Send haiku for the community blog post

With a bonus Tuesday in November, I decided I wanted to host another community blog post! (View the May community post here.) The first submission has already come in! I look forward to reading all the poems that come in and assembling them.

Theme: Harvest

Deadline: 11:59 p.m. CST on Wednesday, November 23rd

Submission Form:

Notes: Haiku in languages other than English are welcome; please provide a translation. Experimental haiku are also welcome. If sending previously published haiku, remember to provide publication credit.

Please reach out if you have questions, or if you have issues using the form.

Peter Schmidt: Cranberry Bites Back

In Gratitude
Thank you to M.A. Dubbs, who  bought me  three coffees in August! I’m now 35% of the way  toward my goal of  covering website costs for the year. Those who want to  support the  podcast financially can do so at:

November Community Blog Post
I’m putting together another community blog post (view the May community post here).
Theme: Harvest
Deadline: 11:59 p.m. CST on Wednesday, November 23rd
Submission Form:
Notes: Haiku in languages other than English are welcome; please provide a translation. Experimental haiku are also welcome. If sending previously published haiku, remember to provide publication credit.

More From Peter Schmidt
Read Peter’s haiku in the May community blog post:

Hear Peter’s haiku in the podcast community open mic:

Read Peter’s contest-winning poem here:

Verbing Weirds Language
View the Calvin & Hobbes strip we referenced here:

Theme Music
“J’attendrai” by Django Reinhardt, performing at Cleveland Music Hall, 1939. This recording is in the public domain. Hear the whole song at

Rethinking the Seasons

Rather than do a typical haiku commentary post, this week, I wanted to reflect on the ways in which my commitment to haiku practice over the past few months has impacted my perception of the seasons as I experience them. It’s been seven months since I launched this project, and while my haiku practice and saijiki study go beyond the scope of food, the framework of this blog and podcast is where I come to work out my ongoing understanding of kigo.

I’ve written elsewhere on the blog (my intro post is just one example) about how my direct experience of the seasons doesn’t always line up with what the Gregorian calendar says. This was in part influenced by geography (Cleveland has long winters, Austin has even longer summers), but also a sense that dividing the seasons according to equinoxes and solstices didn’t truly account for the way the climate felt.

One of the reasons I was intrigued by the haiku (lunar) calendar was because the seasons all began roughly six weeks earlier than I was accustomed to; the equinoxes and solstices were in the middle of the seasons, rather than the initiation point for each season. As I’ve delved into this seasonal exploration, I stumbled across Naturalist Weekly, a blog which, among other things, talks about the 72 micro-seasons. While I think micro-seasons vary from climate to climate, I think they are a fascinating framework for how to study and experience one’s own surroundings, and I’m brainstorming with ways to work with micro-seasons in 2023.

This year’s study of saijiki and kigo has shown me a great deal of how I experience the seasons. The biggest takeaway for me is that the way I perceive the changes in time relates to fluctuations in daylight. On some level, I’ve known this for a while. My last few years in Cleveland, I struggled a great deal with seasonal depression. Living in Austin, I didn’t struggle quite as much because it wasn’t as cold, but I also noticed I felt demoralized by the lack of daylight. Both ends of daylight savings time make me feel jetlagged, and when it ends in the fall, that abrupt plunge into early darkness is really rough on me.

The author in front of a waterfall in Ohio.
Slightly under-dressed for a Thanksgiving visit to Cuyahoga Valley National Park.

In December 2019, I also observed that while the Gregorian late autumn (ranging from mid-October to the winter solstice) is particularly tough for me, I start thriving again fairly early in January. While many people I know struggle through the cold, snowy first quarter of the year, my mood and motivation are consistently on the upswing. Maybe it’s because I love what New Year’s symbolizes (even though my celebrations are a lot more toned down than they used to be), and that gives me a mental boost. But I think there’s something more, and it’s that even though the days are still short and the nights are still long, it’s already getting brighter. And my body is well-aware of the gradually increasing days.

In the haiku calendar, winter starts more or less on November 5th. The lunar New Year generally takes place in early February, with actual celebration periods varying based on the specific traditions of Asian countries. The New Year period gives way to spring during a time that is still solidly winter based on the Gregorian calendar.

The author standing on a mountain in Mexico
A January day in Real de Catorce, Mexico. Even 9,000 feet up, it was fairly warm in the daylight.

As I wrote back in that initial blog post, I was flummoxed by how spring could start in February, when everything is still snowy and dormant. Yet the first blossoms of the calendar year aren’t that far off. But what I think is more significant is that the days are getting incrementally longer.

