New Year’s Banquet

Posted by Mano on

A black bird
from another world descends
from the cloud

A father nutmegs his son, kicks the ball between two leafless gingko trees, which means the father has scored. The father raises his fist in the air like some footballer celebrating. The father checks his wristwatch: it’s nine-oh-five in the morning.

One crow pries open a bin bag, drags it along the slushy tarmac. Bones, rotten leeks and potato peels spill out like innards. More crows descend from the blue: ya-ya, ya-ya! go the birds, which means ‘it’s party time!’ Another bag vomits a few barely eaten apples and the boldest crow picks one up in his curved beak, then takes off. But flying with an apple in your beak is a tricky business; the crow drops it, and the apple hits the dirty slush below.

Another black beak breaks open a bag, and soon millions of tiny polystyrene pieces flutter in the air. Now each car must slow down to weather this plastic blizzard.

Up comes a city bus. As it crawls along one of its tyres picks up the fattest rubbish bag, which gets caught inside the wheel and is carried away from the crows. Haw, haw! go the birds, which means they are cursing the bus. This was the very last bag of goodies – terrible! And the next New Year banquet is so far off.

For the seventh time the father nutmegs his boy. The boy looks like he’s had enough of this. He slumps onto the bench. The father checks his watch: it’s still only nine-twenty-six.

Joyful Voices: Autumn Haike 2025

Posted by Tito on

Joyful voices,
coloured leaves:
my one-word prayer
of ‘haiku’!

Yuki*

November 29th, a bright, clear autumn day. Seventeen poets left their homes for a haiku hike down the 葛城の古道 Katsuragi no Furumichi, an ancient trail threading Shinto shrines nestled into the high ground to the southwest of 御所 Gose city, Nara. Poets assembled at Gose Station at an early hour, only to discover that the bus to the trailhead had been cancelled! It was now officially ‘off-season’. Nothing for it but to trudge uphill towards 鴨山口神社 Kamoyamaguchi Shrine, with 葛城山 Mt. Katsuragi’s red-and-orange-tinted summit looming against the blue above.

Off the mountain,
a sliver of paraglider
grazing the clouds

Richard

At Kamoyamaguchi Shrine, the poets were approached by two local ladies, curious to see a group with so many unfamiliar, big-nosed faces. They told us about the next, and more important shrine, Hitokotonushi Jinja, to which they pay their respects every New Year morning.

Bidding them farewell, we joined the Furumichi Trail at a huge carved boulder in the road, 六地蔵 Rokujizō. For a while thereafter, we left behind all roads and settlements, gratefully treading an earthen path.

A rag of cloud
flowing so fast –
Old Katsuragi Road

Maya

Green and plump
one forgotten fig –
summer fading

Jeanne

The countryside was decked in autumn colours: reds in leaves and in ripened berries …

my stolen raspberry
was so sweet …
until I noticed
two watching eyes

David

… the yellows of ginkgo trees, of dry grass …

hugged by mountains
the ancient road unveils …
hushed golden ginkgoes

Akihiko

… the oranges of oak leaves, of kaki-fruit drying under eaves or left to ripen on the trees …

Look up –
autumn persimmons,
a pen rested
in her shiny hair!

Reiko

What a good day it was to be out walking in the sun!

autumn clouds
reflected in fishponds –
the sky goes on forever

David

At 一言主神社 Hitokotonushi Shrine, we rested beside a red dragonfly obliviously sunbathing. All were awestruck by the presence of a wide-boled, multi-papped gingko tree, said to be 1,200 years old.

on this pale bench
a scattering of gingko leaves:
their shadows’
autumn verse

Anna

another autumn … crutches for the sacred ginkgo tree

Duro

There, we discussed a spring poem written by Bashō at this shrine and featured in the afterword to our last book, I Wish. With the Gingko-tree listening on, Gerald (in English) and Stephen (in Japanese) intoned the famous verse:

なほ見たし花に明け行く神の顔
Nao mitashi hana ni ake-yuku kami no kao

All the more I wish to see
in those blossoms at dawn
the face of the god

The resident god, Hitokotonushi-no-mikoto, is known to suddenly appear to travellers in his mountains and to challenge them. For whatever reason, his face is always hidden, but he may grant a pilgrim’s wish if it is expressed as a single word.

