Sunday, December 03, 2017

Presence, Number 59, November 2017


Honoured to be the Focus Poet for this issue. The full text may be accessed in the "Articles/About" section of this blog.

last campout . . .
sandhill cranes call down
the northern lights

Honourable Mention
2017 Robert Spiess Haiku Award

dried curls
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath

1st Place
2016 San Francisco Tanka Competition

stone cairns
a faded cap drifts

1st Place
2015 Harold G. Henderson Contest

tracks of birds
meander through snow . . .
the surgeon
marks her left breast
with a cross

1st Place
2016 British Haiku Society Tanka Awards

on the tundra
caging a winter sky
caribou bones

3rd Place
2014 Hortensia Anderson Awards

bitterns boom
among the rushes . . .
father recites
his favourite poems
from memory

dust clouds
behind the plough
a fuss of gulls

The Right Touch of Sun, Tanka Society of America Members' Anthology 2017

this hagstone
I hold to my eye . . .
another world looks
right through me

animal trails
curve through brush . . .
my wild feet
still yearn to follow
someone home

bluegrass blares
from loud speakers . . .
we get high
on night music
under a banjo moon


I was honoured to provide the following photographs for this anthology:

Ribbons, Volume 13, Number 3, Fall 2017

I can hear
clouds rustling against
taffeta skies . . .
my senses sharper
since you went away


This issue also contains a lovely review of my book, Warp and Weft: Tanka Threads (Michelle Brock, Australia). It may be accessed in  the "Books & Reviews" section of this blog.

The Cherita, September 2017

Issue: "be amazed"

candied violets

every birthday cake
a celebration

of who we were,
and who we are

at high tide

the call and response
of water

we are made of this,
but we are also,

A Cherita Lighthouse Award

Skylark, Vol. 5, Number 2, Winter 2017

swathes my doorway . . .
its sweetness
calls to something hungry
that used to live inside

So Much More Than

we walk
under laden boughs
into silence . . .
a place of worship,
this architrave of snow

we make camp
in a dark sky preserve . . .
no stellarium
could rival
this magnitude of light

we become
so much more than
our wounds
lovely are the bruises
of crushed magnolias


the quiet
susurrus of stones
with each wave . . .
a refugee hushes
her frightened baby

of deer splashing
in puddles . . .
the bullied child
never that carefree

a cowbird
lays eggs in the nest
of her host . . .
too many people
feel they don't belong

World Haiku Association, November 2017

158th Monthly Haiga Contest

Stardust Haiku, Issue 11, November 2017

a moonbow
above the waterfall
arrows of geese

Under the Basho, 2017

Personal Best 2017

glassy lake
flocks of snow geese
pull up the moon

1st Place
Autumn Moon Haiku Contest 2017

Modern Haiku

luna moth
unfolding the hidden
part of you

frayed sunflowers . . .
this is the part where
we say goodbye

the sky ripens . . .
snow stars
decorate your sweater

river stories
we always begin
at the end

the pulse
of oncoming storms . . .
our windows flex

Stand-Alone Hokku

snow flurries
the softened edges
of shadows

morning haze . . .
the bright blue flashes
of kestrels

deep forest
mushroom gills filter
rays of light

Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Vol. 2, Issue 24, December 2017

Daily Haiku, Charlotte Digregorio's Writer's Blog, November 2017

transience . . .
petal by petal
we let go

Winning Haiku, Canada
Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku Invitational, 2017

Creatrix, Anthology Number 2, 2017

Issues 15 - 35, 2012 - 2016

first crocus
the grey stubble
on his chin

Creatrix Poetry and Haiku Journal, Number 39, November 2017

lantern festival
we come together
in the dark

dark days
we learn to sing
in the key of rain

bone density . . .
the broken stems
of sunflowers

spin cycle . . .
newspapers cartwheel
down the street

charred trees
the horizon wider

Brass Bell, December 2017

ice-laden trees
a thousand brass bells
tinkle your name

Atlas Poetica, Number 30, November 2017


float above moss stars . . .
amber beacons
in forest shadows
call us to taste the light

the shimmer
of diamonds on snow
and water . . .
sometimes we take
small gifts for granted

mudlarks . . .
everything we buried
as children
surfaces at last
into the light of day

in her eyes
deep wells of pain . . .
and yet,
glimmers of light
at the bottom