Based on the haiku calendar, the December solstice is the middle of winter, and is the official turning point, sending us down the path to spring. So while a few months ago, I was flummoxed by February being considered a spring month, when I think about the increase in available daylight, it makes total sense.

Even if it’s a struggle for me to classify November as winter instead of autumn, ultimately, the seasonal label doesn’t matter as much. What’s important to me is the insight of how the changes in daylight affect my body, mind, and spirit. And I don’t know if I would have come to that conclusion if I hadn’t embarked on this process in my poetry.

(But . . . can we do away with DST already? Or keep it. I don’t care. Let’s just pick one and stop switching the clocks twice a year, okay?)

M.A. Dubbs: Pink Tamales

In Gratitude
Thank you to Lorraine who  bought me three coffees in August! I’m now 28% of the way  toward my goal of covering website costs for the year. Those who want to  support the podcast financially can do so at:

More from M.A. Dubbs

Failed Haiku Food Issue
You can find the May 2022 Failed Haiku issue themed around food here:

Theme Music
“J’attendrai” by Django Reinhardt,   performing at Cleveland Music Hall, 1939. This recording is in   the public domain. Hear the whole song at

Dining Together

Thanks to Lorraine for the contribution of three coffees! I’ve now covered 28% of my web hosting costs for the year. I’ll be releasing the October bonus recipe next week, so if you want to make a contribution, now’s your chance!

The turn of autumn has me thinking about people gathering together to eat. Maybe it’s because I finally cooked a serious meal (French onion soup) in our new home. Maybe it’s because John’s birthday is just around the corner. Maybe it’s because I’m experiencing my first real autumn in over a decade, and the feelings of coziness it inspires. Either way, I decided to explore haiku in my collection that in some way reflect eating together. Oddly enough, only one of those haiku has a seasonal referent, and it’s summer! The rest best fit in the all-year category. But as always, these posts reflect my collection of food haiku and senryu at a particular moment in time; if I revisit this topic in a year, the seasonal distribution might look entirely different.

All Year

outside the food bank
a ragman shares his crust
with a sparrow

Kim Goldberg, Charlotte DiGregorio’s Writer’s Blog

Kim Goldberg has written an exceptionally tender haiku. Here is a man with next to nothing, yet still has it in his heart to share what little he does have with a small sparrow. While I’d initially intended for this post to focus on haiku about people eating together, I added this poem to the database early in this project, and I kept coming back to it as I was deciding what to write about this week. Per Higginson’s Haiku World, “sparrow” is an all-year term, and I don’t see any other seasonal referent, making it an all-year poem.

black spatula on black frying pan
Photo by Caio on

lover’s quarrel
a bit of shell
in the omelet

Jim Kacian, Kingfisher 3

This poem can be read a few different ways. First, the quarrel could be caused by the presence of a shell in the omelet. Second, the couple could have been quarreling, and the person who made the omelet leaves the shell in as a bit of passive-aggressive revenge. In a third interpretation, the person making the omelet is so flustered by the argument that they let the shell slip in unnoticed. Although there is no seasonal referent, this is nonetheless a poem that opens itself up to the imagination, which is one of my favorite things about a well-wrought haiku.

re-opening . . .
the server remembers
my standing order

Barry Levine, Prune Juice #35

There is something about being a regular at a restaurant that feels special. Yes, the restaurant is part of your routine, but it’s that sense of consistency, the knowledge that the servers see dozens (if not hundreds) of people a day, and yet they still know who you are, and what you like to order. (Cue the Cheers theme song . . .) Barry Levine heightens that feeling by writing this poem in the COVID era. The restaurant has probably been closed for at least three months, maybe six, maybe even a whole year. Yet the server is still there, and that person still remembers. Because re-openings were different everywhere, there’s no seasonal referent in this poem, but that doesn’t make it any less heartwarming.

close up of coffee cup
Photo by Chevanon Photography on

tea tree swamp
weary workers pause
to boil their billy

Louise Hopewell, Echnidna Tracks #9

I placed this poem in the all-year category, though I admit that my lack of knowledge about the southern hemisphere might be interfering with my understanding of the poem. This haiku required some research on my end. To “boil their billy” means to make tea. Here, we see laborers taking a pause to rest and enjoy some tea. Tea-drinkers tend to drink it all year, workers tend to work year-round, and thus I placed this poem all year. However, if I’m incorrect, please let me know in the comments!

