A Room of My Own: Dream and Reality Tanka

a yellow leaf

under the wiper blade

this migrant life

back and forth, back and forth

between dream and reality

Butterfly Dream: Hawker Haiku by Bob Lucky

English Original

neon-lit evening

the thud-thud of a hawker

pounding papaya                                 

Blithe Spirit, 30:1, 2020

Bob Lucky           

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

霓虹燈閃爍的夜晚

小販搗碎木瓜噼裡啪啦

的叫賣聲

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

霓虹灯闪烁的夜晚

小贩捣碎木瓜噼里啪啦

的叫卖声

Bio Sketch

Bob Lucky is the author of Ethiopian Time (Red Bird Chapbooks, 2014), Conversation Starters in a Language No One Speaks (SurVision Books, 2018), My Thology: Not Always True But Always Truth (Cyberwit, 2019), and the e-chapbook What I Say to You (proletaria.org, 2020). He lives in Portugal. 

To the Lighthouse: Two Haiku, Two Responses to War: Grief, Peace, and the Silence of the News

In a war situation or where violence and injustice are prevalent, poetry is called upon to be something more than a thing of beauty.

-- Seamus Heaney, Ireland's most renowned poet since Yeats, playwright and translator who received the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature

Consider the thematic, emotional, and sociopolitical differences between these two haiku:

afterwards

nothing else matters

white poppy

Blithe Spirit, 34:2, 2024

Brendon Kent 

In contrast:

afterwards

anything matters?

news on mute

NeverEnding Story, October 18, 2026

Chen-ou Liu

Although both haiku begin with the same word, “afterwards,” they diverge sharply in their emotional trajectories and underlying concerns. Kent employs a minimalist, symbol-driven approach, grounding the poem in a culturally resonant image of peace. Liu, by contrast, adopts a contemporary gendai sensibility, exploring psychological alienation, media saturation, and the emotional toll of witnessing distant suffering.

1. Thematic Differences

Kent — The White Poppy

The central themes are loss, mourning, and the yearning for peace. Traditionally, the red poppy commemorates military personnel who died in war, while the white poppy represents remembrance of all victims of war, opposition to militarism, and a commitment to peace. Through this image, Kent connects individual grief to a broader aspiration for a world free from armed conflict.

Liu — News on Mute

Liu's haiku explores media saturation, emotional exhaustion, and the impulse to withdraw from the relentless stream of disturbing news. Rather than offering a symbol of hope or reconciliation, the poem captures a moment of psychological disengagement: when confronted with seemingly unending tragedy, the observer questions whether anything matters and resorts to muting the news.

2. Emotional Differences

Kent — From Despair to Reverence

The emotional movement begins with the crushing finality of “nothing else matters” and culminates in the quiet appearance of the white poppy. The flower offers a fragile but meaningful focal point for grief, transforming an expression of despair into a gesture of remembrance and a yearning for peace. The poem's restraint lends the image a sense of solemnity, allowing the symbol to carry much of its emotional weight.

Liu — Existential Uncertainty and Exhaustion

Liu's emotional trajectory is more unsettled. The question mark in “anything matters?” destabilizes the apparent certainty of Kent's “nothing else matters.” Rather than declaring that everything has lost its significance, Liu's speaker questions whether anything retains it.

The final phrase, “news on mute,” suggests withdrawal from the emotional demands of witnessing suffering. Muting the news may be an act of self-preservation, a symptom of compassion fatigue, or an expression of helplessness. The poem leaves the speaker's precise motivation unresolved, capturing the uneasy tension between the desire to remain informed and the need to disengage.

3. Sociopolitical Differences

Kent's haiku evokes the aftermath of war through a symbol associated with remembrance and peace. The poem may be read as an expression of solidarity with those who suffer, as well as a plea for the prevention of future wars. Its perspective is collective and aspirational: from the devastation implied by “afterwards,” the white poppy emerges as a quiet emblem of non-violence.

Liu's haiku, by contrast, places the reader in the position of an observer confronting tragedy through the media. The phrase “news on mute” evokes the technological means by which suffering enters domestic life—and can be silenced without the suffering itself being alleviated. The news continues beyond the speaker's immediate awareness, exposing a troubling divide between witnessing a crisis and having the power to change its course.

Where Kent invokes a symbol of peace, Liu presents a gesture of disengagement. The former directs attention toward an ethical ideal; the latter interrogates the psychological and moral implications of consuming reports of distant suffering. Although Liu's poem can be read as a critique of media saturation and the normalization of tragedy, it does not necessarily condemn the speaker. The act of muting the news may reveal not indifference but the limits of emotional endurance.

Conclusion: Remembrance or Withdrawal?

