The Ringing Stood Still
the phone between us a white shape on the table the kettle sings soft
Generate an original haiku in seconds. Written so that the syllable count is checked before you ever see it.
Everything it writes is original. It will not reproduce an existing poem.
A haiku is three lines: five syllables, then seven, then five. Seventeen in total. That is the rule everyone knows and it is the one most generators get wrong, because counting English syllables is harder than it looks and nothing checks the output.
This one counts before it shows you anything. A poem that comes back off the count is discarded and rewritten rather than published as an example. The counter is approximate, as any English syllable counter is without a pronunciation dictionary, so a line may sit a syllable either side. What it will not do is hand you four lines and call it a haiku.
The Japanese original counts sound units called on, which are not the same as English syllables, which is why some poets argue 5-7-5 was never the right translation. In English it is the convention people mean, so it is the convention here.
Seventeen syllables in three lines is a shape. What makes it a haiku is the turn: two parts, with a gap between them where the poem happens. Usually an image across the first two lines and a shift in the third, or a single line that sets up the pair beneath it.
Traditionally that gap is marked by a cutting word, and traditionally there is a season word too. Neither survives translation cleanly, but the two-part structure does, and a haiku without it reads as a sentence broken into three pieces.
Haiku records something seen. The feeling arrives through the image or it does not arrive at all. A haiku that tells you it is about loneliness has spent the line it needed for the thing that was lonely.
Present tense, concrete nouns, and no metaphor unless it is doing work no plain noun could. This form punishes decoration more than any other.
The banned list behind this generator covers what models reach for the moment you say haiku: cherry blossoms falling, the moon reflecting, the silent pond, the gentle breeze. Those images were somebody's observation once and they are furniture now.
Each of these was written by this generator and kept. Anything that broke the form was discarded rather than shown.
the phone between us a white shape on the table the kettle sings soft
the school’s brick shadows stretch long over the cracked court where I used to dribble
screen lights my palm— your voice from last winter still hums in the wires
The screen glows white— your name won’t answer back. Midnight hums in blue.
the last joke lingers in the echo where she laughed shoe prints on the porch dust
your mug still warm steam curls up like ghost fingers I don’t wash it yet
The teapot listens to its own slow drip into your grandma’s china.
Engine coughs, then stops Night road swallows silent steel Heart thuds in the dark
Engine coughs, stalls Road swallows my trembling hands Night presses close, cold
Dust lifts from boxes Sunlight slices the silent aisles Bike sighs, untouched still
Yes. Most requests are served from a library written in advance, so it costs almost nothing to run.
Yes, before you see the poem. Anything that comes back off 5-7-5 is rewritten rather than shown. The counter is approximate, so a line can sit a syllable either side, but the shape is checked.
Type it in. A concrete subject works far better than an abstract one in this form: a kettle, a bus stop, first frost.
Yes. It writes new poems and will not reproduce any existing one, in whole or in part.