Published August 12, 2026
In the first haiku guide, one of the tips was "skip the abstract nouns." This is that tip, expanded into its own full explanation, because it's probably the single most useful thing to understand about writing haiku that actually land.
In short: naming a feeling directly (lonely, beautiful, peaceful) almost always weakens a haiku. Replace the label with the concrete detail that would make a reader feel that way on their own, and cut the label.
Telling: I feel lonely. Showing: an empty chair, still warm.
Telling: the morning was peaceful. Showing: no cars yet, just one rooster, somewhere.
Telling: she missed him. Showing: his shoes, still by the door.
Notice that the second version in each pair never uses the word it's replacing. No "lonely," no "peaceful," no "missed." The image does the job the label used to do, and it does it better, because the reader arrives at the feeling themselves instead of being handed it. This is craft advice, not just a personal preference; it's a core principle in how the form is traditionally taught.[1] Real published haiku lean on it constantly, often built around nothing but a single well-chosen physical detail.[2]
In a novel, you have hundreds of pages to build toward a feeling and can afford the occasional direct statement of it. A haiku doesn't have that room. Every word is competing for a spot in a very short poem, and a label like "lonely" or "beautiful" takes up space without adding anything the reader can see, hear, or picture. Worse, it tells the reader how to react instead of letting the image do that work, which tends to flatten the moment rather than deepen it.
There's also a practical reason it works: a specific concrete detail almost always contains more information than the label it would replace. "Empty chair, still warm" tells you someone was just there, that they're gone now, and that it happened recently enough to matter. "Lonely" tells you none of that. It just names an emotion and leaves it at that.
This connects to something we covered when writing about the cutting word: a haiku splits an idea into two parts and lets the reader supply the connection between them. Showing instead of telling works the same way. You give the reader the empty chair, still warm, and trust them to feel the absence themselves. That trust is part of what makes the form work. A haiku that explains everything leaves the reader nothing to do, and a poem with nothing left for the reader to do usually doesn't stay with them very long.
Watch out for words that look like description but are actually judgment. "Beautiful sunset" sounds concrete, but "beautiful" is still a label, a conclusion you've reached instead of a detail you've shown. Compare:
Telling, disguised as showing: a beautiful sunset over the bay. Actually showing: orange light on the wet street, gone in a minute.
The second version lets the reader decide whether that's beautiful. Odds are they will, on their own, which is a much stronger effect than being told to.
Look at your draft and find any word doing emotional labeling: lonely, beautiful, sad, peaceful, happy, calm, and their relatives. For each one, ask what specific thing you actually saw, heard, or noticed that made you reach for that word. Write that instead. If you can't think of a concrete detail, sit with the moment a little longer; there's usually one there, you just haven't noticed it yet.
Is "show, don't tell" specific to haiku, or does it apply to all writing? It's a general writing principle, but haiku's length makes it far less optional. A novel can afford an occasional direct statement of feeling; a three-line poem usually can't spare the words.
Can a haiku ever name a feeling directly and still work? Rarely, and usually only when the naming is paired with a very specific image that earns it, not left to stand alone as the whole point of the line.
How do I know if I'm still "telling" instead of "showing"? Check for words that judge or label rather than describe: beautiful, lonely, peaceful, sad. If a word states a conclusion instead of a detail, look for the concrete thing that led you to that conclusion, and write that instead.
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