Monday, November 23, 2020

Yuki Teikei Haiku Society, 2020

crickets in the field . . .
we still hear grandma calling
us home for dinner

Honourable Mention
Tokutomi Haiku Contest 2020

The Helping Hand Haiku Anthology (Including Senryu, Tanka, and Haiga), 2020

Editor: Robert Epstein

summer fair
our dog retrieves
a lost boy

Mariposa #40, 2019

I bandage
my sister's wounds
with rose petals,
crooning our mantra . . .
all will soon be well

Red Lights, 15.1, 2019

(note: this haiku originally appeared in The Poetry Pea Journal of Haiku and Senryu, Spring 2020)

(note: this haiku was selected for the 2019 Yamadera Basho Haiku Contest)

(note: this tanka originally appeared in Presence #61, 2018)


Seashores - An International Journal to Share the Spirit of Haiku, Vol. 5, November 2020

My thanks to Gilles Fabre for his congratulatory message in this issue. The following haiku was short-listed for the 2019 Touchstone Award for Individual Haiku (first published in Seashores, Issue 2, April 2019):

I skip a pebble across
the universe


not yet
the white of snow . . .
tundra hare

ditch flowers
this year I will learn
their names

woodcock moon
the first snow will fall


Horror Senryu Journal, November 2020

the bruises behind
your mask

Bundled Wildflowers, Haiku Society of America Members' Anthology 2020

canyon fog
this invisible rift
between us

Haiku Canada Review, Vol. 14, Number 2, October 2020

(w)age equity

minnows dart
between our fingers . . .
summer fling

I stand
beneath a canopy
of white,
the span of my hands
against an aspen's heart

Daily Haiku, Charlotte Digregorio's Writer's Blog, November 2020

My thanks to Charlotte for featuring three sets from The Language of Loss: Haiku & Tanka Conversations (Sable Books 2020), winner of the 2019 International Women's Haiku Book Contest:

spin from the crest
of a wave . . .
I wish we'd had more
time to say goodbye

    on the empty beach
    I write his name


a star tortoise
carries the universe
on its back . . .
are we slowly moving
away from each other

    dark matter
    we never plan
    to be alone


ancient graves
sink into marshland . . .
the long bones
of our ancestors
wandering, still

    our parents grow smaller
    every year

Saturday, November 07, 2020

Our Best Haiga: Black & White Haiga/Haisha, October 2020

Curated by Lavana Kray

October 3, 2020

(Note: this haiku originally appeared in Autumn Moon Haiku Journal 1:2, 2018)

October 7, 2020

(Note: this tanka originally appeared in Haiku Canada Review 14.1, 2020)

October 11, 2020

(Note: this haiga originally appeared in the 157th Monthly Haiga Contest of the World Haiku Association, October 2017)

October 21, 2020

(Note: this tanka art originally appeared in Ribbons 15.2, Spring/Summer 2019


NeverEnding Story, October 2020

Cool Announcement: A Freebie, Prairie Interludes by Debbie Strange

My Dear Friends:

The award-winning e-book of haiku, Prairie Interludes, written by NeverEnding Story contributor, Debbie Strange, is now available to read free online

Selected Haiku:

a wet spring
dark furrows seeded
with stars

boundary lines
every fence post topped
with a baseball cap

rusted rails
a meadowlark with the sun
in its throat

cloudless sky
a pelican's pouch
full of light

harvesting night
an arc of moondust
from the auger

prize pumpkins
our hayrack buckles
with light

fog weaving
between fence posts
a coyote's song

the humming of wind
in barbed wire

NeverEnding Story, October 2020

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu:

the ocean
was in a rage last night
but today,
these peace offerings
of blue mussels and kelp

1st Place
2018 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

Chen-ou Liu's Comments: (excerpted from commentary by judges Jessica Malone Latham and Neal Whitman)

The word "rage" has a long, storied history in literature. It is a universal emotion and, for sure, people have long experienced the rage of the ocean. How excellent we thought was its use in line two, rather than using a word such as "storm." We admired the use of a simple comma at the end of line three to give the reader a short pause to allow a moment to ponder, "What's next?" Ah, there is a resolution to the last night. Today? A peace offering to which we felt an "aah" moment. How welcome is the bounty. The ocean offers an infinity of treasures. We found the blue mussels and kelp to be a delightful choice made by this poet. We have already mentioned reciting tanka aloud to take in their sound. You might not choose to read out loud all nine of the awarded tanka, but this one, in particular, lends itself to deeper appreciation with its pivot at the end of line three. You might experience tranquility with lines four and five. We did...

Friday, November 06, 2020

Cattails, October 2020

Thrilled to provide the cover and interior butterfly photos for this issue! My thanks to Mike Montreuil for the invitation.


Tanka Section

paint the canyon walls . . .
my chanting
reverberates until
I am one with sound

by and by
I promise to tell you
but for now, let us listen . . .
nature is speaking

Editor's Choice

It's strictly coincidence that two of my Editor's Choice selections are written by Canadians. This one, by Debbie Strange, drew me in with its musical 'by and by' followed by a hint that she might be ready to share a secret. Who can resist reading further?

Each line is a coherent thought or phrase and slips easily into the following line without confusion. The form is fairly traditional, with its s/l/s/l/l/ sound and appearance on the page ... and that works well for me. I also like the human element combined with nature.

The change of direction when we arrive at the mid-line comma works well. We discover we're not going to hear 'everything'; instead, we have to listen. I doubt that readers will expect what's to come in line 5, but what a delightful surprise with which to conclude this engaging tanka.

