Thursday, March 24, 2016
Wild Plum, Issue 2:1, Spring & Summer 2016
setting sun
dandelion seedheads
bend the light
skipping stones
the expanding ripples
of our universe
dandelion seedheads
bend the light
skipping stones
the expanding ripples
of our universe
The Heron's Nest, Vol. 18, Number 1, March 2016
bobolinks
perched on thistle heads
the rain-streaked sky
perched on thistle heads
the rain-streaked sky
Spent Blossoms, Tanka Society of America Members' Anthology 2015
camping
in bear country
all night
the large noises
of small creatures
in bear country
all night
the large noises
of small creatures
Ribbons, Volume 12, Number 1, Winter 2016
four crosses
in a roadside ditch
will no one
stop and read the names
of our beloveds
in a roadside ditch
will no one
stop and read the names
of our beloveds
Red Lights, Vol. 12, Number 1, January 2016
the chatter
of elderly trees
in wind gusts
bony branches scrape
the lowering sky
a kettle
of migrating hawks
riding thermals
through the boiling sky
we drink it all in
sunset's soft blush
through black lace leaves
why did I reveal
so much more of myself
than I had intended
of elderly trees
in wind gusts
bony branches scrape
the lowering sky
a kettle
of migrating hawks
riding thermals
through the boiling sky
we drink it all in
sunset's soft blush
through black lace leaves
why did I reveal
so much more of myself
than I had intended
Presence, Number 54, February 2016
from sand nests
loggerhead turtles
make their way
summoned by the sea
we wash our feet in stars
loggerhead turtles
make their way
summoned by the sea
we wash our feet in stars
One Man's Maple Moon: 66 Selected English-Chinese Bilingual Tanka, Volume 2, 2016
Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu
crossing over
the bridge of sighs
I felt you
folding into me
folding into prayer
Gusts 19, Spring/Summer 2014
crossing over
the bridge of sighs
I felt you
folding into me
folding into prayer
Gusts 19, Spring/Summer 2014
NeverEnding Story, February 2016
Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu
wishing seeds
cartwheel through warm air
how quiet
this fleeting moment
this belief in miracles
2nd Honourable Mention
2015 UHTS Fleeting Words Tanka Contest
wishing seeds
cartwheel through warm air
how quiet
this fleeting moment
this belief in miracles
2nd Honourable Mention
2015 UHTS Fleeting Words Tanka Contest
NeverEnding Story, March 2016
Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu
rusted gate
old lilacs blooming
for no one
Selected Haiku
7th Yamadera Basho Memorial Museum Haiku Contest 2015
Chen-ou's comments:
The contrasts (man-made vs natural, inanimate vs animate, rusted vs blooming, ...) between the two parts of the poem open up an interpretative space for the reader's imagination.
rusted gate
old lilacs blooming
for no one
Selected Haiku
7th Yamadera Basho Memorial Museum Haiku Contest 2015
Chen-ou's comments:
The contrasts (man-made vs natural, inanimate vs animate, rusted vs blooming, ...) between the two parts of the poem open up an interpretative space for the reader's imagination.
Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Issue 3, March 2016
birch bark canoe . . .
pasted in a scrapbook
strips of her life
shore lunch
the summer taste
of rainbows
snapdragons
we pop corn over
the campfire
pasted in a scrapbook
strips of her life
shore lunch
the summer taste
of rainbows
snapdragons
we pop corn over
the campfire
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Haiku Canada Review, Vol. 10, Number 1, February 2016
ice jams at breakup there is nothing more to say
lilac buds
no one notices
the bruises
lilac buds
no one notices
the bruises
Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Issue 2, February 2016
tangled vines
the bittersweet terms
of divorce
wind quintet
the circular breathing
of our lives
the bittersweet terms
of divorce
wind quintet
the circular breathing
of our lives
Butterfly Dream: 66 Selected English-Chinese Bilingual Haiku, Vol. 2, 2016
Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu
on the tundra
caging a winter sky
caribou bones
Third Place
2014 Hortensia Anderson Awards
on the tundra
caging a winter sky
caribou bones
Third Place
2014 Hortensia Anderson Awards
Brass Bell, March 2016
old books the oddments of my past lives
day moon
(dis)appearing
sister's thin face
first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair
day moon
(dis)appearing
sister's thin face
first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair
Blithe Spirit. Vol. 26, Number 1, February 2016
dawn walk
a fog sylph takes
her shape
gulls hunched
along the shoreline
more bad news
diurnal tides
the ebb and flow
of grief
Museum of Haiku Literature Award
And the winner of this quarter's Literature Award, because of its startling image and enduring challenge to one's thinking:
split chrysalis
all the ways we learn
to become small
I feel fairly confident that Ken would have included particularly this one in his small green book into which he entered any published haiku which he felt would be deeply sustaining and inspiring in truly hard times.
