2020
HAIKU (Judge: Crystal Simone Smith)
First Place
shrouded in fog
the day awaits
its own arrival
Helen Ogden
Pacific Grove, CA
Of the many poems I read, this haiku’s stunning image settled in me, leaving a most discernible impression. Yet, there are two images here, the one the viewer sees and the one awaited. The new day is here but not distinguishable, and initially, this awareness is suggestive of a melancholic tone. However, the predictability of the day rising out of its fog also offers the reader possibility. I’m reminded of the philosophical theory of “unperceived existence” and its fallen forest tree riddle. If day breaks but cannot be seen, is it really here? Of course, this haiku also offers us a precise summation of this pandemic year, a perpetual fog that we all face daily. In the same spirit of Nick Virgilio’s celebrated haiku “lily / out of the water / out of itself” there is a purity in the essence of this image.
Second Place
final respects
a dozen high heels
aerate the earth
Scott Mason
Chappaqua, NY
I was immediately drawn to this splendid image of women stepping delicately in the soft sinking soil of a graveyard. It’s one notable aspect of this haiku; fresh, original imagery juxtaposed with a death ceremony event. Also present, the exquisite lyricism created by the words respect, aerate, and earth. It is difficult to read a poem as merely a poem in a pandemic, a time of so many deaths. This haiku transports us back to days when we attended burials in person, intensely aware of being above ground as opposed to underneath it.
Third Place
so faintly
through wildfire smoke
the ice cream jingle
Bob Redmond
Burien, WA
This poem is a definitive illustration of what the haiku practice does best. It distills a moment occurring in the natural world drawing our awareness to its splendor, or here, the misfortune of disaster. There’s a quiet in this haiku that permeates the senses, the sound of a truck traveling through smoke coming to rescue us with some joy, the relief of ice amid the heat of wildfires. The reader hears what cannot be seen and settles in the knowledge the world is still turning, and though nature has isolated us, we are still reachable.
Honorable Mentions
winter wind
drifting snow
buries a skeleton
Jay Friedenberg
New York, NY
split pomegranate
we revise
our wills
Carolyn Hall
Santa Rosa, CA
above the cliff
my shadow
over the edge
David Watts
Mill Valley, CA
Judge’s Biography:
Crystal Simone Smith is an award-winning poet. She founded and serves as the managing editor of Backbone Press. Her haiku has appeared in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, and elsewhere. She is the author of Wild Flowers: A Collection of Haiku, Senryu, and Haiga and co-author of One Window’s Light (Unicorn Press). She is currently a Humanities Unbounded Fellow at Duke University.
SENRYU (Judge: Shloka Shankar)
First Place
old bus ticket
I never learned
how the story ended
David Grayson
Alameda, CA
The moment I read this senryu, I knew it would be one that I would keep coming back to. And, sure enough, I did! I chose it as the winning poem because it spoke to me on a personal level. We all have bits and bobs lying around the house that spring to life when we set about cleaning out old drawers, closets, or even worn-out wallets. Oddly, I can even smell the slightly musty bus ticket. Where was the poet travelling to? Who was their co-passenger? What stories did they share? Were they cut short because one of their destinations arrived before they could finish the story? Or did they make a promise to keep in touch and lost contact soon after? The possibilities are numerous and the open-endedness of this “story” keeps the reader guessing. It is also a testimony to the many lives we fleetingly meet, some who make a difference more than others.
Second Place
internalizing your name calling quick dry cement
Susan Burch
Hagerstown, MD
I found this entry to be hard-hitting, and one that made me cringe. We have all been at the receiving end of being called harsh names at one point or another. How many words have we internalized that were hurled at us by others? Conversely, we have thoughtlessly and rashly spoken out of turn, too. Have we stopped to consider what detrimental impact it had on that person’s psyche? The juxtaposition in this senryu is extremely effective and immediate, jolting us into introspection. It is said that time heals all wounds, but what if unalterable damage has already been done?
Third Place
switching off the news—
I rise from the couch
to less than my full height
Susan Antolin
Walnut Creek, CA
If there ever was a senryu that summed up the current world we’re living in, this has to be it. Day in and day out we consume the news and everything that is fed to us by the exploitative media in the name of “news.” So much so that we are oppressed by the weight of it all, fumbling under the yoke of violence, politics, the pandemic, natural disasters…is there a respite if one simply turns off the news? The third line of this poem deftly captures the profound and worrying reality of a thwarted and stunted persona, struggling to regain their rightful place in the world.
