Thursday, March 24, 2016

World Haiku Association, February 2016

139th Monthly Haiga Contest




World Haiku Association, January 2016

138th Monthly Haiga Contest



Wild Plum, Issue 2:1, Spring & Summer 2016

setting sun
dandelion seedheads
bend the light


skipping stones
the expanding ripples
of our universe





The Heron's Nest, Vol. 18, Number 1, March 2016

bobolinks
perched on thistle heads
the rain-streaked sky

Spent Blossoms, Tanka Society of America Members' Anthology 2015

camping
in bear country
all night
the large noises
of small creatures

Ribbons, Volume 12, Number 1, Winter 2016

four crosses
in a roadside ditch
will no one
stop and read the names
of our beloveds

Red Lights, Vol. 12, Number 1, January 2016

the chatter
of elderly trees
in wind gusts
bony branches scrape
the lowering sky


a kettle
of migrating hawks
riding thermals
through the boiling sky
we drink it all in


sunset's soft blush
through black lace leaves
why did I reveal
so much more of myself
than I had intended

Prune juice, Issue 18, March 2016

our last time fishing with grandpa the catch in my throat






Presence, Number 54, February 2016

from sand nests
loggerhead turtles
make their way
summoned by the sea
we wash our feet in stars

One Man's Maple Moon: 66 Selected English-Chinese Bilingual Tanka, Volume 2, 2016

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu


crossing over
the bridge of sighs
I felt you
folding into me
folding into prayer


Gusts 19, Spring/Summer 2014

NeverEnding Story, February 2016

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu


wishing seeds
cartwheel through warm air
how quiet
this fleeting moment
this belief in miracles


2nd Honourable Mention
2015 UHTS Fleeting Words Tanka Contest

NeverEnding Story, March 2016

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu


rusted gate
old lilacs blooming
for no one


Selected Haiku
7th Yamadera Basho Memorial Museum Haiku Contest 2015


Chen-ou's comments:

The contrasts (man-made vs natural, inanimate vs animate, rusted vs blooming, ...) between the two parts of the poem open up an interpretative space for the reader's imagination.

Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Issue 3, March 2016

birch bark canoe . . .
pasted in a scrapbook
strips of her life


shore lunch
the summer taste
of rainbows


snapdragons
we pop corn over
the campfire






Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Hedgerow Poems, Number 69, March 2016

Resident Artist






Hedgerow Poems, Number 67, March 2016

Resident Artist






Haiku Canada Review, Vol. 10, Number 1, February 2016

ice jams at breakup there is nothing more to say


lilac buds
no one notices
the bruises

Gnarled Oak, Issue 6, February 2016

End of the Road





Failed Haiku - A Journal of English Senryu, Issue 2, February 2016

tangled vines
the bittersweet terms
of divorce


wind quintet
the circular breathing
of our lives





Butterfly Dream: 66 Selected English-Chinese Bilingual Haiku, Vol. 2, 2016

Translated into Chinese by Chen-ou Liu


on the tundra
caging a winter sky
caribou bones

Third Place
2014 Hortensia Anderson Awards



Brass Bell, March 2016

old books the oddments of my past lives


day moon
(dis)appearing
sister's thin face


first chemo
a yellow leaf caught
in her hair

Blithe Spirit. Vol. 26, Number 1, February 2016

dawn walk
a fog sylph takes
her shape


gulls hunched
along the shoreline
more bad news


diurnal tides
the ebb and flow
of grief


Museum of Haiku Literature Award


And the winner of this quarter's Literature Award, because of its startling image and enduring challenge to one's thinking:

split chrysalis
all the ways we learn
to become small

I feel fairly confident that Ken would have included particularly this one in his small green book into which he entered any published haiku which he felt would be deeply sustaining and inspiring in truly hard times.

—Colin Blundell






Atlas Poetica, Number 24, March 2016

newly planted
evening-scented stock
at the end
of this careworn day
the sweetness of night


late harvest
the roar of combines
all night long
looming through grain dust
there be dragons


how we longed
for the circus to come
one last chance
to hang by our heels
from the high-wire moon


white-tailed deer
between tamaracks
our past
e l o n g a t i n g
with each golden hour


a black dog
slavers at the edges
of my mind
is there no escaping
this inevitable defeat


drum circle
my heart pounding
in my mouth
these words that taste of blood
and sound like thunder


she is small-boned
with beautiful plumage
this tanka bird
whose every short song
lifts us into glory

(for Kathabela Wilson)


Midnight Shift


Winter nights are never quiet when I spend them alone, brooding in bed like an egg in a nest of down.

A plane drones overhead. In rising winds, evergreen branches scratch messages against the windowpane.

Our clock chimes on the hour. The dog's nails tap dance across hardwood before she settles down with a sigh. The furnace grumbles through its cycles, struggling to keep bone-rattling temperatures at bay. My body tenses as a sharp crack splits the air. This old house speaks its own language, and the strings of my guitar respond with sympathetic vibrations.

the sound of tires
squeaking on new snow
a winter bird
rises from her rest
fluffing up her feathers






Asahi Haikuist Network, March 2016

charred forest
jack pine cones explode
with new life

Akitsu Quarterly, Spring 2016

stiltwalkers
a circus of blackbirds
in the marsh