A one-word wish on each …
gingko leaves falling

Miki

From Hitokotonushi Shrine, we strolled on along 長柄 Nagara High Street, with its quaint Old Post Office and Edo-period Nakamura Residence, towards the site of 南郷 Nangō, an important Kofun period settlement. In a small park beside 住吉神社 Sumiyoshi Shrine we took our lunch. Poets propped themselves against stone lanterns or spread mats on the fallen leaves.

Placing its solitude
in a pool of sunshine –
winter violet

Miki

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At 極楽寺 Gokurakuji Temple, we were joined by two more of Stephen’s university students, Haruki and Satoru, whose departure had been delayed. We began a climb on the lower slopes of 金剛山 Mt. Kongō headed towards 高天彦神社 Takamahiko Shrine: first, ascending steeply through a cryptomeria forest; later, more gradually through farmland … to reach the hidden hamlet of 高天 Takama. The mountain area to the west of here is known as Takamahara, the Land of the Gods. The particular god worshipped at the local shrine, Takamimusuhi, is said to reside on the pyramidal peak above called 白雲岳 Hakuundake, White Cloud Peak, as there is often a white cloud tethered to it.

the god of the peak –
climbers fall silent
at the approach to his shrine

Tomiko

A scarecrow’s clothes
left on a fence –
Takamahara

Tito

This hamlet is thought to have been one of the locations where indigenous people hid when pressured by the incoming Kofun culture and the foundations of a Yamato state. They became known, colloquially, as Tsuchigumo (earth spiders) by the new elite and are said to have links with the Kamo clan. In the beautiful stone-laid precincts of Takamahiko Jinja, there is a memorial rock to the Tsuchigumo.

Beside the shrine a stream babbles down from Mt. Kongō and passes through a waterwheel.

 “Water”
my one-word prayer:
heard from
very ancient times

Marina*

We descended southeastwards, leaving Mt. Kongō behind and with the spectre of the 大峰山脈 Omine Range suddenly looming large before us.

The vista opens up:
undulating mountain ridges,
autumn hues drifting

Haruki

The penultimate shrine, 高鴨神社 Takagamo Jinja, was magnificently dressed in autumn foliage, the peace of its clean green pond only broken by occasional duck calls and the chatter of poets. We strolled on through the shrine woods, dotted with elaborate wooden hokora (Shinto altars).

Each god, each goddess
has its little wooden home …
with a view of the sunset

Tito

Passing through the wide expanse of rice fields known as 風の森 Kazenomori, where the Gose sake company, Yuchō, grows its heavenly Akitsuho rice … away, beyond the Yoshino River, the Omine Range suddenly looked quite near.

The Wind God’s clump
presiding over vast paddies –
stubble in afterglow

Akihiko

We paid our respects at 志那都彦神社 Shinatsuhiko Shrine before descending to the main road to catch a ride back north.

A bus stop named
‘Forest of Winds’ –
Winter journey

Miki

The four youngest members of the group decided not to wait for the bus, however, and set off to walk the last mile to Kamokimi-no-Yu spa.

In salmon pink dusk
hurrying to the bathhouse …
silver moon

Kazue

Cool winds,
Nightfall closing in –
Hot spring ahead!

Satoru*

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* haiku adapted

Report by Jeanne Austry & Tito

Warrior Dreams at Suma-Akashi

Posted by Tito on

Flickering past
between buildings and wires,
the autumn sea
……. (Jun Tsutsumi)

9 Nov. 2025. 17 poets – from Kyoto, Osaka and Nara – gathered at the temple gate of Sumadera, Kobe, for a ginko (composition stroll) … and then a soba lunch beside the Inland Sea in Sumaura Park. The only trouble was … it only stopped raining later, when we moved to Akashi!

Sumadera was one of the last places Basho had visited on his Records of a Travel-worn Satchel journey in 1687-88. He relates how he kept thinking of the Minamotos’ rout of the Taira at nearby Ichinotani, and today the temple welcomes the visitor with two equestrian statues of two of the protagonists, Kumagai Naozane and the boy warrior, Taira no Atsumori, just beside the gate. According to the Heike Monogatari, Atsumori’s head was one of seven thousand Taira scalps to be taken in that terrible show-down, which Yoshitsune had masterminded. Atsumori, still a teenager, was found to have a green flute, 青葉笛, tucked into his armour. When his wife had later visited the battlefield she had taken it away from his headless corpse and put it to her lips. Thereupon, magically it had played itself! Atsumori himself has two graves nearby – one for his head and one for his body. Both have gorinto stone towers to mark them out.

