Welcome to tinywords 23.1
Welcome to the newest issue of tinywords — 23.1 — and our announcement of the latest photo prompt winners.
Category: Issue 23.1
sunshaft
a stab
of joy
soft light rings
the mouth of a vase
spring rain
someone’s jacket
beside the trail
warming days
first-born flowers*
In the place where we scattered her ashes last summer, there’s now a tiny crown of purple shoots adorning the snow.
early March
just enough
recycling
the recycling—
rogue wind
juniper wind
the creek below
completes a chord
snowdrops
i tell him the river
speaks river
sprinting from the waves spring laughter
(This is a tan renga, a form of linked verse, by Jonathan Roman
paperweight
the unbroken silence
through the years
spring melt
snow moving out of
its silence
mountain stream
over slippery stones
dancing with the stars
small brook . . .
a wren’s beak dips
into the babbling
an inland gull
shakes out its feathers—
long-awaited rain
leaving home —
the mountains sink
behind me
I teach my children
what my father taught me—
river of stars
old churchyard
the locals all
at odd angles
second wedding
church bells
flatted by time
the song remains the same song sparrow
guitar solo
on the car radio—
my fretting fingers
Irish pub
rolling hillsides
in every song
small talk
between songs
a tuning mandolin
sleepless night…
parsing out the language
of leaves
hint of woodsmoke
the collie sleeps
with one ear cocked
gone from the forest
the flower I knew
only by touch
hot air—
talk of climate change
over drinks
between derricks
the reservation
contains buffalo
prairie gale
the groan of a silo
holding steady
(haiga)
old barn
leaning against the sun
days of my youth
knee deep in memory mountain scree
he makes a pitch
she walks
spring practice
the smell of spring motorcycle sounds
traffic jam
watching the clouds
pass me by
canal lift bridge
loose kite snagging
on the counterweights
the mathematics
of wings in flight—
butterfly
from aster
to zinnia
the hummingbird
8
pulling weeds
from between the bricks—
this hold on life
wild rose–
the child
they never expected
away from mum
a toddler shakes stones
from her shoe
the long shadow
of a flower vendor
Mother’s Day
the last song I sing her
the lullaby
she taught me
outgoing tide . . .
the tug of little hands
pulls us to the sea
breaking waves
we talk with our children
about our ashes
fulfilled
in my small life
bonsai
who am i
a falling leaf
gives the answer
daily jog
an abundance
of may
(Originally published in Frogpond 44.3, 2021)
day moon
thoughts of you
when we were us
fading contrail
what life makes
of pipe dreams
milky way
we argue the distance
between stars
(Originally published in Hedgerow #125)
Venus appears,
a sharp curl of light
planed off
the gone sun
still seeking
a hill to die on
my father at ninety-two
stamp album
a page from a country
that no longer is
the icy bridge
over our childhood river —
at opposite ends
we look past each other
in this journey to our dreams
beneath the bridge
goldfish pause
in reflection
winter storm—
icing drizzled on
cinnamon buns
winter sky
another friend
to be missed
three-day blizzard
my thoughts
pile up
snow on snow
all the things this pill
cannot fix
winter morning
a support group
of apple trees
weak winter sun
how fragile
our resolve
a little closer
to my old self
fresh snow
finding another way new snow along the forked branches of the pine
click of the wind silvered with frost feather grass
father’s old coat a life held in the creases
single father
my daughter cooks me
a make-believe dinner
graduation day
the upward tumble
of starlings
the choices we make distant thunder
hearing the phoebe–
now I can plan
all my day
another day
with nothing to do
moss-covered millstone
mill pond
a mallard ripples
the su nl ig ht
between duckweed
open water turns into
a ribbon of gold
backwater cove …
an old man fishes out
a bit of sunset
(Originally published in The Haiku Foundation website’s kukai, October 2022)
tidepool minnows the splosh of a spoonbill
clouds shift
beneath a child’s steps …
summer sea
daylilies the news can wait
as if I had a choice
the warm embrace
of the waves
cranberry bog
my inhibitions rise
to the surface
lingering heat
a peach grows heavy
on its stem
a pinch of lavender almost a bee
cactus flower
with the best
of intentions
border crossing—
roses climb over
post and rail
new in town
garden club program
on invasives
slipping
under a chain-link fence
honeysuckle
long lost relative
the slur in his slur
(This tan-renga was composed by Jonathan Roman and Dyana Basist)
Chinatown
the prices of produce
offered in song
family vacation
the tangled roots
that trip us
rock art dreams of a shaman
beach reading the driftwood’s code
to love this body
just as it is
twisted shore pines
(haiga)
sequoia seeds
how we save ourselves
for later
the dawn in each drop
of bracken dew
(Tan renga, a form of linked verse, by Kath Abela Wilson and Billie Dee)
she goes in for a fork
comes out with a plate —
newly diagnosed
(Originally published in Blithe Spirit 33.1, February 2023)
chrysanthemums
my name misspelled
on the get well card
echocardiogram
the underwater singing
of my heart
homeward bound
whispering your name
to the moon
(haiga)
cicada dusk
this death poem
will never do
mosquito
his little theater
of cruelty
mid-August night
a few fireflies
have overslept
lazy beach day
a blue crab’s raft
of bubbles
loose tea leaves
overflow the scoop
autumn evening
aquarium nightshift
from one of the tanks —
the slap of a fin
the long sigh
of an ebbing wave…
summer’s end
standing in the waves
the gull’s cry
lingers
first cool September morning
catbird wrenching its cry
wrenching its cry
indian summer
holding on
and letting go
(haiga)
the struggle
to keep going
summer heat
(haiga)
one large wave
a dash
for an ending—
Submissions to tinywords 23.2 — and a new writing prompt
tinywords 23.1 has now ended with Tony William’s haiku “one large wave”. We will be on pause until the next issue, 23.2, begins in a month or two.
The submission window