Kent's haiku functions as a quiet monument to grief and peace. By stripping the scene down to a single symbolic image, it leaves the reader contemplating the human cost of war and the possibility of a more peaceful world.

Liu's haiku, meanwhile, holds up a mirror to contemporary society's uneasy relationship with mediated suffering. Its closing image captures the impulse to silence the news when the accumulation of human tragedy becomes unbearable, leaving unresolved the tension between emotional self-preservation and moral engagement.

The shared opening word, “afterwards,” establishes a common temporal threshold, but the poems move in different directions. Kent's “nothing else matters” leads toward the white poppy, a symbol of remembrance and peace. Liu's “anything matters?” leads toward silence, where the significance of what has been witnessed becomes uncertain.

Ultimately, Kent offers a symbol through which grief may find expression and peace may remain imaginable; Liu confronts the possibility that, in a world saturated with images of suffering, even the capacity to respond can become exhausted. One turns toward remembrance and the hope of peace; the other toward the troubling silence that can follow the witnessing of war.

Biting NOT Barking: White Poppy Haiku by Brendon Kent

English Original

afterwards

nothing else matters

white poppy

Blithe Spirit, 34:2, 2024

Brendon Kent 

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

之後

其他一切都不重要了

白罌粟

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

之后

其他一切都不重要了

白罂粟

Bio Sketch

    

Brendon Kent lived in Botley, an old English village in the southern countryside, dating back to circa 890 AD. Born in the late 1950s, he wrote poetry for many years, with a particular fondness for short forms. His haiku and senryu appeared in leading books and journals worldwide. He was a member of the British Haiku Society.

Hot News: New Milestone, 8 M Pageviews and Call for Submissions

My Dear Friends:

NeverEnding Story reached new milestones late last night: 8 M pageviews (FYI: On September 22, 2026, it reached 7 M pageviews).

I’m grateful to everyone who has shared this poetry journey. NeverEnding Story now seeks haiku and tanka submissions. The accepted haiku and tanka will be translated into Chinese and posted on NeverEnding Story and X. And you are welcome to follow me on X at @ericcoliu (5 following; 5,287 followers).

on the windowsill

two canaries singing

to each other

I tweet and retweet

NeverEnding Story  😋

A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.

—Thomas Mann

My fingers click-clacking — hail against the window.

what's left unsaid

between words and lines ...

alone at false dawn

And 

In a war situation or where violence and injustice are prevalent, poetry is called upon to be something more than a thing of beauty.

-- Seamus Heaney, Ireland's most renowned poet since Yeats, playwright and translator who received the 1995 Nobel Prize in Literature

Against the Drowning Noise of Other Words, CCCXXIII: "smoky fog"

The smoky fog shrouds where a centuries-old Gazan mosque stood

afterwards

anything matters?

news on mute

FYI: Out of approximately 1,275 pre-war mosques in the Gaza Strip, 1,050 have been completely destroyed and 191 have been partially damaged (totaling 1,241 affected mosques). And according to  both Geneva Conventions, Protocols I and II and the Rome Statute, Article 8, bombing religious sites is considered a war crime.

And most importantly, a gentle reminder:

Every time a poem is written, every time a short story is written, it is written not by cunning, but by belief. The beauty, the something, the little charm of the thing to be, is more felt than known.

-- Robert Frost

The world is never the same once a good poem has been added to it.

—Dylan Thomas

A poem after a poem after a poem is POWER!

—paraphrasing Margaret Atwood

Look forward to reading your poetry

Happy Writing

Chen-ou

Butterfly Dream: Wreath Haiku by Nick Virgilio

English Original

autumn twilight:

the wreath on the door

lifts in the wind

Dust of Summers, 2007

Nick Virgilio

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

秋日黃昏：

門上的花環

隨風飄揚

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

秋日黄昏：

门上的花环

随风飘扬

Bio Sketch

Nick Virgilio (June 28, 1928 – January 3, 1989) was an internationally acclaimed poet who played a pivotal role in popularizing haiku in the United States. Following his debut publication in American Haiku in 1963, Virgilio composed thousands of poems over a career spanning more than two decades. His seminal 1988 collection, Selected Haiku, remains one of the most influential volumes in American haiku history. To explore his legacy further, read Cor van den Heuvel’s 1990 essay, "Nick Virgilio and American Haiku: Creating Haiku and an Audience," originally prepared for the International Haiku Forum in Matsuyama, Japan.

