afternoon chorus
I add a scoop of ice cream
to my coffee

by Tuyet Van Do (Australia)
published in Enchanted Garden Haiku Journal, issue 13, October 2025

Commentary by Nicholas Klacsanzky:

This is a fine example of the classical haiku aesthetic of fullness. The poet experiences a chorus of birds or insects and, on top of that, the delight of adding ice cream to coffee. All those senses—listening, tasting, and possibly smelling (the ice cream and coffee)—make a lovely concoction. The poet could be expressing being overwhelmed by beauty, and also the connection between simple pleasures and the wonder of natural music. For me, when I imagine the scene, it brings about gratitude for what is happening all the time around us, and the myriad senses we experience.

The affogato, an Italian dessert of ice cream put into espresso coffee, means “drowned.” In a way, the poet may be “drowning” in the multiple senses of everyday life—immersing herself in the moment and what it has to offer. Having indulged in several affogatos myself, I can feel this juxtaposition tangibly.

Looking at the more technical elements of the haiku, the pacing of the lines is typical of English-language haiku. He approximates the rhythm of go-shichi-go in Japanese haiku, with a short first line, a longer second line, and a short closing line. The poet could have added punctuation, but it is not entirely needed. The poet might have thought that the punctuation would look slightly gawky. In terms of sound, the letter “o” is doing a lot of work. It makes the haiku musical and elongated, creating a relaxed atmosphere.

A charming and uplifting haiku that captures a connection between senses and two different worlds with concision.

back in my parents’ house
back in my old
silence

by Alexander Groth (Germany)

Commentary by Jacob D. Salzer:

A powerful haiku that has a balance of concrete imagery and mystery. We don’t know why the poet is back in his parents’ old house. This is one key mystery in the poem. We also don’t know why the poet is feeling “my old silence.” We also don’t know the qualities of that silence and what that silence means for the poet.

Regarding the first line, one possibility is the poet has returned to his parents’ house because they have passed away and he’s returning to carry out the wills they left behind and sort out their physical belongings. Another possibility is his parents are still alive but have moved away. A third possibility is that his parents are still living in the house that he presumably grew up in. In all three scenarios, we can feel the qualities and the weight of the house itself, and how the house speaks of the poet’s memories and the hearts and minds of his parents. Indeed, a house is a powerful symbol, as Khalil Gibran wrote in The Prophet: “Your house is your larger body.” In this case, the house is a living being that reflects the hearts and minds of the poet’s parents. And what secrets (if any) resonate within the walls of the house?

The second line, “back in my old,” leaves us lingering: back in my old what? It seems the pause after “old” gives the poem even more psychological and emotional weight and meaning. It may show a kind of process or even an inner struggle. The word “old” can also sometimes have a negative connotation. However, it can also point to nostalgia and gratitude.

The third line, “silence,” speaks volumes and leads to several questions. Why was the poet silent in this house? How often was he silent? Is it a silence that protects the poet? Is it a silence that is loving and sacred? Or is it a silence that feels unwelcome, distant, and cold for unknown reasons?

In short, this is a haiku that contemplates the power of houses and what resonates within the house, even long after we and/or the parents leave. What remains and what lives in our personal and collective memories? In general, while the words “old” and “silence” may be argued as being overused in the haiku community, this haiku succeeds in using these words, and communicates strong emotions, partly through the repetition of “back in my.” This is an interesting haiku that has layers of psychological depth, emotions, and meaning.

fallen mangoes
we taste the summer
off the ground

by Mona Bedi (India)
published in Haiku in Action, January 2026

Commentary by Hifsa Ashraf:

This haiku reminds me of my childhood, when I used to pick fallen mangoes from our village haveli mango tree. It is definitely a vivid image that may be a memory for many people from South Asian countries. I can already feel the same taste on my tongue.

Fallen mangoes make us pause and think about what kind of mangoes these are—sweet, sour, ripe, overripe, or raw. Why did they fall? Due to a storm, wind, the natural process of ripening, or perhaps a bird that picked at them? In any case, the poet leaves it open for interpretation. Fallen mangoes can also evoke someone’s past, especially when memory is connected with taste. Usually, fallen fruit may be bruised, ripe, stale, or covered in dust, yet people often feel a certain excitement when they find and pick them from the ground.

The second line juxtaposes the whole scene: we taste the summer. The pronoun we indicates a collective memory. Who are these we—children, family members, people at a reunion, or perhaps adults remembering their childhood? For me, they are a bunch of children excitedly picking fallen mangoes, memories that may remain with them into adulthood.

The taste of summer also works as a metaphor for memory. Are these memories sweet or sour, just like mangoes? It varies from person to person, and depends on the memories associated with the place and people. Memory, like a mango, can have many flavours, and what tastes sweet to one person may taste bittersweet to another.

The final line, off the ground, quietly completes the physical movement of the haiku. The mangoes have travelled from the height of the tree to the earth, and people lift them back up. I also sense a beautiful humility in this movement: something once high above us has fallen to the ground and become accessible to us. The distance between the tree and the earth disappears through touch. What is elevated becomes ordinary and tangible, much like the phases of life, from the innocence and immaturity of inexperience to the wisdom and maturity that come with experience, or perhaps the rise and fall of life itself.

There is another possible reading of off the ground. It could suggest that the mangoes are being picked up, leaving nothing or very little behind on the ground. The phrase therefore gives the ending a slight ambiguity without explaining the scene.

The absence of punctuation allows the three lines to flow naturally into one another, much like memory itself. I also notice the recurring m sound in mangoes, summer, and from—a soft sound that, to me, subtly echoes memory. I would add another quiet layer when the haiku is read aloud.

Ultimately, this is a haiku about much more than fallen fruit. It captures how an ordinary sensory experience, a mango picked from the ground, can hold an entire season, a childhood, and perhaps even a vanished world.

Suhita Shirodkar in Goa, India