shared coffee
all the stories
we don’t tell

Lori Kiefer, Haikuniverse, October 5th, 2022

Just as devoted tea-drinkers can enjoy hot tea year-round, coffee drinkers usually take their beverage hot, even in the middle of summer. The avoidance of painful topics and/or the keeping of secrets also isn’t limited to a particular season. Lori Kiefer’s senryu does a beautiful job of showing a sense of distance even in physical proximity.


close up photo of raw green beans
Photo by Yulia Rozanova on

wind from the sea—
I clean the green beans
with my mother

Pasquale Asprea, Haikuniverse, June 26th, 2022

The act of shelling or cleaning beans can be a fun social activity. While it wasn’t something that happened in my family, I’ve cleaned a big garden haul with friends, many of whom shared fond memories of doing so in childhood. The green beans place this haiku in the summer. If you’re familiar with fresh sea air, it’s easy to feel the breeze, smell the salt, and feel the connection that comes from cleaning, preparing, or preserving food with a loved one.

I hope that as the weather gets colder and the days get shorter, you have plenty of opportunity to share good meals with people you care about.

(PS – A shout out to the wonderful folks a Kampai who know my favorite items on the menu.)

Episode 8: A Tour of My Favorite Saijiki

Where to Find the Three Saijiki
Haiku World: An International Poetry Almanac by William J. Higginson can be purchased at many used bookstores, including AbeBooks:

The Five Hundred Essential Japanese Season Words by Kenkichi Yamamoto is available at:

A Dictionary of Haiku Classified by Season Words with Traditional and Modern Methods by Jane Reichhold is available at:

Join the Conversation
I’m seeking guests for December! If you’d like to be on the podcast, visit and fill out the form. My life is a little hectic right now, so if I don’t follow up in a timely manner, send me a reminder.

Support the Project
You can make a one-time or recurring donation to the Culinary Saijiki at You also can help by sharing this episode with people you think will love it!

Theme Music
“J’attendrai” by Django Reinhardt,  performing at Cleveland Music Hall, 1939. This recording is in  the public domain. Hear the whole song at


Those familiar with the history of haiku know that the style emerged from the longer, collaborative form called renga. Renga were typically written at social gatherings, which often involved tea or sake. In my podcast episode with Jennifer Hambrick, we spoke a bit about alcohol in the haiku tradition, and acknowledged the challenges of celebrating what is a genuinely toxic substance that can lead to serious health issues, including addiction. I believe it’s important to acknowledge these complexities, and recognize the fact that, whether we like it or not, people have written, and are going to continue writing, libation haiku and senryu. I think it helps that these poems also are complex, and address sensuality, taste, pleasure, and problems.

So far in my research, I haven’t come across many alcohol terms that are clearly seasonally specific. Certainly, they exist; I’ve referenced Oktoberfest beer before, and that is certainly a fall term. Eggnog and hot toddies could correspond with winter, and if I find any of those, I’ll add them to my database. At this point, though, much of my collection includes drinking words that could best be described as all-year; all of the seasonal poems in this post include kigo not specifically related to drinking.

All Year

a friendship—
the whole universe drowned
in a wineglass

Franjo Ordanić, Failed Haiku 70

The loss of a friendship can be at least as devastating (if not more) than the end of a romantic relationship. I interpret this senryu as one in which drinking leads to a friendship’s tragic demise. Certainly if you know the pain of losing a close friend, it really can feel like drowning. In my interpretation of the poem, resentment has been building for some time, and one night after a drink too many, things blow up. As with many senryu, there’s no explicit seasonal referent. We would either need a standard kigo, or perhaps the name of a specific wine, to place this at a particular time of year.

ramen and beer . . .
the self-checkout lets me
avoid speaking

Joshua Gage, First Frost #1

Going out for ramen and beer can be a social activity, but in the second line of Joshua Gage’s haiku, we see it turned into a solitary venture. The second and third lines indicate that this solitude is a choice; the self-checkout lets him avoid speaking. The speaker of the haiku doesn’t just want to eat and drink alone; he wants to avoid conversation with the cashier as well. Ramen can be eaten any time of year, and I maintain that beer is an all-season word (more on that in the summer section of this post), so I consider this an all-season piece.

priest holding a chalice and communion bread
Photo by gabriel manjarres on

Holy Wafer
all sins forgiven—
I still get drunk

Eve Castle, Haiku Pea Podcast, Series 5, Episode 10

Communion is an all-year act (more on that in the winter section of this post), so without a further seasonal word, this is an all-year senryu. Written in homage to Jack Kerouac, Eve Castle’s poem speaks to the desire for transcendence and the limits of human fallibility. Even with the rituals that absolve us, we turn around and go back to our bad habits.