須磨寺や吹かぬ笛聞く木下闇
Suma Temple —
from the shade of a summer tree
hearing the ‘unblown flute’
……. (Basho)

Stones like
a pile of skulls
streaming with rain —
Atsumori’s grave
……. (Tito)

Late autumn rain —
now no one cares about
that young warrior’s flute?
……. (Akishige Iida)

…”An ancient writer pointed out that autumn was the best season to visit this beach, for the scene excelled in loneliness and isolation at that season. … The island of Awaji lies just across a narrow strip of water and the corresponding hill on the mainland side divides the beach of Suma on the left from that of Akashi on the right. … I saw before me the aged grandmother of the young emperor taking him in her arms, his mother then carrying him on her shoulders, his legs pitifully tangled with her dress, and all of them running into a boat to escape the onslaught of the enemy. … This is probably why, even today after a thousand years, the waves break on this beach with such a melancholy sound.” (Basho, Oi no Kobumi’, trans. Yuasa, adapted)

Facing the sea
a line of stone Jizos …
as if still praying
for Heike souls
……. (Akira Kibi)

We had heard that Ozaki Hosai, the now-popular Taisho Period freestyle haiku poet, had once spent many months living at this temple.

雨に降りつめられて暮るる外なし御堂
Confined by the rain,
nothing left but evening darkness
for this Buddha hall
……. (Hosai, Sumadera, 1924)

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The heaviest downpour was reserved for our visit to Sumaura Park and its usually spectacular viewpoint out across the Akashi Strait to the Island of Awaji. A kuhi (poem stone) there is carved with the following haiku:

かたつぶり角振り分けよ須磨明石
Oh, snail,
splay your horns out wide:
one to Suma
the other, to Akashi
……. (Basho)

And so we returned to the Sanyo Line station, travelling on a few stops to the 35th parallel, which runs through Akashi. This was the furthest west that Basho ever reached on his travels. Near Hitomaru Station we were shown a small shrine for the severed arm of Taira no Tadanori. Several poets with bad arms prayed there for their healing!

Next, we walked to the privately owned Ryokuutei (Green Rain Pavilion) 緑雨亭 for our Kukai (haiku evaluation meet), courtesy of its proprietor, Yutaka Imai of the Ibuki Haiku Circle. The meeting was kindly officiated by our members, Yaeno Azuchi and Tomiko Nakayama, and the kukai led by Richard Donovan. During the counting of votes, many of us managed to have a look at the Pavilion library, full of haiku books. The identities of the kukai poem authors were only revealed after lively discussion about the merits/demerits of each verse that had accrued at least 3 points. The most popular of them were:

Autumn drizzle —
rising from the mist below
Heike warriors’ voices
……. (Yaeno Azuchi, 8 points, 1st.)

thick autumn mist —
the silvery-grey horizon
appears and disappears
……. (Jun Tsutsumi, 7, 2nd.)

green persimmon
rolling on the path —
cypress-bark wall
……. (Keiko Takayama, 6, 3rd.)

Akashi Bridge
lost in cloud —
my poem’s gone
……. (Tito, 5, 4th.)

Two more from our Kukai to end this report:

Towering apartments —
the historic placenames
as they are
……. (Reiko Tawara)

One thousand yen
a monk chants a sutra
to the living
and the dead
……. (Duro Jaiye)

Memories

Posted by axhayashi(Akihiko) on

a sepia photo
slips from her diary －
October dusk

This summer was hotter and longer than ever before. People grew weary of the sultry weather and kept putting off what they should have already done. So did I.

One day, while the heat was on, a text message arrived from my wife: “Come back immediately.” Sensing the urgency, I boarded a train straight away.

I checked the fastest route back on my smartphone, then changed trains at Namba to catch a limited express.

After a while, there was an on-board announcement: “Due to an accident further down the line, the express will be delayed.”

suspended in dusk －
the train runs slowly
headed for the past

Eventually, I reached the terminus, Unusually, not a single taxi in sight.  My return had taken only two hours, but it felt like the longest journey of my life.

