Peter JastermskyPeter Jastermsky

Born: 1953 in Connecticut, USA
Current residence: California, USA

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The author of seven books of haiku-based writing, Peter Jastermsky lives in the high desert of Southern California, USA. Peter’s work has appeared in many journals and anthologies. In 2017, Peter invented a new linked form that is haiku-centered called a split sequence. His recent book, Just Dust and Stone (Velvet Dusk Publishing) is a collection of collaborative split sequences, co-written with Bryan Rickert.


 

morning mirror
the imposing briefness
of form

Failed Haiku, October 2016

in my laugh
my father’s laugh
still bone deep

Failed Haiku, November 2016

backfire from a bus
the war after the war
never ends

Prune Juice, March 2017

relaxing into who I've become waistband

Sonic Boom; issue 8, April, 2017

twisted ankle
I listen for
missing footsteps

Chrysanthemum 22, fall issue

old songs
a wrinkle disappears
with each line

The Zen Space, Spring 2018

self-doubt
all the poetry
lost inside me

The Aurorean, Spring/Summer 2018

same book
we compare notes
in a silent way

Incense Dreams, Issue 2.1

another lost night
my date
with melancholy

Failed Haiku, August 2018

wishing for a branch
of my own
family tree 

Under the Basho 2019

Facebook fallout
what we didn’t meme
to say

Prune Juice, September 2019

ocean swim
the taste of
a hundred shipwrecks

Dwarf Stars Anthology, 2019

wanting nothing
in return
dark star

is/let, 2019

morning lizard
only one of us
does our pushups

MacQueen’s Quinterly, May 2020

not ourselves the clouds’ day off

Frameless Sky, July, 2020

hitting the floor already he is somewhere else

Cold Moon Journal, September 2020

prescribed burn
the dead carry on
as wind

Human/Kind, Fall 2020

fumbling the years a turnstile of regret

Sonic Boom, Issue 19

how things change
a sudden love
for masked strangers

behind the mask: haiku in the time of Covid-19, 2020

moonstruck
a dulcimer plays
a case of you

hedgerow #131

golden years inheriting a taste for tarnish

is/let, December 2020

crossing her legs not a rustle in the field

Cold Moon Journal, August 2021

broken stars we turn over the toast points

Weird Laburnum, September 2021

remote sensing a problem person pierces the orbit

Failed Haiku, October 2021

wrangling corpuscles i bite into something bloodless

Heliosparrow, February 2022

except for the grackles always fitting in

bones 23