2011
The judges for the 2011 competition were
Penny Harter and Scott Mason.
See 2011 judges' comments (forthcoming after publication in Frogpond).
HAIKU SOCIETY OF AMERICA, FIRST ANNUAL HAIBUN CONTEST - 2011
First Prize
Some Things That Are Left
It comes down to the tea in the bottom of my cup, an old silver spoon, the way light falls into honey. This is old age, the privilege of life stretched thin and transparent. I crave the sweetness of cream and the bitter joy of a cut orange. I notice the streaks of rust on the bottom edge of my iron skillet. I find them beautiful and have no inclination to remove them. I prefer wool against a chill and can gaze for long periods at knitted stitches. Memories, once held desperately close, are now wisps of fading paper flying from my open hand. I greet wildflowers as dear ones, Joe Pye, Ironweed, Mullein and bow to Queen Anne in her lace. Another summer passing, another autumn presaged in the curled edges of leaves.
late roses
spill onto my table
a shameless fragrance
Lynn McLure
Second Prize
The Great Migration
Black as night they rise in a fury, the quiet cracked open by their sharp caws, by the rustle and flapping of hundreds of wings, the air above the cotton fields flowing in a stream behind their dark bodies, their great migration.
crow feathers
the canyon fills
with echo
dirt stained fingers
knead silver starlight
a picker’s tunes
Renée Owen
Third Prize
Abandoned Houses
My dreams are abandoned houses which let the gold of afternoon light filter in through open windows. There you will find birds nesting in the open rafters and raccoons in the walls. A pump well in the back yard has dried up long ago becoming a prop now for wild flowers and the swing on the front porch is pushed by wind alone. If you are tired, you can rest your body in a field of sunflowers, and watch their faces follow the sun. There you can breathe deeply and shed the dust of your days, breathing in, too, the scent of a distant lake—you can almost see the bubbles rise up where the fish feed. . .
gate ajar—
a vine of morning glories
twining around itself
Marjorie Buettner
First Honorable Mention
Mother
First the ashes and four sprigs of orchids, then a stream of champagne, then the empty bottle. While leaning over the three foot deep round hole his reading glasses fall in.
grimacing
the small boy tap dances to
“Take Me Out to the Ballgame”
Priscilla Van Valkenburg
Second Honorable Mention
After the Visit
Summer fields in the distance, the hay cut and left to dry brown and stalky. A dry breeze pushes the wind chimes and leaves turn their backsides seeking rain. The sheep keep to the shade, grazing and resting. Even the crows are quiet. I have tidied up after a week of grown children who leave a familiar wreckage when they exit. Sheets turn in the dryer and a second load of towels is in the wash. I have remade the beds with clean linen, emptied the dishwasher one more time. Now I sit tired in my porch rocker staring at pond, sheep and fields.
tiny blue butterfly
on the potted basil
resting
Lynn McLure
Third Honorable Mention
Crossing a Small Stream
gathering branch wood and pine needles old friends
Silhouettes of the Rocky Mountains slowly fade as evening cools into slate gray darkness. We’ve finished the bonfire dinner served on picnic tables across from the main lodge. Now, the sound of an accordion draws us to rustic wooden stairs. Some of my classmates are wearing cowboy boots, but we’re all wearing cowboy hats. We climb in silence through the thinning air and towards the music.
8:00 pm the once wild mustangs run to pasture
Tish Davis
Fourth Honorable Mention
Cronk
At the Nature Center I’m staring through the bars at the rescued raven. Nearby, handicapped eagles and owls hunch solemnly on their perches. But Cronk, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, pokes his formidable beak right through the bars and tilts his head from side to side. Then he turns his back to us, stretches his neck up and over backwards until he is looking at us upside down.
is it half full
or half empty—
the waiting room
Priscilla Van Valkenburgh
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