On entering the hospital room, an unexpected chill enveloped me.

I glanced at my wife’s bloodshot eyes. She was sitting next to my mother, who was cold and seemed smaller than I could ever remember.

Spinning Pinwheels

Posted by Tito on

K. Ramesh in Tamil Nadu, recently sent me a digital copy of his new haiku and haibun collection, Spinning Pinwheels, which includes both new material and selections from his previous books. It was published by Red River in New Delhi, the same publisher as gave us Geethanjali Rajan’s earlier collection, Longing for sun, longing for rain. Ramesh’s book is characterized by a razor-sharp, clear perception of what is truly significant.

the train arrives …
raindrops from
another town

owner’s tree . . .
for the tenant upstairs
a view of blossoms

hill station tea shop . . .
I listen to another
elephant story

Ramesh teaches physics at Pathashaala, a Krishnamurti Foundation school located near Chengelpet, Tamil Nadu, and has contributed in the past to Icebox. The imagery in the book is the India of today: age-old, wise, rural, urban, restful, patient, dynamic …

sound of a coin . . .
the gypsy’s monkey
looks into the bowl

the silence
as we drink the morning tea . . .
mother’s wrinkled hands

sugarcane harvest . . .
every boy in the village
gets a piece to chew

This second haiku was one of the very few containing a break after line two, rather than after line one. Consequently, for better or for worse, one gets into a sort of groove while reading them.

The haibun section of the book is very short, but I particularly enjoyed the last one, On the Road, recounting his early Western literary and artistic experiences and influences. The book ends with a lovely black-and-white picture of the author in profile wearing a broad woven straw sunhat.

I once had the pleasure to meet Ramesh and compose with him in his native place, one of the most truly civilized parts of planet Earth. I hope very much to do so again.

everyone asleep . . .
sun rays on a violin
hanging on the wall

vendor on the beach—
from hand to hand
a spinning pinwheel

starlit sky …
I touch a turtle
before it enters the sea

I felt the presence and the warmth of human hands throughout the book… and  I now press my own hands together in salute. All-in-all, excellent work; inspiring! ISBN 978-93-48111-75-3.

from the Icebox inbox – 58

Posted by Tito on

A stream glittering —
time for ayu fish to go
against its fast flow

(Sosui)

Summer heat —
a bargain found
on a two-slice toaster

(Bandit)

Clambering up
the garden rock …
weasel, frozen
by my light

(Keiko Takayama)

A butterfly gone —
the flower seems to regain
its tranquillity

(Sosui)

Swaying grasses
in an evening breeze:
days
start drawing in

(Hiroko Nakakubo)

It brings along
the scent of autumn —
evening shower

(Akishige Ida)

Tawny leaf
falls upon my book —
a perfect bookmark

(Vaishnavi Pusapati)

Blind Alley

Posted by Mano on

If the village of Šušara is the ’appendix’ of Banat1, as my hostess Leonora puts it, then the nearby Zagajička Hill is Šušara’s blind alley2. To get to the hilltop, which dominates the famous Deliblatska Dunes, you not only need to cross several kilometers of a treacherous country road, you also need to find the correct route, because it is a road without signs, a road flanked by tall sunflowers, a road that forks in unknown directions, a road that Google Maps does not recognize. Along this dead-end lane you hit upon muddy potholes, tractor ruts, piles of rocks, which means risking either getting stuck or messing up your car. Of course, there is a third option, the most reasonable one, and that is to give up the devilry altogether, which would call for some wild manoeuvring into the sunflowers in order to make a u-turn. Only the insane come here in their 2WDs.

Slumped sunflower heads :
rainwater
not a mirage

After a few wrong turns and countless bypassed boulders and skirted potholes, at long last you spot the stone obelisk erected on the highest point of Zagajička Hill: what a relief! Once you’ve reached the top you soon realize getting here was very much worth all the sweat and aggro. Ah, if only all blind alleys were so pretty! The grassy hills gently undulating like the backs of giant green horses; sheep bells clanging at the bottom of the vale; to the right, honey-coloured hills, tall yellowed grass waving in the wind.

