Ribbons, Volume 22, Number 1, Spring/Summer 2026

the old oak

leans against our fence

all those times

you held me up when

I was about to fall

Ribbons, Volume 21, Number 2, Fall/Winter 2025

Honoured to have the following tanka selected by Jim Chessing for his article, "How Tanka Mean—Some Thoughts on Content and Form: Part 2":

a raven

believed it could fly

through me

unaware that I am glass,

pretending to be sky

3rd Place, 2020 San Francisco International Tanka Competition

Ribbons, Volume 21, Number 1, Spring/Summer 2025

the way it makes me feel

sometimes

it all seems too much

to bear,

but then comes the rain

and a wood thrush singing

the scent

of petrichor through

open shutters . . .

a curtain billows

and I, too, am flying

Honoured to have the following tanka selected by Jim Chessing for his article, "How Tanka Mean—Some Thoughts on Content and Form: Part I":

I have learned

how to keep silent . . .

these pebbles

under my tongue

seasoned with rue

Cattails, April 2021

(note: "ikigai" means having a sense of purpose)

Ribbons, Volume 20, Number 2, Fall/Winter 2024

prairie nights

and fields upon fields

of stars . . .

they say my sister

is up there somewhere

Note: this issue also contains the judges' commentary for the following awarded poem in the 2024 TSA Tanka Contest, accessed under the tag "Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest":

an arbutus

sheds its outer bark . . .

my skin

is the only thing

holding me together

Honourable Mention

 

Ribbons, Volume 20, Number 1, Spring/Summer 2024

blue waves

of lupine ripple across

the meadow . . .

a swarm of bees

rising, falling

 

Ribbons, Volume 19, Number 3, Fall 2023

Windswept

spear grass

pins this hillock

to the prairie . . .

these family graves

tended my magpies

sorrow

flourishes inside

my chest,

taking root as if to say

it means to stay awhile

Note: an'ya and I judged the 2023 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Competition, and the results and our commentaries are included in this issue.

Ribbons, Volume 19, Number 2, Spring/Summer 2023

wax and wane

a tenderness

of snowdrops emerges

every spring

this temptation to fall

in love with you again

dandelion wishes

stolen by furtive winds

when you asked

for your freedom,

I promised to let go

wet cobbles

outside the flower shop

fallen petals

have pasted a rainbow

to this dirty street

Ribbons, Volume 19, Number 1, Winter 2023

Alchemy

I once thought

forests were fearsome

until sparks

of amethyst deceivers

turned shadows into light

the symbiosis

of pixie cup lichens

in this life

we are transformed

by each other's magic

Ribbons, Volume 18, Number 3, Fall 2022

Waiting for Images from the Space Telescope

my vision

flickers for a moment

I try to focus

on earth's atmosphere

bending the light from stars

scattered across

a starling's feathers

constellations

catch and refract

the spectacle of night

how long

has it been since

we believed . . .

our bodies' atoms

traceable to the stars

Ribbons, Volume 18, Number 2, Spring/Summer 2022

smooth bark

etched with script lichen

we understand

this secret language

better than our own

My thanks to Ryland Shengzhi Li for including my work in the "Contemplative Reading" section of his essay, Deepening Your Reading of Tanka:

a raven

believed it could fly

through me

unaware that I am glass,

pretending to be sky

(Third Place, 2020 San Francisco International Competition for Haiku, Senryu and Tanka)

Again, I suggest you try the contemplative reading yourself and reflect on your experience before moving on.

The word that most touches me is "pretending." I feel discomfort. I identify with the glass and feel that I am deceiving the raven, which I take as other people in my life. I also feel guilt and shame blocking me from being my true self. And I feel called to tell the truth and to be true, so as not to hurt others.

In the final contemplation, I realize that the one who suffers most from my deception is not others, but myself. When the raven hits glass, it is the glass that shatters. Like the glass, I am fragile and vulnerable, but also beautiful and worthy of existing in my own right. The earlier call to tell the truth for the sake of not hurting others reflects my empathy for them. But I need to balance that with care for myself and my own needs, which I find all too easy to neglect.

Oddly, when I first read this poem, it did not speak to me. But my contemplative reading helped me to experience the poem in its many layers, and through the poem, to experience layers of myself. Native American poet Joy Harjo describes it like this: when you begin to listen to poetry, you begin to listen to the stones, to clouds, to others—and most importantly, you "begin to learn to listen to the soul, the soul of yourself in here, which is also the soul of everyone else".