A Room of My Own: Childhood Haiku

winding road home

my childhood

left in the rearview

Added:

moon and stars

not one that moves ...

midnight silence

Added:

morning stroll

a butterfly rides the tail

of my old dog

Added:

sunlit field trip

a school of pond koi

slipping in and out

Added:

train tracks

fading in the twilight fog ...

words half-spoken

Added:

rain on the roof

my child’s shoes by the door

no longer fit

Butterfly Dream: Blue Night Haiku by Randy Brooks

English Original

afloat out of body

the lightness

of Chagall’s blue night

Randy Brooks

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

漂浮在肉體之外

夏卡爾的藍色之夜

的輕盈

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

漂浮在肉体之外

夏卡尔的蓝色之夜

的轻盈

Bio Sketch

Dr. Randy Brooks is Professor of English Emeritus at Millikin University where he teaches courses on haiku and tanka. He and his wife, Shirley Brooks, are publishers of Brooks Books and co-editors of Mayfly haiku magazine. His most recent publication is HAIKU DECK, with 52 haiku or senryu on 52 cards.

One Man's Maple Moon: Lingerie Drawer Tanka by Margaret Chula

English Original

cleaning out

Mother’s lingerie drawer

the tears in her stockings

sewn up so tightly --

all my unanswered questions

Winter Deepens, 2018

Margaret Chula 

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

清理

母親的內衣抽屜

她絲襪上的破洞

縫得如此緊密 --

我所有未解的疑問

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

清理

母亲的内衣抽屉

她丝袜上的破洞

缝得如此紧密 --

我所有未解的疑问

Bio Sketch

 

Margaret Chula has published two collections of tanka: Always Filling, Always Full and Just This. She has promoted tanka through her one-woman dramatization, “Three Women Who Loved Love”, which traveled to Krakow, New York, Boston, Portland, Ottawa, and Ogaki, Japan. And from 2011 to 2015, Maggie served as president of the Tanka Society of America.

Butterfly Dream: Remains Haiku by Elmedin Kadric

English Original

what remains of her remains ocean stars

Modern Haiku, 56:1, 2025

Elmedin Kadric 

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

她遺骸的殘留海洋之星

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

她遗骸的残留海洋之星

Bio Sketch

Elmedin Kadric was born in Novi Pazar, Serbia, but writes out of Helsingborg, Sweden. His first collection, buying time (2017), was published by Red Moon Press.

Butterfly Dream: Grey Hair and Smile Haiku by Deborah Karl-Brandt

English Original

grey hair  

something left of the boy  

in his smile  

 

First Frost, 7, Spring 2023 

Deborah Karl-Brandt

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

灰白的頭髮

男孩的某些特質仍留在

他的笑容裡

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

灰白的头发

男孩的某些特质仍留在

他的笑容里

Bio Sketch

Deborah Karl-Brandt works as an author, editor, and educator. Her poems have been published widely, and several have won awards. In 2025, she was selected as a fellow at Confluence. Her new book, Wild Rabbit Moon, was published in 2026.

Reading More and Writing Better: Pond Haiku by Chen-ou Liu

reading Basho

with or without

reflection

alone by the pond

Chen-ou Liu

FYI: The phrase “reading Bashō” functions as a joshi, or prefatory note, providing the reader with immediate context while allowing the haiku itself to remain remarkably sparse and focused. More importantly, it transforms the poem by alerting the reader that it is engaging with the history of haiku itself—specifically, Bashō’s famous “old pond” (古池や) haiku, which is subtly evoked by L3.

L1, “with or without,” immediately introduces a question or duality. The phrase is deliberately incomplete, leaving the reader to wonder: with or without what?

L2, “reflection,” supplies the missing term while opening the poem to multiple interpretations. It can refer to the physical reflection in the pond, but also to the mental or emotional reflection prompted by reading Bashō.

L1–L2, “with or without / reflection,” also possess an appealing meta-haiku quality. They can be read as asking whether a haiku requires reflection—not only in the literal sense of a reflected image, but also in the sense of intellectual or emotional contemplation. The pond in L3 suddenly makes the physical meaning of “reflection” concrete.

L3, “alone by the pond,” then brings the poem back to a tangible scene while simultaneously echoing the solitude associated with Bashō’s poetry. As the closing line, it is particularly effective: after the conceptual uncertainty of L1–L2, it gives the haiku a sense of stillness and resolution.

There is also an implied thematic parallel at work. While reading Bashō, the narrator finds themselves alone beside a pond, inhabiting a scene that could itself be the subject of a Bashō-like haiku. The poem therefore becomes both an observation and a quiet act of literary reflection—reading Bashō while, in a sense, entering his world.

A Room of My Own: "Deadline Eve" Gembun

Rain pitter-pattering on the roof all night.

deadline eve

the cursor blinks blinking

after I write

FYI: This could be read as a prequel to the following gembun:

My fingers click-clacking — hail against the window.

what's left unsaid

between words and lines ...

alone at false dawn

NeverEnding Story, September 1 2026

At 6 a.m., a film of cold grease has formed over my untouched coffee.

