Translated into Romanian by Cristina OPREA YOUNG
barn owl
the last time I saw
your face
The Sixth Haiku Contest
Sharpening the Green Pencil, 2017
Friday, May 12, 2017
Romanian Kukai Group, Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Contest, 2017
barn owl
the last time I saw
your face
The Sixth Haiku Contest
Sharpening the Green Pencil, 2017
Skylark, Vol. 5, Number 1, Summer 2017
Vestiges of Here and There
thistles among
weather-beaten bones
of the past
across this stolen land
so many spirits roam
an empty space
where the croft once stood
my toes curl
into that same soil
rooting me to home
lichen-splotched
stones emerge from tundra
we rest here
among the ancients
on the edge of extinction
thistles among
weather-beaten bones
of the past
across this stolen land
so many spirits roam
an empty space
where the croft once stood
my toes curl
into that same soil
rooting me to home
lichen-splotched
stones emerge from tundra
we rest here
among the ancients
on the edge of extinction
Tallahassee Writers Association, Seven Hills Review, Volume 22, 2017
Penumbra Poetry and Haiku Competition
broken eggs
in the chicken coop
I read your note
Second Place
tumbleweeds
we must not speak
of this
Third Place
broken eggs
in the chicken coop
I read your note
Second Place
tumbleweeds
we must not speak
of this
Third Place
Romanian Haiku Group, Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Contest, 2016
Selected Haiku:
echolocation
missing the sound
of your voice
The Fifth Haiku Contest
Sharpening the Green Pencil, 2016
San Francisco International Competition for Haiku, Senryu and Tanka, 2016
dried curls
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
1st Place (tie)
Judge Marilyn Shoemaker Hazelton's comments:
...Next, we stand at the delicate edge of winter where air is crisper, and "reindeer moss" whispers beneath our feet. The color of this tundra is muted. Perhaps the light is also. In response to small, mysterious sounds framed by quiet, the breaths of those within the poem startle and deepen. And we have an opportunity to appreciate what we usually take for granted. Both poems center on absence and presence within our lives, and remind us how breath companions and consoles us with its beauty.
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
1st Place (tie)
Judge Marilyn Shoemaker Hazelton's comments:
...Next, we stand at the delicate edge of winter where air is crisper, and "reindeer moss" whispers beneath our feet. The color of this tundra is muted. Perhaps the light is also. In response to small, mysterious sounds framed by quiet, the breaths of those within the poem startle and deepen. And we have an opportunity to appreciate what we usually take for granted. Both poems center on absence and presence within our lives, and remind us how breath companions and consoles us with its beauty.
Mariposa, Number 36, Spring/Summer 2017
dried curls
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
1st Place (tie)
2016 San Francisco International Competition for Haiku, Senryu and Tanka
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
1st Place (tie)
2016 San Francisco International Competition for Haiku, Senryu and Tanka
Tuesday, May 02, 2017
World Haiku, Number 13, 2017
Translated into Japanese
a curl of eyelash
on your pillow
crescent moon
moonlit lake
I brush the silver
from your hair
first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair
Note: these haiku previously appeared in Brass Bell Haiku Journal
a curl of eyelash
on your pillow
crescent moon
moonlit lake
I brush the silver
from your hair
first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair
Note: these haiku previously appeared in Brass Bell Haiku Journal
The Haiku Foundation, EarthRise Rolling Haiku Collaboration, April 2017
Theme: Reconciliation
echolocation . . .
the loves we have lost
and found
Zatsuei Haiku of Merit, Vanguard
World Haiku Review, January 2017
mending fences
the scent of sagebrush
on your fingers
Honourable Mention, Shintai
World Haiku Review, June 2016
echolocation . . .
the loves we have lost
and found
Zatsuei Haiku of Merit, Vanguard
World Haiku Review, January 2017
mending fences
the scent of sagebrush
on your fingers
Honourable Mention, Shintai
World Haiku Review, June 2016
Haigaonline, Vol. 18, Issue 1, Spring 2017
Native and Imported/Invasive Species Challenge
The Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society reported in December, 2016, that Canada's boreal woodland caribou are at continued risk. The small Manitoba herd nearby in Nopoming Provincial Park is being closely monitored.
Zebra mussels are not native to Manitoba, but they have been invading Lake Winnipeg for the last few years, washing up on its shore in massive numbers. This aggressive species not only poses a risk to the environment, but to beachgoers as well.
The Canadian Parks and Wilderness Society reported in December, 2016, that Canada's boreal woodland caribou are at continued risk. The small Manitoba herd nearby in Nopoming Provincial Park is being closely monitored.