Ribbons, Volume 18, Number 1, Winter 2022

 

Ribbons, Volume 17, Number 3, Fall 2021

My thanks to Jenny Ward Angyal for her lovely review of The Language of Loss: Haiku & Tanka Conversations. It may be accessed via the book title's tab of this blog.

a whisper

of moths circling

the beacon

it is much too late

for sirens

My thanks to Ryland Shengzhi Li for including my work in his essay, Gifts of Tanka: An Essay on Structure:

"The event-and-response structure comprises an event, state, or thing paired with a response...

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)

Here, the event comprises the first two lines of the ocean in a rage last night, while the response, today's peace offerings, comes in the last three lines. What follows rage is not destruction, as one might expect, but offerings of peace.

Although the words of the poem focus on the ocean, they also invite the reader to infer meanings about human life. The poem suggests a mood of hopeful expectation in a dire situation, perhaps reconciliation after a fight. If even the ocean, the vastest thing on earth, can resolve rage with peace offerings, how much more so we human beings. In this sense, the poem's description of the ocean gives us perspective and grounding in our own life, while relating the ocean to human affairs helps us see the ocean with greater familiarity. The poem also suggests the impermanence of all things: even a strong emotion like rage will eventually wane and be pacified. The "peace offerings" here are also food items, often used to cultivate peace between humans.

 

Ribbons, Volume 17, Number 2, Spring/Summer 2021

(un)worthiness

a blue sand dune

discovered on Mars

the universe

gives me so much more

than I deserve

lost again

in the forest of mind

I tread warily

through macrocosms

of contrition

astronomers

describe a star's death

as spectacular

who is to say that

mine will not be so

 

Ribbons, Volume 17, Number 1, Winter 2021

Selfsame

buried seeds

spring from darkness

into light

we each blossom

in our own time

how sensuous

these rippling sands

at twilight

the evolving stories

of our womanhood

the Geminids

sling meteors above

distant mountains

that which pierces your heart

pierces mine also

dilly-dallying

along gravel roads

time s l o w s

the closer we get

to our childhood

 

Ribbons, Volume 16, Number 3, Fall 2020

somewhere

in the curling spiral

of this apple

for a few moments,

I am wholly present

Ribbons, Volume 16, Number 2, Spring/Summer 2020

rain-soaked,
sphagnum moss holds
the imprints
of comings and goings
more wild than mine

Ribbons, Volume 16, Number 1, Winter 2020

Sanctuary


how soft,
my grandfather's cheek
he shows me
the little swans inside
every columbine

I sift seeds
between my fingers
scattering them
like prayers offered
to the sun and rain

moon-pennies
set the dark alight
I leave a trail
of petals for you
to spend come morning

welcome
to my garden oasis
every blossom
was once a sorrow buried
deep inside the earth

Ribbons, Volume 15, Number 3, Fall 2019

seaward


we are witness
to the birth of dawn
our paddles
silent for a moment
dripping with light

dolphins stitch
the blue edge of sky
to ocean
I imagine our bodies
unwrinkled and nimble

fishing boats
appear to hover
in mid-air
as heaven becomes
one with the water

night falls
upon this island
we open
our mouths and swallow
an elixir of stars

Ribbons, Volume 15, Number 2, Spring/Summer 2019

Honoured to be the featured poet in this issue. My thanks to David Rice!

POET AND TANKA

Sharing My Light

As a child, I used to curl up on the couch in our farmhouse while listening to my father recite poetry. This was my introduction to the power of words, and I remain under their spell to this day.

snow whirls

outside the henhouse . . .

father cups

my hands around

a warm brown egg

3rd Place, 2018 Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

I wrote my first poem at nine, and began writing songs at twelve. My older sister was my mentor and singing partner, always encouraging me to "share my light." When she passed away at 28, I was lost.

a smudge

of blackbirds swirling

into evening . . .

how fluid the shape

of this sorrow

2nd Place, 2018 Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

Years later, I took my sister's advice and submitted work to an'ya at kernelsonline (Cattails). My haiku chapbook, A Year Unfolding (Folded Word 2017) is a direct result of that first acceptance. I am grateful to an'ya for helping me take a leap of faith into short-form poetry. It changed my life!

each moment

here on earth is numbered . . .

so why not

fly too close to the moon,

and hang our hats on stars?