Honorable Mentions
beach at dawn
how lives might change
without names
Bill Cooper
Naples, FL
death as wide as long
John Stevenson
Nassau, NY
Judge’s Biography:
Shloka Shankar is a writer, editor, publisher, and visual artist from Bangalore, India. She enjoys experimenting with Japanese short-forms and myriad found poetry techniques. A Best of the Net nominee and award-winning haiku poet, her poems and artwork have appeared in more than 200 online and print venues of repute. When she isn't poring over manuscripts, she can be found making digital abstracts and collages. Shloka is the Founding Editor of the literary & arts journal Sonic Boom and its imprint Yavanika Press.
TANKA (Judge: Christine Villa)
First Place
archaeological dig––
since your death,
unearthing
what’s left of me
brush by tiny brush
Susan Burch
Hagerstown, MD
Whenever someone dear to us dies, our world screeches to a halt and turns bleak. In this tanka, death is faced with hope, a resiliency to rise above adversity. The first line starts with an “archeological dig.” It seems like a long stretch of history, but the poet is brave enough to “unearth what’s left” of himself. Who was he before they met, before he took care of the loved one, or before his life was saddled with pain and grief? What is left of him after that? What is left behind? The last line, “brush by tiny brush,” reveals that he picks up the pieces just like an archeologist uses a tiny brush to dust off loose dirt from artifacts. It serves as a metaphor for his careful and purposeful act of recollecting memories of the deceased loved one, of rediscovering himself, or of coloring his life anew. Or perhaps, through creative art such as painting, he finds his new self. Because this tanka has a lot of dreaming room and utilizes fresh metaphors, it stands out above the rest.
SecondPlace
moving Mother
into assisted living—
from her stovetop
the shrill whistle
of a new kettle
Margaret Chula
Portland, OR
Aging is one of the inevitable changes in our life that is difficult and painful to accept. In this tanka, this truth is delicately tackled by showing, not telling. The first two lines are followed by a concrete image with just the necessary adjectives needed. The “shrill” whistle implies the warnings or signs when we need to make the decision to keep our parents in a safer living condition. The “new” kettle conveys that the kettle was replaced because it had been left on the stovetop longer than it should. With no extra words, I feel the pain of the aging mother and the caring offspring. Replacing the kettle also may mean the resistance or unwillingness of the mother to accept the need to move into assisted living. We can conjure up all possibilities from this carefully crafted tanka.
Third Place
a raven
believed it could fly
through me
unaware that I am glass,
pretending to be sky
Debbie Strange
Winnipeg, Canada
This one-breath tanka is not only whimsical, but astonishing. The first three lines reveal a raven with magical traits—one who believed it could fly through a person. The tone of the tanka sounds fanciful until it pivots on the fourth line with the word “unaware.” Eventually, I hear “glass” shattering into pieces and I feel a sudden twinge of pain as I read the revelation of the last line—“pretending to be sky.” Sometimes, I, too, like to pretend that I am carefree and invincible like the sky because it feels good. I even manage to convince others that I am such until I get hurt and I’m reminded that I’m actually fragile, vulnerable, and destructible. It’s a sad truth, and the poet has effectively conveyed this message in five lines.
Honorable Mentions
table talk
spills into politics––
I seize the nutcracker
from my sister
and squeeze
Anne Curran
Hamilton, New Zealand
that barn
has been leaning
all our lives––
is it you?