a fog sylph takes
her shape
gulls hunched
along the shoreline
more bad news
diurnal tides
the ebb and flow
of grief
Museum of Haiku Literature Award
And the winner of this quarter's Literature Award, because of its startling image and enduring challenge to one's thinking:
split chrysalis
all the ways we learn
to become small
I feel fairly confident that Ken would have included particularly this one in his small green book into which he entered any published haiku which he felt would be deeply sustaining and inspiring in truly hard times.
—Colin Blundell
Atlas Poetica, Number 24, March 2016
newly planted
evening-scented stock
at the end
of this careworn day
the sweetness of night
late harvest
the roar of combines
all night long
looming through grain dust
there be dragons
how we longed
for the circus to come
one last chance
to hang by our heels
from the high-wire moon
white-tailed deer
between tamaracks
our past
e l o n g a t i n g
with each golden hour
a black dog
slavers at the edges
of my mind
is there no escaping
this inevitable defeat
drum circle
my heart pounding
in my mouth
these words that taste of blood
and sound like thunder
she is small-boned
with beautiful plumage
this tanka bird
whose every short song
lifts us into glory
(for Kathabela Wilson)
Midnight Shift
Winter nights are never quiet when I spend them alone, brooding in bed like an egg in a nest of down.
A plane drones overhead. In rising winds, evergreen branches scratch messages against the windowpane.
Our clock chimes on the hour. The dog's nails tap dance across hardwood before she settles down with a sigh. The furnace grumbles through its cycles, struggling to keep bone-rattling temperatures at bay. My body tenses as a sharp crack splits the air. This old house speaks its own language, and the strings of my guitar respond with sympathetic vibrations.
the sound of tires
squeaking on new snow
a winter bird
rises from her rest
fluffing up her feathers
Note: This issue also contains a lovely review of Warp and Weft, Tanka Threads by Maxianne Berger which may be accessed via the "Books and Reviews" page of this blog.
evening-scented stock
at the end
of this careworn day
the sweetness of night
late harvest
the roar of combines
all night long
looming through grain dust
there be dragons
how we longed
for the circus to come
one last chance
to hang by our heels
from the high-wire moon
white-tailed deer
between tamaracks
our past
e l o n g a t i n g
with each golden hour
a black dog
slavers at the edges
of my mind
is there no escaping
this inevitable defeat
drum circle
my heart pounding
in my mouth
these words that taste of blood
and sound like thunder
she is small-boned
with beautiful plumage
this tanka bird
whose every short song
lifts us into glory
(for Kathabela Wilson)
Midnight Shift
Winter nights are never quiet when I spend them alone, brooding in bed like an egg in a nest of down.
A plane drones overhead. In rising winds, evergreen branches scratch messages against the windowpane.
Our clock chimes on the hour. The dog's nails tap dance across hardwood before she settles down with a sigh. The furnace grumbles through its cycles, struggling to keep bone-rattling temperatures at bay. My body tenses as a sharp crack splits the air. This old house speaks its own language, and the strings of my guitar respond with sympathetic vibrations.
the sound of tires
squeaking on new snow
a winter bird
rises from her rest
fluffing up her feathers
Note: This issue also contains a lovely review of Warp and Weft, Tanka Threads by Maxianne Berger which may be accessed via the "Books and Reviews" page of this blog.
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