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Special Mentions (Part I)
leaves on the river —
too old to call myself
orphan
Peter Yovu
For whatever reasons this resonates strongly for me, along with some of
his other haiku, bringing Peter’s name to the fore this year.
— Christopher Patchel
i turn the radio lower
& lower
the summer stars
vincent tripi
You are not alone—the space and brilliance above is also within.
Beautiful.
— Rick Tarquinio
Less attention to the media sharpens the senses. But so does fine
tuning the soul’s receiver.
— Peter Yovu
cloudless sky
the baaing
of penned sheep
Carolyn Hall
Deceptively simple, it doesn’t pull in a lot of extra images that might
blur the contrast between the main ones—wide open, and caged. Great
stuff.
— Rick Tarquinio
winter rain
the shape of shoulder blades
through her shawl
Burnell Lippy
The sharpness of a winter rain, the sharpness of the shoulder blades of
a frail older woman, the edge of a year—all these things come together
to enhance each other. What a haiku should do.
— paul m.
graveside
my father and I
find common ground
Tom Painting
Just the right scent of mystery to compliment this graveyard setting.
— Michael Evans
near dark —
the grand hotel drips
long after the rain
Gary Hotham
I’m not a city person and yet this poem almost makes me want to go
there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a “grand hotel” in a haiku before
and the impending darkness and rain dripping long after it has stopped
is very captivating. It sounds beautiful too, every word leading to the
next and finally disappearing into the image.
— Rick Tarquinio
Why do I feel the presence of thousands of dreams, longings and
heartaches in those raindrops?
— Peter Yovu
my daughter skips off —
in a drying clam shell
a color I couldn’t name
Peter Yovu
We never know when the question will come at us, or how, or in whose
mouth. But we probably don’t know the answer anyway, and anyway the
question will skip away, to change shape and “meaning” in a mercurial
moment. Meanwhile, we’re left there with an old question, drying out
even as we admit our failure. The daughter who skips away will probably
never stop asking the question, and even when it seems like we know the
answer, we won’t. Oh for that moment when we too can skip away from all
questions and answers.
— William J. Higginson
midsummer sun
facing the mountain
I’ll never climb
Pamela Miller Ness
What makes this poem for me is the word “facing.” Any other choice:
standing beneath, looking at, watching, driving past—and it falls flat.
Facing gives this poem courage, humbleness, and an acceptance of our
mortality, frailty and predicament here on earth. There are so many
mountains I’ll never climb. This is terrific and I will carry it with
me when I need to do some facing of my own.
— Rick Tarquinio
the heat
two boys take it
outside
Paul Pfleuger, Jr.
An easy favorite, and perhaps the one time that I agree with the panel
on the editor’s choice. A strong poem that Paul Mena summed up well in
his commentary. We all know what “it” means, and I love the idea of a
poem being about something without saying it. Haiku should employ
common language, or in this case a colloquialism. A rather risky poem,
that borders on gimmick, but pays off!
— paul m
snowstorm over
my grandson puts a seed
in my hand
June Moreau
Last year’s seed, the hope of next year’s crop. No strain or stress
here, no fireworks or bells ringing, just the direct action of a child:
Here, Grandma, plant this one. Yes, the snow is out there, but spring
will come. How simply our dealings in the world of vegetables and
flowers mirror our own situation. May we all live in a world where such
revelation is possible.
— William J. Higginson
winter dusk
the bare shoulders
of the prostitute
Yvonne Cabalona
This mix of coldness and humanity stayed with me.
— Christopher Patchel
miles of beach . . .
the sudden urge
to run
Connie Donleycott
I can not step onto a beach without feeling suddenly free—and always, I
have this urge to run.
— Michael Evans
Inwardly and outwardly this poem is huge. I have had miles of beach all
to myself, know well the “urge,” and have often given in. Sometimes I
am running towards, sometimes away from, but it matters not because
beach and urge aren’t going anywhere. I love this and I think I’ll
think of it every time I walk the beach.
— Rick Tarquinio
just as I decide
what kind of bird it is —
its call
Cindy Zackowitz
Speaks well to our need to name and identify things.
— paul m
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