beer with a bourbon chaser
a wasp disappears
under a shingle

Kristen Lindquist, bottle rockets #46
clear glass mug filled with yellow liquid
Photo by Engin Akyurt on

While William J. Higginson lists beer as a summer kigo in Haiku World: An International Poetry Almanac, as I mentioned in a previous post, I don’t inherently agree with that assessment. Beer and bourbon are consumed year-round; it’s the presence of the wasp that makes this clearly a summer haiku. I’m also intrigued by the first image, because it inverts what I understand to be the usual drinking lineup. I admittedly have never had a chaser, and it was my understanding that people drank liquor first, and chased it with a beer. In my interpretation of Kirsten Lindquist’s haiku, the inversion of the standard order (beer coming before bourbon) mirrors the wasp as it goes upside-down beneath a shingle. (If you disagree with my interpretation, please let me know in the comments! Maybe I’m just seriously ignorant in the ways of drinking.)


will you, too, sink
into tonight’s last whiskey?
full moon

Joshua Gage, Haiku Pea Podcast, Series 5, Episode 4
selective focus photo of a shot glass with tequila near a slice of lime and salt
Photo by Los Muertos Crew on

tequila dreams
the half-moon floating
in amber

Mark E. Brager, Lifting the Sky: Southwestern Haiku and Haiga, ed. Scott Wiggerman and Constance Campbell. Dos Gatos Press, 2013.

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere (and as is mentioned in a number of saijiki), the moon is an autumn kigo. Neither whiskey nor tequila have their specific seasons (though aficionados should leave a comment correcting me if I’m wrong!), but the presence of the moon means I interpret these two haiku as taking place in autumn. What interests me about both of them is the way the moon appears to be immersed in liquor. In Joshua Gage’s poem, the full moon might sink. In Mark E. Brager’s poem, the half-moon floats suspended in the glass. Perhaps the drinkers are holding their glasses up to the sky. Perhaps they are slumped across tables, so the perspective of the moon appears low. I think Joshua’s poem is a little more morose, while Mark’s poem is a little more mystical, so in the first poem, I see someone slumped, but in the second, I see someone holding a glass.


crunch of snow
in the crosswalk
dirty martini

Jennifer Hambrick, Kingfisher 3

A dirty martini is one one which a splash of olive brine is added to the cocktail. The end result is a martini that is cloudy with a tinge of green. There’s nothing inherently seasonal about this particular cocktail; it’s the first image in Jennifer Hambrick’s haiku that places this poem in winter. When I read this poem, I picture a late winter snow, one that is icier, and a little gray from foot traffic and tires. Unlike fresh, early snow, this snow has been adulterated, and is less visually appealing. Of course, those who enjoy dirty martinis might not agree with the comparison, but I nonetheless think it’s a striking image.

vodka martini in cocktail glass
Photo by Polina Kovaleva on

his bartending story
while I set up the cups
winter communion

Dan Scherwin, bottle rockets #46

While a child’s first communion typically takes place in the spring in Western countries, the general act of communion happens year-round. Dan Scherwin specifically names the season here, which in my reading, enhances the sense of intimacy. The speaker of the senryu is setting up cups for the formal ritual, while someone keeping them company tells a story. The speaker of the poem and the teller of the story are in their own form of communion, being present with each other, keeping the bleakness of winter at bay with each other’s company.

As always, I look forward to your comments and questions! Feel free to also suggest post topics of you have them. While I do keep a list, I’m also curious about what people want to read on this site!

Jennifer Hambrick: Saving the Crust for Last

More from Jennifer Hambrick
You can order Jennifer’s haibun collection, Joyride (Red Moon Press, 2021) and her newest collection, In the High Weeds (National Federation of State Poetry Societies, 2022) from her website:

Watch Jennifer’s interview with violinist Zina Schiff and conductor Avlana Eisenberg for WOSU Public Media:

Read more of Jennifer’s haiku in the Living Haiku Anthology,-jennifer.html

Three poems by Jennifer Hambrick in Sequestrum


Join the Conversation
I’m seeking guests for October, November, and December! If you’d like to be on the podcast, visit and fill out the form. My life is a little hectic right now, so if I don’t follow up in a timely manner, send me a reminder.