Along the dunes
sheep, green hills …
seeking in vain
a grain of sand

The winds are more or less constant. Since the Ice Age, air currents carried sand from the deposits of the mighty Danube, and over the centuries vast dunes overwhelmed Banat. In the early nineteenth century under the auspicies of the Hungarian authorities the reforestation of the Deliblat dunes – a.k.a. the European Sahara – began. This forestation went hand in hand with a gradual settlement of the Banat region by various ethnic groups, including Germans, Serbs, Austrians, Slovaks, Hungarians, and lasted for a century until the beginning of the Great War, then resumed after WW2. Today, strong winds have a new role as they help spin gigantic turbines in the lowlands near Izbište village. On the Zagajička Hill a tall meteorological pole was erected some years ago in order to measure the wind speeds. Today the pole sadly hangs in defeat, having been broken by the force of gales

Zagajička Hill is home to the largest European colony of mole-rats (’blind doggies’ in Serbian). Up close, the creature looks like a ball of fur, out of which two pairs of long incisors and a couple of pointed nostrils protrude. The mole-rat is an endangered species. It loves potatoes, as do the people of Banat.

At dinner, Leonora wears a blue floral dress. She serves me baked potatoes, quips it feels heavenly living here in Šušara: ’It feels you’re at the edge of the world’. For a moment I indulge a thought of settling here for good. I might, if only beds were comfortable.

Late summer, 2025

1 – Banat is a region in northeastern Serbia, mostly flatland
2 – in Serbian, the appendix is called ’slepo crevo’, literally ’a blind-ended gut’

Urban Ginko VI – Tsuruhashi Koreatown, Osaka

Posted by axhayashi(Akihiko) on

… Postbox in Koreatown –
… will his domestic letter
… go via Seoul?           (Tito)

Aug. 2, a sultry Saturday morning. Eleven poets—one with two other members of her family in tow—gathered at the ticket gate of Tsuruhashi Station with its downtown retro charm. The area is famous for its Korean residents, who have created a vibrant, chaotic atmosphere: their markets spreading outwards from the station like a maze. Here, they sell meat, fish, fruit, pickled vegetables, groceries, clothing, and so forth. Old-fashioned cafés and Korean restaurants abound.

… Their echoes lost
… in heat and spices –
… hawkers’ cries           (Eiko)

Before World War II, Osaka had developed as an industrial city, resulting in the sobriquet, ‘the Manchester of the East’. During this period, many people from the Korean Peninsula and Jeju Island had moved to Tsuruhashi in search of a livelihood. Almost a century has passed since then, yet the district still displays the authentic Korean way of life within an ambience of the Showa era.

… Summer heat –
… Koreatown glows with kimchi
… and fresh lemonade           (Mayumi K)

After Tito had welcomed everyone, introducing the ideas behind an urban ginko stroll, Akishige gave a short orientation tour. Composition period was to be just under two hours, for which the poets now dispersed, in twos and threes, into a forest of signboards.

… down muggy alleys …
… kimchi hawkers’
… beckoning hands           (Reiko)

…………. Red, green, purple –
…………. at the Korean cloth merchants
…………. prime colours abound           (Akishige)

… the fishmonger
… has caught a woman’s gaze －
… his mackerels’ empty eyes          (Akihiko)

…………. Loitering
…………. outside the butchers …
…………. for its plume of cool air          (Tito)

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photos by Anna, Denys, Glyeb, Akihiko, Tito

… Hot summer
… at a small Korean temple:
… their souls
… to cross the sea?        (Akishige)

…………. the grotesque cheeks
…………. of the ridge-end roof tile:
…………. swollen with heat!          (Tomiko)

… Korean market:
… a display of face-lift masks
… to rent and return          (Anna)

…………. afternoon heat
…………. a small dog in the park
…………. finds a place in the shade          (Duro)

At one point, five-year-old Glyeb, Anna’s son, became the center of attention!

… The blazing sun –
… a little boy
… hitting for joy
… the stone lion’s head          (Mayumi K)

Later, tired from the heat, everyone gathered at a small, must-try barbecue shop, which had been reserved in advance.

… sultry alley –
… sizzling, smoking, golden-browning
… beef          (Akihiko)

After lunch, two poets had to leave the party … and the rest moved on to relax in a cool, hide-away café, where we read some of the above haiku and senryu in their early drafts.

