The newest (& best?) (what's the one special word in it?):
.
Busy stream; carved rocks;
transportation to the sea
for innocent leaves.
.
.
Gently thru the air,
a snowflake touches the pond.
One becomes other.
.
A bear, still at last.
With limp wings, a small bird falls.
The river flows on.
.
Night rain has frozen.
In silence, a breeze moves thru.
Twigs make thin crisp cracks.
.
On the mountain stream
it was either dusk or dawn
reflected on the ice.
.
It catches the eye.
A tiny cloud that dances.
Insects on the wing.
.
Stars fade, trees appear.
The colorless time of dawn's
most subtle approach.
.
A wild dragonfly
enjoys his only summer,
flying and resting.
.
It is nothing else;
the red flower does not try
to be as it is.
.
The shadows of clouds
climb fresh-blown from the ocean,
easily uphill.
...or:
Moving up the hill,
lazy shadows of small clouds
climb without effort.
.
Morning's last fogbank
with a belly-dancer's veils,
shows seductive hills.
.
Starry, starry night...
the artist's brush that showed us
pain and daffodils.
.
Lying in darkness,
up through silhouettes of pines,
a tunnel to a star!
.
East moon; western storm.
between the moon and lightning,
an Egret awaits.
.
The spotted bettle
in his life, wanders widely...
within a man's stride.
.
The cool autumn rain
falls on hollow onion greens.
Tiny, empty sound!
.
Alone on the ice,
snow crystals blow through the mind,
piercing without chill.
.
Sneak up like a cat;
a string of tiny, sweet sounds.
Mountain brook in May.
.
The first three Mallards
breaking trail with plaintive honks,
echo on bare hills.
.
Clothed in snowy pines,
the bottom half of mountains
rest under flat clouds
.
Stream-water meets rock.
sound as clear as the water
crisp as melted ice.
.
Sharp ice, smooth water.
Dark earth beside white snowbanks.
Brave first flowers grow.
.
Smooth or rough, the waves
move everywhere on the earth,
and make no mistakes.
.
Mountain ices melt
and make their way to the sea,
observed... or unseen.
.
In the just-thawed mud,
waking but still icy frogs
soon will croak for love.
.
Even cold-blooded frogs
in the chrysalis of spring
will sing for warm love.
.
Ever so gently,
"yugen" can turn around,
and take you back home.
.
Ground-bound creatures stay.
Where weather suits his feathers,
the wild goose will go.
.
. . . Poe-ish Haiku (Lowku)
One world goes away
with the setting of the sun.
Its alter-ego rises.
.
. . . A modern one:
The foolish spider
rushes to the high thick grass
as the mower comes.
.
All above by JKH, mostly when in the Sierra
(physically or mentally).
.
Ripple in still water
where there is no pebble tossed
or wind to stir it.
by JKH, adapted from a line
in the Tibetan Book of the Dead,
seen on the Yahoo UU club.
.
Camellia-petal
fell in silent dawn... spilling
a water-jewel.
. . from basho
.
Thus too, my lovely life
must end, another flower...
to fall and float away.
. . . onitsura