I add three words

revise them then kill the line ...

paper-white dawn

NeverEnding Story, September 23, 2026 

Added:

first autumn chill

the ladder to my tree house

two rungs missing

FYI: This is a sequel to my haiku below:

tree house

a ladder leading

to the moon 

Stardust Haiku, 66, June 2022

Added:

further in

and further in ...

moonlit fog

Added:

a begging bowl

outside the temple gate

rows of shoes

One Man's Maple Moon: Note Tanka by George Swede

English Original

in a note to myself

i list the deck’s split board

the rake’s missing tine

the gate’s broken latch ...

and then there’s me

Arithmetic, 2020

George Swede

Chinese Translation (Traditional)

在給自己的便條裡

我列出甲板的木板裂開了

耙子少了一根耙齒

大門的門閂壞了 ...

然後, 還有我自己

Chinese Translation (Simplified)

在给自己的便条里

我列出甲板的木板裂开了

耙子少了一根耙齿

大门的门闩坏了 ...

然后, 还有我自己

Bio Sketch

George Swede's most recent collections of haiku are Almost Unseen (Decatur, IL: Brooks Books, 2000), Joy In Me Still (Edmonton: Inkling Press, 2010) and micro haiku: three to nine syllables (Inspress, 2014). He is a former editor of Frogpond: Journal of the Haiku Society of America (2008-2012) and a former Honorary Curator of the American Haiku Archives (2008-2009).

Poetic Musings: Fireballs Rising and Falling Haiku by Chen-ou Liu

Against the Drowning Noise of Other Words, CCLII: "ceasefire" airstrikes

heavenward

                     rising

fireballs

               fireballs

                              falling

heavenward

NeverEnding Story, November 19 2025

Chen-ou Liu

Commentary: This visual haiku utilizes concrete poetry techniques to transform the page into an active canvas of conflict. By breaking away from traditional left-aligned metrics, the stepped indentation forces the reader’s eyes to physically mimic the kinetic arc of warfare.

• The initial staircase step from heavenward to rising creates a literal ascent.

• The staggered drop from fireballs to falling mirrors a terrifying, gravity-driven descent.

By mapping the text to the physical movement of the ordnance, the poem transcends static text, becoming a cinematic vector of a live airstrike.

Grammatically, the piece collapses traditional sentence structure into an innovative, non-linear reading experience. It can be deciphered as a continuous loop:

The observer gazes heavenward at fireballs rising, and fireballs falling back toward earth—only for the gaze to be pulled heavenward once again.

By stripping away articles and connectors, the word heavenward serves a dual purpose: it is both the baseline perspective of the vulnerable witness looking up, and the destination modifier for the rockets launching up.

The most haunting element of this haiku is its structural bookending. Opening and closing with the exact same word—heavenward—creates a cyclical, closed loop.

There is no structural resolution or final resting point for the eye. Instead, the end of the poem immediately feeds back into the beginning.

FYI: My haibun below could be read as its sequel:

To Save a Life

The finale of the Israeli award-winning documentary NAZA, a Hebrew acronym for "collateral damage," captures a father trapped in a furnace of grief. Heat radiates from the tangled grid of collapsed iron and melted plastic. Coughing through blinding smoke, he drags broken blocks of drywall away, his cries echoing off the smoldering rubble that traps his children.

calm between fireballs

an armless girl gazing 

heavenward, yet ...

The New Verse News, October 8 2026

Note: The title invokes Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:1 (22a): “Whoever destroys a soul, itis considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.”

The concluding word " yet ..."opens a painful gap between the ideal and the reality.

If every life is an entire world, yet a child can be left maimed by war, what becomes of that world?

If saving a life is an act of immeasurable significance, yet lives are destroyed amid the rubble, what meaning can we give to that teaching?

If the girl gazes heavenward, yet ..., what can follow? Hope? Prayer? Accusation? Silence?

Furthermore, the ellipsis refuses to answer. It leaves the moral and spiritual contradiction unresolved.

Without it, the haiku ends with “heavenward,” a word that can suggest transcendence, faith, or hope. The image is poignant, but it permits a relatively consoling interpretation.

And

"Israel's oldest daily, Haaretz," which was was sanctioned by the Israeli government on Nov. 24, 2024

October 7, 2026: Bearing Witness: Websites Document Gaza's Catastrophe for the Ages

These efforts are laying bare the humanitarian disaster and Israel's suspected war crimes, preserving evidence for courts and 'the day Israeli society has the desire or courage to look in the mirror'