Thursday, March 08, 2018

Cha No Keburi - Italian Blog of Haiku, Senryu and Short Poetry, February 2018

Translated into Italian by Lucia Fontana

a galaxy
on the fawn's back . . .
solstice eve

Modern Haiku, Vol. 49.1, Winter-Spring 2018

summer's end
we fold maple seeds
into dragonflies

Golden Triangle Haiku Contest 2018

Judges' Favourites:

"Spring in the City" Theme

the graffiti
of cherry blossoms . . .
night winds

rapid transit
the coming and going
of magnolias


This year we received a record-breaking 1,675 entries from 45 countries and 34 states, and the District of Columbia...

The Cherita, December 2017

Issue: "a visit across decades"

frost-laced leaves

in the morning light
we are all transparent

you cup your hand
around my heart,
pulling me inside

this urgency

between sharp-edged winds
you warn me of snow

but I have longed
for winter's wizardry . . .
come, let us light the fire

A Cherita Lighthouse Award

Stardust Haiku, Issue 14, February 2018

night picnic . . .
the magnolia tree
our candelabra

Old Song: The Red Moon Anthology of English-Language Haiku 2017

winter wind
our laughter swallowed

Presence 57, March 2017

Red Lights, Vol. 14, Number 1, January 2018

from alabaster . . .
these faces
with empty eyes,
so beautifully sad

soft thuds
of falling acorns
our contented silence . . .
a new story unfolds

peeled and hanging
out to dry . . .
autumn's harvest
shines brighter this year

Honoured to have my thoughts appear on the back cover:

Tanka poets complete the statement: When I read or write tanka . . .

. . . I am mindful that these small gifts have immeasurable value both to the giver and the recipient. Such wordsongs, whether received or bestowed, reflect the harmonic call and answer between reader and writer that is nothing short of magical.

Otata, Issue 27, March 2018

damp underpass only the dark timpani of trains

stardrifts we slip into the depths of winter

setting sun blood red epaulettes on a blackbird's wings

sulphur springs we conjure the scent of petrichor

NeverEnding Story, March 2018

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu

fog weaving
between fence posts
a coyote's song

Honorable Mention
2016 Griffin-Farlow Haiku Award

Chen-ou Liu's comments:

Emotionally evocative and good use of the senses in this imagistic haiku.

Inner Voices - International Women's Haiku Festival, March 2018

sisterless . . .
another star falls
into the lake

African violets
the fuzzy details
of my past

Editor's Comments:

Taken together, these two poems convey volumes about women's experience. In "sisterless . . ." the special relationship that only sisters can share is viewed from the vantage point of its utter lack, and illustrated with the heartrending image of a star falling into permanent darkness in a lake.

"African violets" is a compassionate take on the parts of our lives that we may prefer to leave in the relative safety and comfort of the vagueness of the past. Likening the "fuzzy details" of the past to bold and beautiful (and, yes, fuzzy) African violets acknowledges that even the shadows of one's past are still, in their own unique ways, beautiful and brilliant.

—Jennifer Hambrick

Haiku Canada Review, Vol. 12, Number 1, February 2018

deadwood the end-stopped lines of sapsuckers

anvil clouds there was something I wanted to say

silence until . . .
the winter carols
of chickadees

Daily Haiku, Charlotte Digregorio's Writer's Blog, March 2018

snowy field
the owls we thought
were stones

Honorable Mention
9th Irish Haiku Society International Haiku Competition, 2017

Creatrix Poetry and Haiku Journal, Number 40, March 2018

campfire songs
darkness settles
on our shoulders

woodland trail
we inhale the breath
of old trees

heavy traffic
a queue of ladybugs
on a twig

Atlas Poetica, Number 31, January 2018

dancing solo

a birds's nest
bound with spidersilk . . .
to hold us together
after the young had flown

blacker than our last
conversation . . .
the skeletal remains
of ancient forests

the stings
of a thousand wasps . . .
some betrayals
grow more venomous
with passing years

unsettled . . .
old arguments
in the cloudbursts
of my mind

leaves spin
against autumn skies . . .
I reflect
on all the times
you refused to dance