I suspect some people would say punctuation is not needed. Technically, maybe it isn't. However, I find the comma and ellipsis slow me down, give me time to be still, become calm, and to open my ears and really listen.
—Susan Constable

Haiku Section

freezing fog
the intermittent embers
of rose hips
Senryu Section

global warming
the extinction event
of snowmen

Haibun Section

Youth Section

The following haiga was also included in this issue:


The Wanderer Brush by Ion Codrescu, Red Moon Press, 2020

Honoured to have work chosen for The Wanderer Brush - The Art of Haiga:

Haiku from 79 International Poets
Selected, Edited and Illustrated by Ion Codrescu

This lovely book contains the biographies of included poets, as well as a favourite haiku chosen by each poet, and corresponding commentary.

homecoming . . .
a bouquet of sky
in an old jar

1st Place, 2017 Australian Haiku Society Spring Haiga Kukai

transience . . .
petal by petal
we let go

Winning Haiku, 2017 Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival Haiku Invitational

fog deepens
the sound of rabbits
nibbling night

Grand Prize
2016 World Haiku Competition

A thousand thanks to Ion for this evocative haiga!

I was surprised and grateful to have fellow Canadian poet, Michael Dudley, choose the following haiku as a favourite, and I thank him for his generous and sensitive reading of my work:

atlas moth
the places I thought
we'd go

Honourable Mention
2017 Jane Reichhold International Prize

"In the particular is contained the universal." James Joyce

Within this precise, concise, deftly expressed haiku by Debbie Strange, a quiet voice of recognition and resignation conveys a gracious though bewildered acceptance of time passed and opportunities lost. The exact possible life destinations/discoveries/experiences that the persona and another/others have not shared; judiciously, the poem does not explain the reason/s for such unfulfillment. Thus, each reader may enter the details of the poem personally, inspired by the words to revisit and contemplate similar circumstances from his/her own life. The particulars included within the poem and the details left out seamlessly evoke a universal theme.
—Michael Dudley

I chose the following haiku by an'ya as a favourite:

birth death
this stretch of beach

Daily Haiga, December 2009

I'm a lifelong beach rambler, so this melancholic haiku resonates with me on many levels, and can be interpreted both literally and metaphorically. I've always been intrigued by what the tides leave behind (birth), and what they take away (death). The physical space between the words "birth" and "death" reminds me of the dash often etched between dates on a tombstone. The word "beach" is a perfect metaphor for "life", and with only seven words, this gifted poet invites me to take a reflective walk through my past into my future.

—Debbie Strange

Thursday, November 05, 2020

Our Best Haiga: Black & White Haiga/Haisha, September 2020

 Curated by Lavana Kray

September 5, 2020

(Note: this haiku originally appeared in Shamrock 42, September 2019)

September 6, 2020

(Note: this haiku originally appeared in Frameless Sky 10, June 2019)

September 9, 2020

(Note: this tanka originally appeared in Blithe Spirit 29.2, May 2019)

September 12, 2020

(Note: this tanka originally appeared in Cattails, April 2020)

September 18, 2020

(Note: this haiku originally appeared in Modern Haiku 48.2, Summer 2017)

September 30, 2020

(Note: this haiga originally appeared in Haigaonline 18.2, Autumn 2017)

Wales Haiku Journal, Autumn 2020

farm road
a tiger lily fills
with dust

Creatrix Anthology, Number 3, 2020

Issues 36 - 47, 2017 - 2019


every bee flecked
with light


bone density—
the broken stems
of sunflowers

charred trees
the horizon wider


woodland trail
we inhale the breath
of old trees

heavy traffic
a queue of ladybugs
on a twig


ancient stones
the orange moons
of lichen


harvesting night
an arc of moondust
from the auger


windblown seeds
refugees try to cross
the border

Sunday, November 01, 2020

Poetry Pea, October 2020

The Haiku Pea Podcast

Series 3, Episode 20 - "Found Poetry", October 19, 2020

I spread out my joy
on the grass

culled from: "New Rain", The One & the Many by Rabindranath Tagore

Poetry Pea, September 2020

The Haiku Pea Podcast

Series 3, Episode 18 - "Loss", September 21, 2020

circles of lichen
I thought we would have
more time

3rd Place
2018 Kaji Aso Studio Haiku Contest

winter jasmine
we inhale the scent
of dying stars

The Cherita, August 2020

Issue: "i heard it first"

the aurora

pulses overhead
like a heartbeat

in these dark times
light knows how
to lift me up

Prune Juice, Issue 32, November 2020


Daily Haiga: An Edited Journal of Traditional and Contemporary Haiga, October 2020

Featured Artist: October 31, 2020

Note: this tanka was first published in GUSTS 31, Spring/Summer 2020


World Haiku Review, Autumn 2020

we buy a bird feeder
that isn't

Zatsuei Haiku of Merit
Shintai Category

I cultivate the seeds
of loneliness

Editor's Choice Haiku
Hon. Mention, Vanguard Category


This is an interesting way of handling loneliness caused by the pandemic. All the secrets are contained in line 2. The interpretation of the words 'cultivate' and 'seeds' decides the author's response. She is not yet suffering from the fully-blown loneliness but clearly expecting it is coming. In that case, it would certainly be better to 'grow' it in the way she likes or tolerates, rather than leaving it to grow by itself out of her control, making her life an utter misery. There is 'good' loneliness and 'bad' loneliness. The word 'cultivate' seems to me to be giving such implications.

—Susumu Takiguchi  

The Haiku Foundation, Per Diem, September 2020

Selected by Susan Burch for the theme of "Mental Health/Illness": September 9, 2020

split chrysalis
all the ways we learn
to become small

Museum of Haiku Literature Award
Selected from Blithe Spirit 25.4, 2015