The stroll in Tsuruhashi had felt like travelling to Korea without flying! In spite of the heatwave conditions, it had been a highly productive time for most. We left the area in late afternoon.

… the little boy
… on a life-size bull
… holds on tight          (Duro)

…………. sweltering sunset –
…………. Koreatown’s barbecue aroma
…………. comes home with us     (Akihiko)

Incense at Shoyeido and Fragrance in the Park

Posted by ikeishi on

On July 5, ten Hailstone members gathered in Kyoto for a midsummer haiku composition stroll centered on the theme of fragrance.

Our first stop was the traditional Japanese incense maker, Shoyeido. Poets learned about the science and story of incense at Kunjyukan, Shoyeido’s interactive display space. We smelled fragrances from boxes and lanterns suspended from the ceiling, and enjoyed other displays, before visiting the adjacent shop.

… Incense appreciation —
… no words needed
… in the quiet hall
….. (Yaeno)

Afterwards, a few members left for work or home on the steamy July day. The rest of us made our way to nearby Kyoto Gyoen National Garden, where we chose a shady green patch to have lunches brought from home and further explore fragrance in the open air.

… Spreading our picnic mats
… under Imperial Park firs:
… cooler by five degrees
….. (Jun)

… The meadow blue
… lands on my glasses:
… someone from the past?
….. (Tito)

… A picnic
… in pine-tree shade –
… ants await their turn
….. (Akishige)

Stephen (Tito) initiated a discussion on seasonal scents that appear in haiku. He shared a selection of both English and classical Japanese haiku poems featuring fragrance.

水仙や 白き匂ひの しみとほる …. (蕪村)
Ah, narcissus! ……………………. Being pushed
Its white fragrance ………………. in my wheelchair off road …
pierces deep inside ……………… wild mint
… (Buson) ……………………………… (Daniela Misso)

We were then treated to an engaging presentation by Kazue Gill (Stephen’s wife, a well-known aromatherapy teacher), on the sense of smell from historical and scientific perspectives, including the fascinating link between scent and memory.

During and after her talk, we enjoyed the various fragrances and essential oils brought by Kazue, as well as natural aromas in the park.

… In tall tree shade
… she sprays us with vetiver –
… we all feel cool
….. (Tito)

… cicadas’ chorus ends －
… from the upright incense
… a thread of stillness
….. (Akihiko)

… Indian incense
… under a big tree –
… different memories shared
….. (Tomiko)

… Plucking a green pinecone
… to smell its sap …
… a rules announcement from
… the Imperial Park Police!
….. (Tito)

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We took refuge from the heat at the nearby home of one of the poets, where we shared fragrances and haiku while sipping iced tea in a cool indoor setting.

… Summer wildflowers
… in each room;
… her modest smile
….. (Maya)

One unusual incense stick, in particular, stored in an unlabeled box, seemed to stimulate our imaginations and memories, in some cases to a moving effect.

… Mystery incense —
… unfurling in my mind,
… sages in summer robes
… sharing stories
….. (Jun)

… the last ash of incense
… crumbles:
… the scent of childhood
… fades away
….. (Akihiko)

… Chinese fragrance
… leads to no man’s land
… soothing the soul
….. (Akishige)

report by Jun Tsutsumi

Yumeshima Awe

Posted by Richard Donovan on

It fell to architect Sou Fujimoto to design the overall layout of Expo 2025 Osaka, including its famed Grand Ring. Built with 70% Japanese lumber, it is the largest wooden structure in the world, boasting a circumference of 2km, a diameter of 615m and a maximum height of 22m. It makes the Expo, both literally and figuratively, its vast series of 30-metre-wide laminated arches providing not only welcome shelter and an elevated circumnavigation of the entire Yumeshima site, but also a much-needed unity to its disparate pavilions and areas.

On May 31, Tito and I could hardly believe our luck as Fujimoto stood before us, speaking about the vision behind this grand project at a New Bauhaus event in the European Union pavilion. He stressed how important it was for him that the ring frame the sky, making it the Expo’s all-embracing ‘roof’. He traced the legacy of his vision back to a circle of sky he noticed above Tarō Okamoto’s Tower of the Sun statue in its original open-roofed site at the 1970 Osaka Expo. He told us that the small wooded garden that he had made at the very heart of the site was both practical and symbolic—putting nature at the core of all. We found it almost devoid of people, but did detect a little wildlife.

