Monday, April 16, 2018

ukiaHaiku Festival - The Sixteenth Annual, 2018

cormorants . . .
we open our arms
to the sun

Third Place
Jane Reichhold International Prize


Judge's Comments:

Cormorants are known to spread their wings, and I understand that the reason they do this is to dry them. Because they are water birds, they need to dry their wings often. Although this poem does not say the birds are spreading their wings, surely they are, and that is what prompts the people in this poem to spread their arms, perhaps to feel the warmth of the sun, if not to dry their arms. I enjoy the celebratory tone of this poem, of being open to the possibilities of life. We should all spread our wings like the cormorant.

—Michael Dylan Welch

(Note: there were over 1,400 entries to the contest)

Cattails, April 2018

dust plumes . . .
wild mustangs spar
with the moon


broken mirror . . .
still not as pretty
as my sister


rusty hinge
her first greeting
after surgery


it was
as if she were
a butterfly
the way words flew
from her open hands


the cyclical
nature of our lives
this year
we are rabbits
next year, lynx

The Zen Space, Spring Showcase 2018







The Heron's Nest, Volume 19, 2017

window fog
I write your name
on the moon


moonless . . .
a dark lake lit
with swans


rain squall
this rigmarole
of umbrellas

The Bamboo Hut, Spring/Summer 2018

Summering


sidewalk cafes
bloom on city corners
we plant
our winter bones
in any patch of sun

jazz concerts
in the sculpture garden
smooth strains
of tenor saxophone
waft across the river

the tangy scents
of propane and bug spray
permeating
these summer evenings
faint drifts of laughter

salsa dancing
under the canopy
bodies bend
to Latin rhythms
on this sultry night

we celebrate
our cultural diversity
all summer
street vendors tempt us
to eat and drink the world

Presence, Number 60, March 2018

city lights swallow the stars I long for


folds of prairie . . .
darkness rests upon
a doe's back


snow shadows
the conversations
of rabbits


this morning
the garden shimmers
with frost stars
I, for one, do not
mourn summer's passing




Kokako, Number 28, April 2018

thunderheads above the prairie red-tailed hawks


polar night
a snowy owl fades
to black


how tender
the kiss of snowflakes
upon my lips
these fragile wishes
that you were still mine


he bows
his cello like a prayer
for lost souls
music calls to us
across the abyss


Note: This issue also includes a lovely review of A Year Unfolding by Patricia Prime which may be accessed on the "Books and Reviews" page of this blog.