance, I look down at my own hands resting on the keyboard.  Dark brown spots meander through the blue-green veins branching from wrist to knuckles.  Once hides beneath grandmother’s ring that I wear on the little finger of my left hand.  I imagine it growing, wrapping around the ring and not letting go.

 

last wishes –

her signet pressed

into hot red wax

 

Terri L French

Published in – the haibun journal, issue 5:1 2023


<>

Thanks, Joanna.

Thanks for this brilliant prompt.

I'm sure our poets will love to explore the 5 senses in haibun.

That will be interesting!

Waiting for this month to unfold!


_kala


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IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT NOTICE

              NOTICE


Dear Haibuneers


Starting from March 2025, we at haikuKATHA are moving on to a new submissions format for haibun submissions. (Only for haibun, please note!)


Writers are invited to submit one unpublished haibun per submission window.


Kindly note the submissions calendar.


1-20 March, to be considered for publication in May

1-20 June, to be considered for publication in August

1-20 September, to be considered for publication in November

1-20 December, to be considered for publication in February


All accepted submissions will receive an email to confirm their acceptance by the 5th day of the publication month.


Your unpublished (only one) haibun should be sent to: 

The Google link will be given in this space soon. This form will only be available during the submission period. 


********


The Haibun Gallery continues as is.

We will be having editors and prompts, and your sharing…


54 Comments


mona bedi
mona bedi
Oct 25

Post #1

26.10.25


A sweet chaos


The bus is overcrowded. The smell of sweat clings to the thick summer air. I stand wedged between an old woman on one side and a tall, rugged man on the other. The bus lurches along the potholed road, passengers swaying like pendulums.

Suddenly, there is a loud thud as the front tyre collapses.

Instinctively, I grab the old woman’s hand. We both pitch forward, ready to crash to the floor, when strong arms steady us. The rugged stranger holds us upright with surprising care.

I murmur a quiet thank you.


settling dusk —

a mountain’s shadow

softens the earth


Mona Bedi

India

Feedback appreciated:)


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Replying to

I love how the rhythm of your sentences have captured the motion of the bus. As you read you can feel and smell the confinement. I love your closing ku, so beautiful.

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mona bedi
mona bedi
Oct 25

What a lovely Haibun from Terri.

Beautiful prompt Joanna🥰

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Replying to

Thank you so much Mona. 🌸

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#2

 

Connections

 

We call ourselves Soul Sisters, our love threads across the miles.  We are there for one another and wrap kindness from afar.  Yes, afar.  Online connections that we have developed through healing ourselves, through study, through friendship, through understanding that we can chat freely about belief in the esoteric.  We speak of when we will meet in-person, the arrangements, the logistics, the funds, the window of time. Finally being in the same space…

 

an aerial display

pink-footed geese

re-sketching the sky

 

Joanna Ashwell

UK

 

Feedback welcome

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Replying to

Thank you Lorraine.🌹

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#1

 

Essence

 

He runs his fingers over the dots, feeling for patterns.  His mind deciphers the words and numbers.  He is sensitive to the paper beneath as he glides across, his speed increasing towards the end. 

 

She glides one hand ahead of the other.  Marking her place on the page.  Her fingertips lightly skim over longer words as her lips move with progress.  She notices a shift in the light and bows her head.

 

the script of love

as if tactility

reveals the heart

 

Joanna Ashwell

UK

 

Feedback welcome

 

Edited
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Replying to

Thank you Alfred, I want it to stand out. It emphasises the sudden touch...

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#2

Watching closely


the birch

loses its leaves

changelings


I've postponed reviewing telephone videos to toss or transfer as long as I could. Yesterday the rain called to me, asking me to listen to what my body wanted by heart to forget.

In early summer 2022, the thirty videos I made from the "33 Miniatures for piano" by the Georgian composer Giya Kanchelli, brought me to an emotional standstill. They are arrangements of themes from film and theatre, very few of which made their way into western culture. I heard perfect takes, knowing ahead of time when the notes would ask my hands to be uncomfortable, I saw and heard only the music pouring outward. Each gesture perfect for…

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Replying to

That is good Alfred, October has been a month of letting go for so many. Sending you blessings. 🌹

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