Earth: Our Common Ground - A Song of Short Songs, April 2017
Canticles for the Cosmos
we find
galaxies of sea stars
at low tide
sister constellations
if the sky should fall
night unties
the Belt of Venus
we bind
our hands together
with trailing ribbons
the graffiti
of firefly stars at dusk
we follow
until our eyes adjust
to the narrative of night
deep twilight
and noctilucent clouds
could there be
anything more magical
than sharing these with you
Inspiration/Expiration
the old trees
under which we played
as children
still breathe us into being
our every root entwined
zip-lining
through forest canopy
recalling when
I was a sparrowhawk
and you were my prey
the elm trees
are slowly dying
this city
at times, too much
even for them
in the biome
of boreal forest
boots tread
heavily through habitat
we were not meant to own
clear-cut logging
scars visible from space
there must be
other ways for humans
to leave their footprint
Enviromentality
an acqueduct
built on land belonging
to First Nations
now, they must boil water
while the city drinks its fill
thin and weak
a polar bear searches
for pack ice
if we lost our own cubs
would climate change be real
prairie lakes
bloom with toxic algae
remember when
we swam in pristine waters
untroubled by such things
earthquakes
fracturing the fabric
of our lives
into hydrocarbons
we stand upon the brink
we find
galaxies of sea stars
at low tide
sister constellations
if the sky should fall
night unties
the Belt of Venus
we bind
our hands together
with trailing ribbons
the graffiti
of firefly stars at dusk
we follow
until our eyes adjust
to the narrative of night
deep twilight
and noctilucent clouds
could there be
anything more magical
than sharing these with you
Inspiration/Expiration
the old trees
under which we played
as children
still breathe us into being
our every root entwined
zip-lining
through forest canopy
recalling when
I was a sparrowhawk
and you were my prey
the elm trees
are slowly dying
this city
at times, too much
even for them
in the biome
of boreal forest
boots tread
heavily through habitat
we were not meant to own
clear-cut logging
scars visible from space
there must be
other ways for humans
to leave their footprint
Enviromentality
an acqueduct
built on land belonging
to First Nations
now, they must boil water
while the city drinks its fill
thin and weak
a polar bear searches
for pack ice
if we lost our own cubs
would climate change be real
prairie lakes
bloom with toxic algae
remember when
we swam in pristine waters
untroubled by such things
earthquakes
fracturing the fabric
of our lives
into hydrocarbons
we stand upon the brink
Daily Haiku, Charlotte Digregorio's Writer's Blog, April 2017
split chrysalis
all the ways we learn
to become small
Museum of Haiku Literature Award
Blithe Spirit, Volume 26, Number 1, February 2016
the whistle
of a wood duck . . .
her last breath
Honourable Mention
Haiku Canada Betty Drevniok Award, 2015
all the ways we learn
to become small
Museum of Haiku Literature Award
Blithe Spirit, Volume 26, Number 1, February 2016
the whistle
of a wood duck . . .
her last breath
Honourable Mention
Haiku Canada Betty Drevniok Award, 2015
Brass Bell, May 2017
balanced on the elephant's trunk a tangerine moon
lazy morning . . .
a ginger cat curls
into a sunbeam
sepia postcards
from around the world
autumn leaves
lazy morning . . .
a ginger cat curls
into a sunbeam
sepia postcards
from around the world
autumn leaves
Atlas Poetica, Number 27, April 2017
Cherita Sequence:
her name was cherita
the street awakens
another tribe of wanderers
home, a word long since forgotten
in a shabby black coat
she claims to be descended
from a long line of crows
her hands flutter
two migratory birds
that have gone astray
the world, too harsh
to be a safe haven
for accidentals
paper-thin body
this pale skeleton
of the bird I once knew
those pinioned feathers
never had a chance to carry her
too close to the sun
broken-backed prairie
where the wild things are blown
when their roots are severed
uncaged at last,
she joins the waiting flock
that always knew her name
Single Cherita:
lightning storm
a shadow
runs for shelter
I still see you,
sparks flying
from your fingertips
scimitar moon
never enough light
to capture your curves
photographs of you,
the negative spaces
between us
I am not who I was
with each season
comes a deeper sorrow
the stones I carry
so round and blue
might have been your eyes
her name was cherita
the street awakens
another tribe of wanderers
home, a word long since forgotten
in a shabby black coat
she claims to be descended
from a long line of crows
her hands flutter
two migratory birds
that have gone astray
the world, too harsh
to be a safe haven
for accidentals
paper-thin body
this pale skeleton
of the bird I once knew
those pinioned feathers
never had a chance to carry her
too close to the sun
broken-backed prairie
where the wild things are blown
when their roots are severed
uncaged at last,
she joins the waiting flock
that always knew her name
Single Cherita:
lightning storm
a shadow
runs for shelter
I still see you,
sparks flying
from your fingertips
scimitar moon
never enough light
to capture your curves
photographs of you,
the negative spaces
between us
I am not who I was
with each season
comes a deeper sorrow
the stones I carry
so round and blue
might have been your eyes
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