2016
HAIKU (Judge: Lee Gurga)
First Place ($100)
mint condition
an autumn day
still in the wrapper
John Stevenson
Nassau, NY
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The first line gives us a coin fresh from the mint, then the second arrests us with
somewhat of a puzzle: what could the connection be? The third clarifies the haiku like fine wine: the shiny coin from the mint has been alchemically transformed into a refreshing mint to nibble on and with it a delightful metaphor for an autumn day that invites us with a lightness of touch and a pun with a minty taste. Freshness of image!
Lightness of touch! The haiku way!
Second Place ($50)
not a window
but a mirror
full cold moon
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Neal Whitman
Pacific Grove, CA
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Third Place ($25)
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if swooshes were horses city bus
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Scott Mason
Chappaqua, NY
Honorable Mentions (unranked):
each hour
its note
winter solitude
Sharon Pretti
San Francisco, CA
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starry night—
after a while we stop
connecting the dots
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Christopher Herold
Port Townsend, WA
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sleep
a layer deeper
snow
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John Stevenson
Nassau, NY
TANKA (Judge: Marilyn Hazelton)
First Place ($100) (tie)
my sister
in both my nieces
how the mountain breeze
now carries her across
an autumn field
Karina M Young
Salinas, CA
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dried curls
of gray reindeer moss
crunch softly
underneath our boots . . .
no other sound, but breath
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Debbie Strange
Winnepeg, Manitoba, Canada
In the tanka above, we join narrators and companions at locations of serious purpose and sere beauty. First, family members gather to remember and release a woman beloved as sister or mother. The woman’s daughters extend her presence. Readers join mourners as a “mountain breeze” lifts and carries a loved one’s ashes across an “autumn field.” The breath (“breeze”) of this world does not remove grief, but can gentle it. This field will rest in winter, grow green in spring, and continue to respond to the seasons.
Next, we stand at the delicate edge of winter where air is crisper, and “reindeer moss” whispers beneath our feet. The color of this tundra is muted. Perhaps the light is also. In response to small, mysterious sounds framed by quiet, the breaths of those within the poem startle and deepen. And we have an opportunity to appreciate what we usually take for granted. Both poems center on absence and presence within our lives, and remind us how breath companions and consoles us with its beauty.
Second Place
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late sunset
by the ferris wheel
I twirl
the phantom ring
around my finger
Christina Sng
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Third Place
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rushrush
out the door and off you go
a quick hug
before the slow embrace
of silence and the night
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Lesley Anne Swanson
Coopersburg, PA
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Honorable Mention
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first day
after retirement
the brush
is dipped deeper
in Chinese ink
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Chen-ou Liu
Ajax, Ontario, Canada
SENRYU (Judge: Ferris Gilli)
First Place ($100)
support group . . .
the comfort of the chair
between us
Julie Warther
Dover, OH
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This well-crafted senryu offers much to think about in only a few words. Support groups help people deal with common concerns such as addiction, cancer, or the devastating loss of a loved one. This group could be any one of many kinds. The author may be new here and perhaps feeling nervous or self-conscious. The last line surprises me and opens another door into the poet’s experience: sitting close to someone else, perhaps a specific member, may cause further discomfort. As I interpret it, the poet is clearly relieved by the position of the chair. The senryu acknowledges the writer’s private vulnerability, and is a reminder that vulnerabilities, often deeply personal, may be required revelations in a support group.
Second Place
the usual
boy leaves girl story
assisted living
Anita Guenin
San Diego, CA
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The key to this senryu’s success lies in how the author deftly misleads readers with the seeming flippancy of “the usual / boy leaves girl story,” but follows with the unexpected circumstances of the poem. The revelation of “assisted living” carries a punch. Is the poem about a widow who came to assisted living after her husband died? Or did a man and woman become friends (or even closer) after meeting there, and at some point were separated? Perhaps the words represent a man or woman exchanging life stories. The poet could be a visitor to the place, summing up a resident’s situation. The author leaves us with poignant possibilities, a senryu for readers to interpret as they will.
