a pinch
of sun in our soup . . .
marigolds
Wednesday, October 28, 2020
The Bamboo Hut, Number 4, 2020
The Birds Inside My Ribcage
railway spur the to and fro of meadowlarks
blown cattails
moorhen prints emboss
the mud
circles of sun
in the peregrine's eyes . . .
windy bluff
smoky moon
a sandhill crane's
rusty crown
solstice
the snowy sky freckled
with crows
Under the Basho, 2020
we amble
along an esker's spine
gravel shifting
into small symphonies
underneath our boots
ghost moths . . .
mother's pale hands
f l u t t e r
around the light
of her memories
sacred waters . . .
we sleep among pods
of sperm whales
suspended upright
in the ocean's belly
along an esker's spine
gravel shifting
into small symphonies
underneath our boots
ghost moths . . .
mother's pale hands
f l u t t e r
around the light
of her memories
sacred waters . . .
we sleep among pods
of sperm whales
suspended upright
in the ocean's belly
Shamrock Haiku Journal, Number 44, September 2020
prairie sun
the yellow chest sacs
of sage grouse
elder flowers
the whistles we will make
from their stems
Moonlight Haiku Challenge Anthology - Consulate General of Japan in Toronto, September 2020
The Consulate General of Japan in Toronto published the following haiga in their Moonlight Haiku Challenge Anthology:
Kokako, Number 33, September 2020
the footprints
of invisible people . . .
sandstorm
distant thunder
bred by lightning . . .
a coyote's yip
the air thicker
than manuka honey . . .
how long
has it been since
we danced with bees
the brash calls
of trumpeter swans
overhead
we are always searching
for the best place to land
sunlight's tongue
flicks among oak leaves
how seductive
these age-old dances
with elusive shadows
Mariposa, Number 43, Autumn/Winter 2020
white squalls
appear in the distance
without warning
this vision of something
I do not want to know
This issue includes the results of the 2019 San Francisco International Rengay Competition:
Rengay written with Jennifer Hambrick (in normal type) and Debbie Strange (in italics):
In the Key of Grey
hydro lines
the sixteenth notes
of grackles
morning
in the key of grey
the lullaby
of wind through grain
empty silo
high lonesome
a crush of midnight
shadows
barbed wire
the descant of coyotes
curving
into the distance
a train's lament
Third Place (tied)
Excerpted from the judge's comments:
...It was one of very few rengay with a double theme. And the music references are skillfully incorporated into each verse, all of which relate very nicely to one another. I found this rengay to be very aesthetically pleasing.
—Seren Fargo
GUSTS, Number 32, Fall/Winter 2020
every tide
etches its own screed
upon the sand
here and there, traces
of someone else's ashes
a string
of shabby prayer flags
in the ditch
snowflakes mending edges
where hope used to be
saucers of ice
spin their way downriver . . .
we are honed
until nothing remains except
the roundness of memory
#FemkuMag: An E-zine of Womxn's Haiku - Issue 27, October 2020
ripening pear the bruises that never heal
from here to infinity the hand of doomscrolling
Daily Haiku, Charlotte Digregorio's Writer's Blog, September 2020
September 12
the ocean
was in a rage last night
but today,
these peace offerings
of blue mussels and kelp
1st Place
Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Competition, 2018
September 13
between the spokes
of your spinning wheel
a dusty web . . .
I never thought our lives
would so quickly unwind
1st Place
The British Haiku Society Tanka Awards, 2019
September 18
dried curls
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
1st Place
San Francisco International Tanka Competition, 2016
September 24
mountain lupine
the colour of wild
in your eyes
Cattails, May 2014
also published in my haiku collection, A Year Unfolding, (Folded Word 2017)
Cold Moon Journal, October 2020
October 18
ancient
oak
the
hollow
space
inside
me
October 24
empty paint tubes the thickened layers of regret
October 29
the sheen
of glass gem corn . . .
heirloom pearls
Akitsu Quarterly, Fall 2020
frozen dew
on teasel heads . . .
tipping point
slant-light
our fields punctuated
with hay bales
the horses
swim out to greet me . . .
ground fog
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)