THE HAIBUN GALLERY: 30th October 2025. Joanna Ashwell - Guest Poet
- Kala Ramesh
- Oct 30
- 3 min read
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 30th 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.
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Week 5
Taste: chocolate, freshly baked bread, melted cheese, hot curry, porridge with honey, fresh strawberries, potatoes with butter… Is your mouth watering? Are you imagining your favourite food? A dog can’t hide his delight at the potential meal being put in front of him. Drool, a wagging tail, enquiring eyes. Our olfactory senses react strongly to what we ultimately consume. The fluid or the solid taste of a beverage, fruit, treat or dish.
As I read Adelaide’s haibun below, the list of foods sends me into the joy of imagining the taste of the lunch and apples.
The Allure of Apples
Blue sky. A slight briskness in the air. It’s a special day. Not on anyone’s calendar but our own. Apple picking day. Our annual two-hour trek north from Westchester to Duchess County. I pack a lunch. Smoked salmon, green beans and tomato salad, French bread, wedges of stilton and Gruyere cheese, chilled Chablis, brownies, and a thermos of coffee. The fruit? Apples, naturally, and we’ll pick those.
We twist our way north on the Taconic Parkway, seeing more color in the leaves the further we drive. Getting off the parkway, we travel on side roads, rough roads, dirt roads. There is a distinctive fragrance in the air. We’ve arrived. We get a basket and head for the area with Macoun apples which are ready to be picked. We share one. Firm. Juicy. Sweet. How many to pick? Enough for a couple of pies, a tart or two, muffins, a cake, applesauce, snacking, some for a neighbor. Somehow, we always pick just enough.Apples weighed and paid, we have lunch on a hill. Then home and a nap.
the turn of dayssome to repeat with joytime and time again. until the repetition is only a memory
Adelaide B. Shaw
Pub in Drifting Sands #12 nov 2021
In the haibun above, the visual aspects of the scene are also appealing. How can you create your own piece using taste as an integral sense to make the reader feel, see, and smell, then leading to the taste of the piece. Wrapping up our prompts, this has shown how integral using the senses are to vivid and engaging writing. Have fun!
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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.
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The Haibun Gallery continues as is.
We will be having editors and prompts, and your sharing…
Haibun 1 - 04/11/2025
Traditional Trade
It’s a sunny wintry day, and white muslin cloths are spread out on chatais of the front lawn. Sunning on them are par-boiled bites of carrots, cauliflower and turnips. The heady aroma of roasted cumin, black cardamom, and cinnamon breezes through the house.
In a small bowl, I mix the grated jaggery and vinegar together to seep. The smell of mustard at smoking point soon saturates the kitchen air. My fingers are laced with ginger and garlic cloves. Fresh green chillies picked from the backyard add the punch I crave.
These will shortly transform into the traditional Punjabi gobhi-shalgam achaar, a tasty accompaniment to meals in the harsh northern Indian winter. Elegant clay jars are lined…
#1, 3/11, after a long time
Not a Bore Anymore
We are back home after three months. I frantically search for my cupboard keys, no idea about where i hid it. A layer of fine mud everywhere. The ants are just dots to the naked eye. The brown leathery looks of two baby lizards lay on the floor. A black cockroach seems to disown itself. The cobwebs well engineered. The fans and lamps wait for a clean over.
Our maid turns up promptly. She has her own stories to narrate. I listen half of it whilst the other half bounces over my tired brain that is scheduled for more tougher jobs. I rush to the tailor …
#2
Another unending day
a bell rings
the weary raise their heads
into emptiness
The Book of Names overflows. There is no more Sacred Parchment. The olive groves have been decimated. Who can carry this only in their heart? There is no longer the joy of running water in fountains to merely splash one's face. What little can be found tastes of thirst. From the debris of what came before, gardens bloom only dust, heavy with ungodly scents of hate. They count the newest names, calling them aloud as prayers so they will be remembered. Forlorn is not a word for children. Tomorrow more bells will ring.
rubble carries
too many unshed tears
a dove's wings lost
Alfred Booth
Lyon,…
Edit, thanks to Alfred:
#2
Pickle Days
The clip top jars are lined up on the sill. The oranges are thinly sliced, the aroma drifts all around the kitchen. Next are the lemons, the juice dribbles across the counter tops. The sunlight begins to dim, I turn to the vegetable stack. The long pods squashed inside the container, the lush green glinting through the glass. Carrots were recommended, I glance at the handwriting with the instructions, the vinegar brine still coats my fingertips. The cursive letters dip between the lines with varied instructions how to proceed. I mix and match the peppers on the shelf. The long hours of the day have left long ago and…
#1
Off prompt
Revised (Many thanks to Janice)
Tathastu
Alternately fanning himself and wiping the sweat with his gamcha, the farmer pushes open the rickety gate. He walks across the courtyard and sinks down upon the raised mud platform under the tin roof of his hut. His daughter runs out with a glass of water.
Half a glass.
Throwing his head back, he gulps a mouthful before pouring the rest into a battered tin pot that holds a wilting plant. Let it rain Mother. Let it rain. I will bring you a garland of your favorite hibiscus.
tsunami
the paddy fields full
of silt
Mohua Maulik, India
Original
Tathastu
Alternately, fanning himself and wiping the…