Hay(na)ku

The hay(na)ku is a 3-line, unrhymed, word-based form. It consists of 3 lines of 1/2/3 words; the order can also be reversed (3/2/1 words). It's a relatively new Filipino-origin form. The name's a deliberate play on “haiku”.

Notes

I've find that although the form is word-based, not syllabic, I often write syllable counts in a matching pattern (e.g. 5, 4, 3 syllables for 3, 2, 1 words, or 1, 3, 5 syllables for 1, 2, 3 words).

The brevity and 3-line shape means some hay(na)ku double as especially brief haiku.

Poems

2026-02-06
```
sheltered
by rubble,
young bright snowdrops
```
Same subject and similar wording to a haiku the same day.

2025-12-24

numb
winter sunlight
bleaches the leaves

2025-12-16
```
in dark trees
the house
burns
```

2025-12-04

wind
wrenches tears
from indifferent eyes

2025-12-02
```
beneath the blanket
cold walls
recede
```
2025-11-23
```
shadows
only dance
around the light
```
2025-11-18
```
moss
shields graffiti
from prying eyes
```

2025-10-29

night
lays ambush
behind autumn's parade

2025-10-25
```
rain
brings pebbles
to seabed life
```
2025-10-25
```
butchers
sharpen knives
on all sides
```
2025-10-23
```
windchimes
converse one-sidedly
with the breeze
```
This might be the most lop-sided haynaku I've written, and the largest by syllable count.

2025-10-23

windchill
drinks heat
like mother mosquito

2025-10-23
```
dawn—
naked sky
dons festival colours
```
2025-10-23
```
claustrophobia
devours senses
in the dark
```
Just wanted to write a haynaku that went in reverse order in syllable count (in this case, 5/4/3 syllables for 1/2/3 words).
2025-10-08
```
waves
through wheat—
wind or serpent?
```

2025-10-02

between the trees
landlords build
barricades

2025-10-02
```
atop
composted books
new poems sprout
```

2025-09-29

yellow leaves scatter—
warm turmeric
wind

2025-09-25
```
bugs
climbing airily
into the sun
```
2025-09-22
```
ruins
become middens,
still in use
```
2025-09-21
```
the ant's artistry
is never
taught
```
2025-09-16
```
after
the storm,
a fledgling falls
```
2025-09-03
```
generously
the fungus
cups the rain
```
2025-08-08
```
buried
in brambles,
old barbed wire
```
2025-07-25
```
shorn
white sheep
shear the meadow
```
2025-07-06
```
like whispering leaves
the engine
turns
```
2025-06-06
```
under
the tires,
ten trillion lives
```

2025-06-01

between dark trees
distant emerald
glisters

2025-05-30
```
tinnitus
shields me
from flybuzz gossip
```
2025-05-16
```
takeaway
left here
for the ants
```
2025-05-13
```
flint
sparks thoughts
of ancient flames
```
2025-05-04
```
ignore
the water
still burning offshore
```
2025-04-30
```
five
stolen nights
to live again
```

2025-04-18

the bottle factory
makes empties
complete

2025-04-10
```
wild
desire paths
among the nettles
```
2025-04-10
```
between the fireworks
everyone's faces
disappear
```
Inspired by a haiku by Masaoka Shiki, roughly “the fireworks over, the people all gone—how dark it is!” (translated by R. H. Blyth), but with a different vibe.
2025-04-08
```
ivy
gropes around
the firewood pile
```
2025-04-08
```
death
in spring
tales for children
```
2025-04-02
```
sun
pours in
through open wounds
```
2025-04-02
```
lightning
pours in
and runneth over
```
2025-04-02
```
clean
smoke stacks;
the city sleeps
```
2025-03-31
```
spiders
and giants
dancing in fear
```
2025-03-31
```
moss
on logs
and naught else
```
2025-03-31
```
krak!
a hunter—
you missed me?
```

2025-03-31

fences
are begging
to be cut
a bubble-wrap
barricade

2025-03-31
```
butterflies
in pairs
lost in blossom
```
2025-03-31
```
ah
these bozos
at it again
```
2025-03-31
```
a black cat
in darkness
purrs
```