Three haiku which all wound up on the same page for no particular reason

Count beats with fingers.
Math and English intercourse.
My haiku is born.

by Douglas S. Malan

Spring pollen unleashed:
trees having sex in my nose—
arboreal orgies.

by Deborah Davitt

smoking pot
the casserole
almost forgotten

by Robert Witmer

Read more Parody


Douglas S. Malan likes words. Some other journals have published his poetry, and some people have paid to read his sentence groupings that aren't poetry.

Deborah Davitt remains as astonished as anyone else that she writes poetry—and even more so that people apparently read it. Nothing could seem more improbable, and yet, here we are. For more about her increasingly implausible assortment of poetry, short stories, and novels, please see:

Robert Witmer's life is reflected in one of his haiku:
returning home
from home.

This aging émigré seldom knows if he's coming or going. Resident of Tokyo, fortunate in family, friends, occupation, and creative vocation, he often prefers to play pétanque. He has recently published a book of haiku: Finding a Way.