Support the Project
You can make a one-time or recurring donation to the Culinary Saijiki at You also can help by sharing this episode with people you think will love it!

Theme Music
“J’attendrai” by Django Reinhardt, performing at Cleveland Music Hall, 1939. This recording is in the public domain. Hear the whole song at

Food in Classical Haiku: First Thoughts

While saijiki generally focus on contemporary haiku, I also felt called to take a look at classical haiku to see how poets of the past incorporated food into their work. Since I have to rely on translation, and no two translations are the same, I plan to revisit this topic from time to time, exploring different translations of the same poem when I can. For this post, all poems come from The Sound of Water (Shambhala Centaur Editions, 2000), which is Sam Hamill’s collection of classical haiku translations.

Earlier this year, I wrote about how I detected three primary ways that food relates to haiku seasons:

  1. Food words that are a definite seasonal referent;
  2. Food words that are not part of any specific season;
  3. Food words that become seasonal with an additional modifying word

In The Sound of Water, most of the haiku I found fit into the first two categories. I also found that most of the poems connected to food were summer poems. Of course, this is just one small book, so I’m not making definitive statements yet. At the very least, it was interesting to see what turned up in the context of this anthology.


Breakfast enjoyed
in the fine company of
morning glories

Matsuo Bashō

I begin each day
with breakfast greens and tea
and morning glories

Takarai Kikaku

Breakfast is an all-year word. You either eat breakfast, or you don’t. While the Muslim observance of Ramadan requires fasting during the day, this holy period isn’t tied to a specific season. Even the image of “breakfast greens” in Kikaku’s poem doesn’t inherently create a specific season; there are bitter herbs in spring, abundant greens in summer, and hardy greens in autumn. Only in winter is it tough to find fresh greens. Even then, the poem might be referring to pickled greens. It’s the word morning glories in each poem that signify summer.

sweet healthy sliced melon in white bowl
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on

Wet with morning dew
and splotched with mud, the melon
looks especially cool

Matsuo Bashō

All by itself,
that beautiful melon,
entirely self-sufficient

Hattori Ransetsu

Melon is generally a summer kigo. While there can be some early spring melons, and some that appear in autumn as well (you could get a decent cantaloupe shockingly late in Texas), they are generally at their best in the summer. These 17th-century haiku have a timeless feel to them. While there are some stylistic elements that indicate they are classical rather than contemporary, they don’t seem stodgy or old. I love that haiku poets have been writing about cool, beautiful melons for centuries. The above poems show me how food really does connect us to ancestors, whether they be family members, or our artistic lineage.

Singing, planting rice,
village songs more lovely
than famous city poems

Matsuo Bashō

With the noon conch blown
those old rice-planting songs
are suddenly gone

Yosa Buson

My noontime nap
disrupted by voices singing
rice-planting songs

Kobayashi Issa

For rice-planting women
there’s nothing left unsoiled
but their song

Konishi Raizan

Rice was the food I found referenced the most in The Sound of Water, yet in this collection, poems about it are entirely related to agriculture. Many poets wrote specifically about rice-planting, and about the songs that the field workers sang. (I’m sure it’s an effect of the translation, but Bashō’s rice-planting poem has a certain Whitmanesque quality to it . . . or perhaps “Song of Myself” has a certain Bashōesque aspect.) These poems also illustrate the value of not just having a saijiki, but having a few different ones on hand! It’s easy to make assumptions about a time of year based on your own experience, which is necessarily limited. I associate planting of all kinds with spring, which isn’t even accurate in the United States! There are a number of crops and flowers that get planted in the fall to winter over, and bloom in spring. At first, I was putting these classical rice-planting haiku in the spring category. Then, however, I consulted with Yamamoto Kenkichi’s The Five Hundred Essential Japanese Season Words. There, I found that rice-planting related to summer! It would have been so easy for me to assume these were spring haiku, and I’m glad I had reference material on hand to guide me in the right direction.

Without a sound,
munching young rice-plant stalks,
a caterpillar dines

Hattori Ransetsu

The only haiku I found related to eating rice didn’t involve humans, nor the grains of rice that make up a staple of the human diet. Rather, a caterpillar is dining on the fresh, young stalks. The young stalks, as well as the caterpillar that is not yet a butterfly, ground us in summer.

When the wild turnip
burst into full blossom
a skylark sang

Kobayashi Issa

While I’ve never seen a wild turnip in real life, Issa’s haiku reminded me of the giant squash blossoms that appear in the summer, and how glorious they are. Whether in a domestic garden, or something you might forage, the vibrancy of summer is something that endures over the centuries in the haiku tradition.