no, it's probably me
James Chessing
San Ramon, CA
Judge’s Biography:
Christine L. Villa is an award-winning tanka and haiku poet published in numerous respected online and print journals. Her collection of Japanese short-form poetry is entitled The Bluebird’s Cry. She is the founding editor of Frameless Sky and its imprint Velvet Dusk Publishing. She is also the current editor of Ribbons, the official publication of Tanka Society of America. Website: www.christinevilla.com
RENGAY (Judge: Lew Watts)
First Place
Wildfire
Deborah P Kolodji, Temple City, California
Billie Dee, San Miguel, New Mexico
smoky days
the air littered with
remnants of our fight Deborah P Kolodji
watching the house burn
I list my old lovers Billie Dee
hillside flames
echoes of angry
voices Deborah
just you and me
little dog
wildfire Billie
sprinkles of rain
on the dry chaparral Deborah
suddenly
between lightning strikes
a double rainbow Billie
The first time I read this, I balked at the title. I generally prefer titles that add something, yet this seemed purely descriptive of a strong wildfire theme. But the more I returned to the poem, the more I felt a second theme behind the scenes—one of passion, on the human level—and, with time, this began to emerge. The title now held new significance for me. Reading the rengay this way, I sensed a personal journey of reconciliation and transformation following an argument or break-up. Technically, all of the haiku are strong, and some of the links and shifts are outstanding; I particularly loved the shift from verse 2 to 3, and the linking of “lovers” and “flames.” The formatting of verse 4 prepares us for flight before the first signs of relief arrive (verse 5). The rengay ends with a double rainbow, and the hope of rejuvenation, as all good stories should. A beautiful rengay.
Second Place
A Moveable Feast
Agnes Eva Savich, Austin, Texas
Michael Dylan Welch, Sammamish, Washington
rue Mouffetard
a vendor shakes blossoms
off a lettuce Agnes Eva Savich
misty rain
dimming Sacré-Cœur Michael Dylan Welch
dizzy at the top
of la Tour Eiffel . . .
champagne bar Agnes
tulips in bloom—
a rainbow flag fills
l’Arc de Triomphe Michael
lovers kiss
in Rodin’s jardin Agnes
home again . . .
how I long for
Paris au printemps Michael
What a wonderful title for a rengay set in Paris—Hemingway would have been proud! I confess that after that dizzy champagne at the Eiffel Tower, I half expected a martini in the back bar of the Ritz, Ernest’s favorite hangout. There were several rengay set in well-known locations within the contest’s entries, but this one stood out for the quality of the haiku and the subtle links and shifts. As for the sixth verse, I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt to the author that “Paris au printemps” also refers to the vintage perfume of that name (though capitalization would have helped). Either way, it provides a satisfying completeness to a fine rengay.
Third Place
Mythos
Harriot West, Eugene, Oregon
Ce Rosenow, Eugene, Oregon
summer heat Harriot West
my thoughts turn
to Icarus
waxing his vintage Mercury Ce Rosenow
in the shade
scented breeze Harriot
we let the laurel
run wild
rose-colored dawn— Ce
the fire crew sets another
controlled burn
on a clear night, the stars Harriot
& their stories
silver anniversary Ce
we slip from the Zodiac
into moonlit waves
This is a rengay centered on the core theme of myths and legends, hence the descriptive title. While the overall flow is not as strong as in others, the subtle ways the theme is maintained is admirable. “Icarus” and “Mercury” are obvious (though I love the vintage car of the latter), but the use of “laurel” is wonderful, and “rose-colored dawn” is inspired. The problem with this rengay, for me, is verse 5—whereas I could stretch my imagination from stars to constellations, this is the only verse that doesn’t maintain the secondary theme of summer. This notwithstanding, the rengay is rescued by the wonderful last verse and its novel use of “Zodiac.”
Honorable Mentions
Surf in my Pillow
Kristen Lang, Tasmania, Australia
Lorraine Haig, Tasmania, Australia
the gold tips Kristen Lang
of wind-swept waves –
his rugged lullaby
rocked to sleep Lorraine Haig
under canvas
night dunes
rolling their grains
round our curves Kristen
waking early
the sound of surf
in my pillow Lorraine
the buoyancy of the tide
nudged by a waning moon Kristen
a trace of salt
in our earl grey
lacings of the sea Lorraine
The Day is Early
Ignatius Fay, Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
Marcyn Del Clements, Claremont, California
barefoot
on the cold floor
plastic tulips Ignatius Fay
pieces of blue glass
scatter the morning sunlight Marcyn Del Clements
well-worn housecoat
tea and toast
on the back porch Ignatius
into my pitch pine
a shiver of waxwings
harp practice next door Marcyn
beyond the hedge
sounds of rushing traffic Ignatius
from my porch rocker
snow on the mountains
scent of wild tulips Marcyn