1st Place, 2016 Mandy's Pages Annual Tanka Contest

Shortly afterward, I discovered tanka on Twitter via M. Kei. I am indebted to him for publishing my first book, Warp and Weft: Tanka Threads in 2015, and its sequel, Three-Part Harmony: Tanka Verses in 2018. Both books are comprised of tanka that appeared individually in a variety of publications over the years. I selected tanka that resonated with each other, combining them into triptychs in an effort to expand their scope. This technique allowed me to breathe new life into old poems. I do not think of these "verses or threads" as sequences, because they were not written as such. The titles are drawn from the last tanka in each set and serve to bring the poems full circle.

this fleeting moment

how still

this numinous dawn

we kneel,

watching a muskrat's breath

bubbling under thin ice

light spills

through a fallstreak hole

onto water . . .

if nothing else,

this will be enough

wishing seeds

cartwheel through warm air

how quiet

this fleeting moment

this belief in miracles

1st verse: The Bamboo Hut, Spring 2015

2nd verse: HM, 2017 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

3rd verse: 2nd HM, 2015 Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

Musicality in tanka is vital to me, as I often sing the poems while strumming my guitar. Vocabulary also plays an integral role in my work.

the growth rings

of otoliths and trees . . .

when did she

become smaller

than her daughters

2nd Place, 2017 Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

Composing tanka is my primary writing focus. This daily meditation quiets my mind and helps to distract me from chronic pain.

the architecture

of impending storms . . .

every cloud

that hangs over me

has a given name

HM, 2017 Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

I have made my home beside the ocean, on the prairies, and at the feet of mountains. Poetry of place features in much of my tanka.

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

Many of my tanka and photographs depict flora, fauna, and phenomena encountered while camping, birding, and hiking in the wilds.

dried curls

of gray reindeer moss

crunch softly

underneath our boots . . .

no other sound, but breath

1st Place (tie), 2016 San Francisco International Competition

Human experience is also a frequent subject in my tanka.

tracks of birds

meander through snow . . .

the surgeon

marks her left breast

with a cross

1st Place, 2016 British Haiku Society Tanka Awards

The short-form community inspires me. Reading the work of others and heeding editorial advice pushes me to hone my skills. I offer my thanks to the following gifted tanka poets who provided blurbs for my books:

without . . .

each evening seems even

longer

than it takes the river

to smooth a thousand stones

an'ya: Winner, 2018 British Haiku Society Tanka Awards

sometimes,

when no one is around,

my heart changes

into a heron

and flies

M. Kei: HM, 2007 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

it's not so much

the 'big one' when it comes

but aftershocks . . .

our favorite song,
letters addressed to you

David Terelinck: Winner, 2018 British Haiku Society Tanka Awards

through rain

through a year

of threadbare melodies

the early dark

of stolen mulberries

ai li: The Tanka Anthology, 2003 (editor Michael McClintock et al)

if you were reborn

a fly and I, a spider

with skeins of rainbow

I would weave

a web for our dreams

Sonam Chhoki: Fire Pearls, Volume 2, 2013 (editor M. Kei)

a tree trunk

lost in the shadow

of its branches . . .

another yes

when I meant to say no

Ken Slaughter: 1st Place, 2015 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

in an old picture

my mother's hand so firm

on my shoulder

as if gravity alone

could not hold me down

Angela Leuck: Take Five, Volume 4, 2011 (editor-in-chief M. Kei)

Holding a letter

with words no longer true;

day-lilies open

and wither

in the same vase.

Alexis Rotella: The Tanka Anthology, 2003 (editor Michael McClintock et al)

The cuckoo clock strikes

I smile at the soft dawn light

Until my eyes rest

On your bare dressing table,

On all the empty hangers

Denis Garrison: Fire Pearls, 2006 (editor M. Kei)

This tanka journey has been an amazing adventure, and it has brought me closer to awareness of the universe and myself.

on this night

of our awareness,

the aurora

brushes an ensō

across lake and sky

HM, 2018 Sanford Goldstein International Tanka Contest

Ribbons, Volume 15, Number 1, Winter 2019

the winter of my life


ice-bound,
a mosaic of leaves
suspended
between seasons
like frayed memories

I skate backward
through the rag-ends
of childhood,
a warm potato
in each mitten

My thanks to Pamela Babusci who mentioned the following poem in her Tanka Journey feature in this issue:

a halo around

the long night moon . . .

I find

another strand

of mother's light

Winner

10th Annual Moonbathing Contest