Welcome to tinywords 25.1, which starts next week. Today, we’re sharing the winners of our winter writing prompt.
spring equinox
a crack splits
the frozen river
river rush
trees green
into birdsong
the rite of spring
piccolos rush
the conductor
new regime…
daffodils gauge the weight
of each snowflake
negotiations
another day
of snow
left up all winter
signs from fall’s election
warped
newsindigestiblebytes
dinner date
all his attention
on the menu
wet leaves
clinging to my shoes…
new resolutions
Whispering Wind
On my early morning walks, I often search for the red-tailed hawk perched in the topmost branch of a cottonwood. From this vantage point, she
a hawk soars
over this snowbright mountain
—first dream of the year
subtle shifts
of a swallow-tailed kite
twilight jazz
Gita chanting
birds become
the ellipsis
(Originally received an Akita International Haiku Award, September 2014, Honourable Mention)
awakenings
the ping of first sap
in the bucket
seventh heaven
a lotus breaks
the surface
the call to prayers —
in the din of Diwali
a ghee lamp glistens
zen garden
cat prints
through the raked sand
dreamworker
the dog at the door
of childhood
grave frost
in my cupped hands
a robin’s weight
church bells reaching for belief
the vows I’ve made—
moving the hose
from tree to tree
grieving a fire
I embroider trees
my needle a wand
raising old growth
if only on cloth
redwoods strengthening my password to blue sky
a half-moon—
the things she remembers
she soon forgets
the shape of a life
one sparkling wave
returns to the sea
(haiga)
multiverse –
the thirty-six views
of Mount Fuji
small talk
a tongue of fog
creeps up the coast
(Originally published online in Ginza Poetry Society Kukai)
talking politics
my line hangs up
in the lake bed
the fire
in his belly
brook trout
dusk
a fluff of cottonwood
wends its way to the pond
Roadside Rationalizing
I never have a plan. Like a watermelon at the end of its vine, I find myself where I’m supposed to be.
out of gas another shooting star
another stranger
far from home…
lone coyote
mesa shadows
sheltering briefly
in the adobe ruins
canyon wren –
a concert in
the cacti
bird nest
in the porch light
Mother’s Day
Mother’s Day —
in her 50s cookbook
handwritten notes
family tree
the twist
of a strangler fig
wing-worn geese …
this urge to leave home
to find home
gated
complex
in the grip
of wisteria
indigo sky
one flies
over center field
(haiga)