Autumn breezes
spin small fish hung to dry
from beach house eaves

Yosa Buson

While certain species of fish are best harvested at certain times of the year, that level of specificity doesn’t appear in Buson’s haiku. Rather, the direct naming of the season tells us where we are in the year. The general concept of fish is an all-year term, but the seasonal referent can lend clues to what type of fish they might be. Perhaps Buson is referring to sardines, which are in season late summer and through the fall. The image of the drying fish also reminds the reader that this is the time to preserve food for the long winter ahead.

cooked ramen
Photo by Cats Coming on

In this mountain village,
shining in my soup bowl,
the bright moon arrives

Kobayashi Issa

Here in Shinano
are famous moons, and buddhas,
and our good noodles

Kobayashi Issa

Neither soup nor noodles are inherently seasonal. As with fish, specific types of soup or noodles better correspond to certain parts in the year. A chilled soup is more appropriate in the summer. Soba noodles are part of the New Year’s ritual. Yet the words “soup” and “noodles” in and of themselves need modifiers. I place these two haiku in autumn because of the presence of the moon, an autumn kigo.


Plum blossoms in bloom
in a Kitano teahouse,
the master of sumo

Yosa Buson

As I mentioned in my June post “The Seasons of Tea,” people consume tea year-round. In formal tea ceremony, the dishes you serve varies from season to season. The presence of plum blossoms in Buson’s haiku indicate that we’re at a teahouse in springtime.

Only the shoots
of new green leaves, white water,
and yellow barley

Yosa Buson

The shoots of young plants, whether leaves or grasses, is a common spring kigo. None of the plants are fully formed. The water is frothy with melted snow and spring rain. There is nothing yet to harvest, whether that be mature barley or fruit from the tree. Yet this haiku points to the sheer amount of potential inherent in springtime.

barley field
Photo by Filippo Peisino on

People, more people
scurrying through spring breezes
along the rice-field dikes

Ichihara Tayo-Jo

Rice fields once again appear in spring. Here, the emphasis is on humans coming and going on their journeys, walking along the fields that grow their food. The verb “scurrying” suggests that these people are busy, inattentive, perhaps not even noticing that the source of a staple crop is all around them. It turns out it’s not only the modern age that takes people out of the present moment!


Through frozen rice fields
moving slowly on horseback,
my shadow creeps by

Matsuo Bashō

One of the things I found interesting while rereading The Sound of Water is the extent to which rice fields can appear in all seasons, but no haiku about people eating rice. That’s not to say those types of haiku don’t exist in the classical tradition; they just didn’t make their way into this book. I’m curious to reread more classical anthologies to see what differences I find. The above haiku also points to how a rice field in and of itself isn’t inherently seasonal; it’s other words, such as frozen, that ground us in a specific time of year.

yellow latex gloves on dish rack
Photo by Lisa Fotios on

Walking on dishes
the rat’s feet make the music
of the shivering cold

Yosa Buson

Maybe the dishes are lying dirty in a basin, because it’s so cold, nobody wants to deal with them. Or maybe the dishes are clean and put away, but the rat is rattling around on them, looking for some warmth. While my mind initially went to the first interpretation, the second is just as valid. Either way, I delight in this haiku because it reminds me that something as simple as doing the dishes are worthy of poetic moments.

Episode 6: Matt Defibaugh: On Sorghum Stilts

In Gratitude
Thank you to our anonymous donor who bought me a total of six coffees in August! I’m now 20% of the way toward my goal of covering website costs for the year. Those who want to support the podcast financially can do so at:

Join the Conversation
I’m seeking guests for October, November, and December! If you’d like to be on the podcast, visit and fill out the form. My life is a little hectic right now, so if I don’t follow up in a timely manner, send me a reminder.

More from Matthew Defibaugh
Daily Haiga, January 13, 2022:
Daily Haiga, May 13, 2022:
Haiga in collaboration with Penney L. Mellen:
Matthew’s poetry collection, Hurricane Warning:
Audio edition of Hurricane Warning:

More from Christina Chin
Christina’s blog:
Christina’s YouTube channel: can find Christina on Twitter at:’s feature in the 2021 World Haiku Series:
Five haiku in Lothlorein Poetry Journal:

More About Sorghum
Information from the Oldways Whole Grain Council:

Theme Music
“J’attendrai” by Django Reinhardt,  performing at Cleveland Music Hall, 1939. This recording is in the  public domain. Hear the whole song at