Sunday, January 24, 2016

World Haiku Review, January 2016

ice fog
everything familiar
unfamiliar


Third Place
Shintai Haiku Category


late autumn
snow geese scattered
over dark fields


Zatsuei Haiku of Merit
Neo-Classical Haiku Category

The Zen Space, Winter Showcase, 2016



Muse India, Issue 65, January - February 2016

Feature - Triveni




Englyn, Issue One, January 2016

The last leaves of autumn
are sighing, sighing.
I sigh, too, when I think
of all the times I should have let go.


The silken water slips quietly
over stone shoulders.
If you listen deeply,
you will hear the night undressing.


The great blue king on unfurled wing,
sails through mackerel sky,
to alight once more upon shingled shore,
with strident, raucous cry.


At the dentist's office,
collywobbles distract me
from the war being waged
in the blood of my mouth


She is Sweet Sixteen.
Wherever she goes,
bouquets of small children
cling to her like butterflies.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

World Haiku Association, December 2015

137th Monthly Haiga Contest




VerseWrights, December 2015

In memory of our beloved "pearly girl" (2003-2015)




Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival, Haiku Invitational, 2015

gone too soon
sakura blossoms
my old friends


Sakura Award, Canada

NeverEnding Story, December 2015

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu

she hides
the family photographs
in memory's drawer
at our next visit
we find ourselves missing


The Bamboo Hut, 1:2, January 2014


Chen-ou's comments:

Modeled on traditional Japanese tanka, this heartfelt tanka is made up of five poetic phrases/ku (prosodic units) and structured into two parts where reveals not only the devastating consequences of the illness/dementia but also the different forms of patient's cognitive impairment ("family photographs/in "memory's drawer" vs "at "our next visit"/we find "ourselves missing").



A Hundred Gourds, Issue 5:1, December 2015

thunderheads
a squabble of crows
in the larch


antelope
grazing on sagebrush
at first light
the horizon stitched
to an infinitude of sky


I squeeze the sun
between my index finger
and my thumb
until the last drop of light
is swallowed by the water