October 2003, Volume 1, Number 4

Eiko Yachimoto - 36 Haiku

Born in Yokosuka, Japan, on February 14, 1947, Eiko Yachimoto graduated from Sophia University in Tokyo (with a Russian language major and a minor in political science). She also graduated from the University of Minnesota, earning a 2nd BA in English language and literature in 1982. She works as a writer, translator and/or a language teacher--sometimes employed, sometimes as a free-lancer. She has been Vice President of the Association for International Renku since 2000. She is married, and is the mother of a 17 year old girl. She has lived in Yokohama, Sasebo, and Minneapolis, and now lives in Yokosuka.

spring hail-
my senses awakened
in its quiet melting

umbrella handles
all around a huge vase
water warming

Ash Wednesday--
a warbler in the plum
that late neighbor planted

easter potluck--
a man pours himself
the last drops of green tea

Blue Mountain U
opens to the busy street-
the spring of cradles

in-between spring waves
a secret passage to
the sea palace

blossom breeze~
a young shadow sways
on the new concrete

the demolition site-
the sun, the breeze
and falling petals

blossom rain--
the duration before
fingernails dry

audible to me
blossom branches sigh
in the river’s shade

scolded the child into her tears
l look up at the hazy moon ...

gigantic roots
embracing the earth--
the blossom storm


from a train braving may -storm
a battleship the weeping ghost

find me
in sky-going green storm
if you may
-in Shiki’s voice

breathing with
blades of green grass--
the tide flows in

a cicada in labor:
‘soft, quiet, green...’
mother-in-law’s voice

up through the vine climb
the red and the blue

a shaft of light--
cicadas resume chorus
a crybaby stops

Covent Garden:
a cell-phone to a naked drummer
stops live music

night rain cooling the tin roof
four siblings’ quarrel dissolved into sleep

last night’s creases unfold to the east
dewdrops quiver in asagao*
*asagao or morningface is how we call morning-glory.

blooming smaller
morning-glories seeing off

Muir of Ord Station:
through rosebay willow-herbs

a cicada shell
clings to the leaf drooping
in the drizzle


September the first-
faint red of begonia buds
in elephant-ear leaves

new coolness--
each facet of green pine cone
faintly brown

AA hospital:
waving towards tilting pines
long blades of grass*
*called susuki, o Japanese pampas grass

sifted through the keyaki leaves
platinum particles the famous moon

neighbor’s baby
gone back to sleep--
echoes of crickets

a shrinking puddle:
my face against
deep autumn clouds

four o’clocks,
why my mother losing

the relativity of physics
tonight’s moon

led me to falling sazanqua
in Blyth’s graveyard
November steps


beach walk--
dream dusts dance
in the first light

Martin Luther King Day--
battleships turn feminine
in sunrise yellow

ferry crossing --
an old daffodil valley

~compiled by eiko yachimoto
31 August 2003

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