A pillar of midges —
vying with
the architectural wonders
of the Expo site

(Tito)

Much as I had done at the Aichi Expo 20 years ago, I found myself questioning the environmental credentials of this event, not least of all the wisdom of lugging huge amounts of building materials to an artificial island. But as we traversed the ring on its upper level, staring out into glinting Osaka Bay and scanning the colourful patchwork of pavilions far below, the power of Fujimoto’s vision was unequivocal. For most of our day at the Expo, we shared with tens of thousands of visitors a sense of awe at the sheer scale of the undertaking.

Tied to the railing
a green sweater,
a beige-and-lilac scarf –
casualties of the wind

(Tito)

However, as the numbers swelled towards two hundred thousand for the evening fireworks display, the fellow feeling was replaced with a queasy suspicion that too many of us were squeezed into the ring for our own good!

amid the evening Expo crush,
a lit orange baton
forlornly waving

(Richard)

Tito remarked several times that day that he felt we were in a dream—and of course there are both good dreams and bad. It took us an hour simply to leave the venue, jostling with the masses in near-darkness until the Ring lay far behind us, above it a crescent moon riding the clouds.

Tea Ceremony at Kanjoan & Stroll on Funaoka Hill

Posted by Tito on

17 May 2025, Nishijin, Kyoto. Eight members of Hailstone were invited to enjoy a tea ceremony with Urasenke tea master, Swiss-born Michael Drzmisek Sōzui, and his wife Harumi Minemoto, at their four-and-a-half-mat tearoom, 緩徐庵 Kanjoan.

Flickering candles —
in the dim anteroom
a faint breeze drifts

(Yaeno)

One group of four poets enjoyed a chakai in the morning while the second group strolled on nearby Funaoka Hill in heavy but warm spring rain. In the afternoon, the roles were reversed, with the first group doing the strolling in the after-rain, and the second enjoying two bowls of usucha at Kanjoan. We were all very impressed with the manner in which Michael made and offered us his tea — so refined, yet so relaxed.

Agarwood on the hearth –
leisurely a cloth is folded
before a peony flower

(Tito)

We often alluded to classical haiku in the conversation, to Basho especially.

山吹や宇治の焙炉（ほいろ）の匂ふ時

Yellow kerria —
the fragrance of Uji green tea
coming from the drier

(Basho)

In such a special atmosphere, all our senses were primed.

rhythm of the rain
resonates with that of boiling water —
the fragrance of green tea

(Ayako)

In between the two chakai, the two groups met up and ate a delightful organic vegetable-based lunch at Vegisarasa. Harumi joined us.

Running in from the rain …
a fruiting cherry branch
in her hand

(Reiko T)

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Out on Funaoka Hill, poets praised the beautiful smells, new green leaves, puddles and distant views out across much of Kyoto.

Rain pools deepen
in the ancient stone;
fresh scent
of new leaves

(Jun)

Poets in a summer house
listen to the rain …
heavier again

(Tito)

Bright azalea —
and through the rain
now comes a flute

(Harumi)

Morning rain lets up …
decked in green maple
a thatched shrine awakes

(Akihiko)

Swooping swallow pair:
the joy of their bright lives

(Maya)

Our thanks again to Michael & Harumi for organizing this memorable excursion.

The tea master’s whisk
quickening to a blur —
voices fade

(Jun)

‘Ash from Mt. Asama’ critiqued and elaborated

Posted by Tito on

Keith Evetts at the Haiku Foundation asked me recently if I would be willing to allow random comments and criticism on a haiqua of mine to go up on their re:Virals page as #504. I said ‘OK’. The poem that had been selected for comment was this one:

Rained from the morning’s
clear blue,
settling on peony petals, too
ash from Mt. Asama

It’s very much a haiku poem and comes from my early days as a poet. If you’re interested in reading the comments garnered so far (three of the most interesting are from the late Martin Lucas, Nobuyuki Yuasa (Sosui), and Peter Yovu, who had chosen this haiku in the first place), please click here.

Fortunately it wasn’t torn to shreds by the commentators! Feel free to comment on it at Icebox now through the reply/comments box below.