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.

Gusts, Number 27, Spring/Summer 2018

fallen petals
spill from my basket
each one
a bruised and scented
poem for your pillow


sea spray
scattering the light . . .
you taught me
not to waste today's joy
on tomorrow's grief

Chrysanthemum, Number 23, April 2018

Translated into German

The British Haiku Society Awards 2017

rimed fence
the cattle and wind
change direction

Honourable Mention


Judge's comments:

The Canadian poet Debbie Strange has lived with cattle, or spent just enough time watching them to intuit this simplest of poems. She observes a simple reflex of nature—on a cold day, cattle face away from the wind. Anyone who has spent time with them knows this. When the wind changes, they move. It only takes 11 syllables for the poet to teach us a lesson—move, don't agonize.

—Robert Moyer

Note: The contest received 549 entries.

Romanian Haiku Group, Sharpening the Green Pencil Haiku Contest, 2018

Translated into Romanian by Dan DOMAN


frozen trough
I cup the warm breath
of my horse


First Prize
The Seventh Haiku Contest
Sharpening the Green Pencil, 2018


Comments by Cezar Florin CIOBICA (translation by Ana DROBOT):

The winning poem drew me towards it due to the delicacy of the picture presented, through the close connection between man and animal. The horse and its master have set together on the road, and they stop for a moment to rest and drink water, but, because of the low temperatures the trough is frozen, so the animal cannot drink. The master, however, probably numb with cold, gets warmed somehow by catching the breath of the faithful animal in the palm of his hands.

The two parts of the poem harmoniously weave around the complementarity death-life (standing still versus animation) in a wintery landscape whose glacial stiffness the reader can feel through his skin, due, partly, to the alliteration of the consonant "r" which appears five times in the poem. It can be speculated that the man, being too old and tired, or even ill, is reanimated, and, why not, put back on his feet by the warm, miraculous breath of his horse.

And, what is even more beautiful, is the fact that this poem, through his props, has taken me back in time, making me see no one else but Basho himself nearby the trough, sliding down his narrow path towards the far north.

Scryptic - Magazine of Alternative Art: Best of 2017-2018 Anthology, 2018

The Cherita, Book 10, January 2018

Issue: "Winter, no fixed abode"

even when

words might seem

d i s c o n n e c t e d

you will find

a pattern to the way

of everything

beside a rubbing tree

where bears

leave their scent

I plant my feet

firmly in their prints,

and walk into the wild

moondiving

galaxies drip

from your sleek pelt

I have always known

that you were made

of light

I talk to trees

this language

is not new to me

in every turning season,

another adjective

for love

A Cherita Lighthouse Award

World Haiku Review, March 2018

spindrift . . .
grief finally lets go
of me

Zatsuei Haiku of Merit
Vanguard Haiku Category


solstice . . .
gopher holes fill
with snow

Zatsuei Haiku of Merit
Neo-Classical Haiku Category


I've waited
long enough for you . . .
first snow

Zatsuei Haiku of Merit
Neo-Classical Haiku Category

World Haiku, Number 14, 2018

Translated into Japanese


fingerprints
on yellowed recipes
she is here, still


ginko walk
how extraordinary
this ordinary life


the hum of bees
I know every word
by heart


Note: these haiku previously appeared in Brass Bell Haiku Journal

Wildflower Poetry Press: Wild Voices, Vol. 2 - An Anthology of Short Poetry & Art by Women

Sonic Boom, Issue 11, April 2018

Wales Haiku Journal, Spring 2018

hard frost
a pumpkin melts
into itself


winter light
a scrawl of skaters
on the river

Stardust Haiku, Issue 15, March 2018

daffodils . . .
we always lean
on each other

Snapshot Press, The Haiku Calendar Competition 2018

Award Runner-up - The Haiku Calendar Competition 2018 (for the month of October)

Publication - The Haiku Calendar 2019 (Snapshot Press 2018)


fading dreams . . .
the golden smoke
of tamaracks

Scryptic - Magazine of Alternative Art, Issue 1.4, March 2018

Please see my featured artist interview in this issue on the "Articles/About" page of this blog.

Blithe Spirit, Vol. 28, Number 1, February 2018

she wears
a circlet of moon
on her finger . . .
the sheen of their love
now softened with age


a large raft
of resting sea otters
holding hands . . .
I never imagined you
drifting so far away


my hands
falter upon the keys
until a bird
reminds me of songs
I have yet to sing

Ribbons, Volume 14, Number 1, Winter 2018

I await
the rain's clemency . . .
there is a time
for all withered things
to bloom again


light spills
through a fallstreak hole
onto water . . .
if nothing else,
this will be enough


Honourable Mention
2017 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

NeverEnding Story, March 2018

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu


frazil ice
on a mountain lake
at breakup
the tinkling chimes
signal your departure


A Hundred Gourds, 4:2, March 2015


Chen-ou Liu's comments:

The juxtaposition of these two concrete and evocative visual and auditory images is emotionally resonant, and on second reading, the upper verse works well on two levels, literal and symbolic.

Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Vol. 3, Issue 28, April 2018

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

starflowers
light the woodland . . .
we find our way

Winner (Month of May)
Snapshot Press Haiku Calendar Competition, 2017


the graffiti
of cherry blossoms . . .
night winds

Judges' Favorites
Golden Triangle Haiku Contest, 2018

Incense Dreams, Issue 2.1 - Silence, March 2018

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

Translated by Lucia Fontana

whale watching . . .

our breath the length

of a rainbow

a drift

of blue poppies . . .

the fallen sky

shadowland . . .

constellations of moss

lead us into light

Featured Artistic Contributor:

Akitsu Quarterly, Spring 2018

swallowtails
the pause between folding
and unfolding

Honoured to be featured on the back cover of this issue:

The Mamba, Issue 5 - African Haiku Network, March 2018

blended family . . .
snow in the Sahara
this year


fickle winds
the migration of dunes
and humans