How to Write a Father's Day Haiku
Start with a specific memory. Not "dad was always there for me," that's a greeting card. Think smaller. Think about the smell of his aftershave, the way he always checked the tire pressure before you drove anywhere, or how he pretended not to cry at your graduation. Sensory details are the engine of good haiku, and the more particular you get, the more universal the poem feels.
Once you've got your image, count your syllables. Five in the first line, seven in the second, five in the third. A common mistake is forcing words to fit the count, which produces lines that sound robotic. If "automobile" technically works but "old truck" captures the feeling better, break the syllable rule. Rigid 5-7-5 adherence matters less than emotional truth. Traditional Japanese haiku didn't even follow that count precisely, so give yourself permission to prioritize rhythm over math.
Don't try to cram a complete narrative into three lines. Haiku isn't a story. It's a snapshot. Land on a single moment and let the reader's imagination fill in the rest. Don't end with an explanation or moral, that kills the power. Your final line should open a door, not close one. Read your haiku out loud before you finalize it. If you stumble on any word, replace it. It should feel like a single breath.