Third Place
all lit up
in the lamp shop window
dead moths
Christopher Herold
Port Townsend, WA
I am struck by the irony in this senryu. We’ve seen dead moths countless times, deaths caused by human sources. Diverted on its journey by a man-made light—flame or electric bulb, lantern or street lamp—a moth is doomed by its very instinct to navigate by natural light. In its confusion, once captured by the porch light, it must continue to flutter there. I imagine the brightness of the lamp shop window, and not just one but a number of lamps turned on to attract customers. Then the third line, “dead moths.” And I think with a sigh, of course, what else? We humans do what we do, moths do what they must, and so it will always be. This poem could be a metaphor for all the ways human activities interfere, often fatally, with the habits of nature’s creatures.
Honorable Mentions (unranked)
gastroenteritis
we reassure Mom
it wasn’t her cooking
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Christina Sng
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moon lecture
he rotates a coffee cup
around her head
Alison Woolpert
Santa Cruz, CA
blood drive
the hospital offers
valet parking
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Neal Whitman
Pacific Grove, CA
2016 Rengay (Judge: Tanya McDonald)
First Place ($100)
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Grand Arcade
Simon Hanson, Queensland, Australia
Beverley George, New South Wales, Australia
hometown
an old tram rattles past
shopfront windows Simon
Haigh’s chocolates dance
in reflected squares of light Beverley
Pier hotel
colourful birds chatter
in the beer garden Simon
grand arcade
little fingers smear the brass
of stairwell railings Beverley
an art deco chandelier
graces the Odeon foyer Simon
beyond
the thump of cricket bats
the spires of St Peters Beverley
Judge's comments: This one stood out on my first reading and continued to shine with each subsequent return. I love the details and the use of multiple senses to describe the location. I can hear and feel the old tram's rattle, see (and almost taste) the chocolates in the window, hear the colorful birds (or patrons) in the beer garden. There's both a sense of nostalgia and wonder in this poem, which gives it a richness beyond a mere description of place.
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Second Place
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Giving Thanks
Sarah Welch, Sammamish, WA
Michael Dylan Welch, Sammamish, WA
rising sun—
the frozen turkey
set out to bake Sarah
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a new chip
in the best china Michael
the doorbell rings—
a speck of blood
on the potato peeler Sarah
napkins unfolded—
we keep passing
the green bean casserole Michael
on his cell phone
father checks the football score Sarah
setting sun—
a pumpkin pie
warm from the oven Michael
Judge's comments: The theme of Thanksgiving is strong, and I appreciate the title for emphasizing the gratitude part of the holiday. Again, it's the details that stand out: a chip in the china, blood on the peeler, the circling green bean casserole. I also enjoy the unanswered questions and underlying tension: will the frozen turkey be thawed in time? Why does that green bean casserole keep getting passed around? The smooth progression from pre-meal to dessert feels as satisfying as a family gathering with plenty of food.
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Third Place
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Page Turners
John Thompson, Arroyo Grande, CA
Renée Owen, Sebastopol, CA
cabin retreat
I enter the book’s world
completely John
book of bottle caps
my small thoughts Renée
his library heroes
unable to contain themselves—
toppled bookends John
calling in Poirot
sticky fingerprints
on her bookshelf Renée
tattered cookbooks
pages stained & splattered John
mini-skirted speedster
the policeman struggles
to play by the book Renée
Judge's comments: A clever title for a poem with a book theme. I enjoyed the playfulness and exploration of the theme, moving from actual books to bookends to a book shelf to the phrase "play by the book."
Honorable Mentions (not ranked)
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Purple Haze
John Thompson, Arroyo Grande, CA
Renée Owen, Sebastopol, CA
bearded iris
making me forget
my hurry John
humming Hendrix tunes
in the slow lane Renée
wheelless wheelbarrow
an abandoned poem’s
rusty patina John
Woolworth’s counter
he drinks Nehi
from the bottle Renée
crossword puzzle—
what’s a word for purple? John
fried eggplant
we draw straws for grandma’s
cast iron skillet Renée
Rocking Chair
Ruth Yarrow, Ithaca, NY
Michael Dylan Welch, Sammamish, WA
Emiko Miyashita, Tokyo, Japan
the rocking chair’s
rhythmic squeak—
the baby finally burps Ruth
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the museum chair
with missing wickerwork Michael
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the chair he sits in
talking about torture—
his face shaded Emiko
from a deep armchair
grandma struggles to stand Ruth
our highchair
boxed back up—
endless rain Michael
a telephone cord stretched
to the love seat Emiko