My haiku awards
Had been trying to put them all together and finally succeeded, I think. Here they are before I lose them…happy to share!
grey sky
the gull’s plaintive cries
fade into a wave
Fourth Place
Sea to Sky Haiku Canada Weekend contest May 17-19, 2019, Vancouver BC
autumn rain
the river carries
the sky
2ndPlace
European Quarterly Kukai, Autumn 2017
dream catcher
the shifting colours
of dawn
3rdplace, European Haiku Kukai #12 Winter 2015
first tea with her—
cherry blossoms cloud
the skylight
Vancouver Sakura Award
2014 Vancouver Cherry Blossoms Festival Haiku Invitational
our breaths
suspended between skies—
monarch butterfly
honourable mention
2013 Diogen Autumn Contest
butterfly
a whispered breeze
to the bamboo
12th International kukai ‘butterfly’ 115 haijin, 115 haiku, 27 countries
9th place (tie)
first dawn alone–
the widow eats his half
of the orange
Per Diem Daily Haiku
“Light and Dark”, December 2014
Per Diem Archiveon the Haiku Foundation Website, and the Haiku App.
First Place, free format category, Shiku kukai Sept 2013
pancake steam—
the thin mist on mornings
in a wicker swing
Zatsuei, Haiku of Merit
World Haiku Review March 2013
mixing bowls—
the shallow echoes
of bells
4th place 10th International Kukai
January 2013
twilight rain
the blue heron mid-lake
somehow smaller
Commended, Traditional haiku
The Haiku Foundation’s 2012 Haiku Now Contest
Under the Basho 2013
winter solstice
the widow tightens
her braids
First Place, kigo* category
December 2012 Shiki* kukai (yava)
spring song
how it draws the heart
to reflection
Alegria Imperial, Vancouver, BC, Canada
3rdPlace, 1stBlossom Rain haiku My Photo Challenge, May 2012
stretching its neck
as if to measure our sky
turtle
Editor’s choice, Sketchbook ‘pond life’ kukai, March-April 2012
Commentary: Bernard Geitske
“the temptation to philosophize or explore one’s being is very strong”
somehow
our shrinking shadows touch—
harvest moon
haiku bandit society
September 2011 Dottie Dot Awards
words
we’ve left unsaid–
Indian summer
First Place, kigo category
July 2011 Shiki kukai
cherry blossoms
shedding petals at dusk—
moths in flight
Honorable Mention
2007 Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival
Haiku Invitational and first published haiku
About
autumn wind
wondering about lilies
in a mountain pond
Tell me a writer who really gets a satisfying jornal, in Spanish a daily wage or its equivalent, and I’ll bare a spirit in constant bouts of doubtfulness. Does a writer earn more because of what he writes and how he does it? Or is a writer paid more or less because of who he is? Is it money or honor he expects to receive?
Ahhh … but money as wage, and praise or honor as reward would be too predictable, too common as Job lamented in the Book of Job. It is in these lines that read: “Is not man’s life on earth nothing more than pressed service, his times no better than hired drudgery? Like the slave, sighing for the shade, or the workman with no thought but his wages, months of delusion I have assigned to me, nothing for my own but nights of grief. Lying in bed I wonder, ‘When will it be day?’ Risen I think, ‘How slowly evening comes!’
Restlessly I fret till twilight falls. Swifter than a weaver’s shuttle my days have passed, and vanished, leaving no hope behind. Remember that my life is but a breath, and that my eyes will never again see joy.”
Not money but joy is the ultimate wage as the passage implies. And joy is not hard to earn for it is in everyday life if we have eyes to see, a nose to smell, fingers to touch, ears to hear–a heart beating. This to me, is how a writer earns a daily wage. His wages then take the guise of treasures his heart can transfigure into a universe of thought that taps into other hearts, that causes a swirl in the depth of other souls, or that makes wings to sprout on leaden heels.
Sometimes not joy but rueful, poignant moments are my pick. Take what I earned once: On my walk home in my neighborhood, I caught two clumps of snowdrops–such tiny blossoms smaller than fingertips that do not look up but shyly droop close to black patches on the ground winter has frozen. That afternoon in the frosty wind, they trembled as if ready to turn away and run but how could they? For that poignant moment on seeing the wintry rain beat on the fragile snowdrop–as if pushing it to go home now, go to sleep–I earned my jornal, my daily wage.
Once on summer walk, the crackle of dried leaves just hit me both like the laughter of children and sobs long suppressed. Neither one of them would resolve the dryness, but I recalled how each does bring tears: laughter for joy, sobs for healing that comes with the release of a dammed-up pain. My jornal that day came as two haiku.
Fall has since shortened the day and the heart begins to crave for lost space that it doesn’t even recall which or where. I feel that most treasures have turned into mush so much so I wouldn’t be able to sift them off the ground. Yet I caught the dying day yesterday–so glorious in the gold of autumn it opened a flip side of serene heaven. Blades of grass coated in diadems of rain that carpet the lawns render royal walks poor by imitation. A burst of red maple against an inky blue sky humbled me, a soul bragging about her skill to recreate beauty in words.
I suppose I’m taking Job’s reflections to heart. I’d rather not gloss over each day and look beyond what’s there, right before me, or else fragile as is my breath one day “my eyes may never again see joy” to write. With what then will I compare the eternal joy, the ultimate wage I await?
Yet for now, as other eyes hanker to make the invisible visible, I put a tag on some moments of joy. Like on seeing the snowdrops, I paid myself $200 as my jornal.
What could have been yours?
Recent Comments
alee9 on … madhuri on … alee9 on My latest at Bones journa… alee9 on My haiku awards alee9 on a beggar’s prayer
jornales 