haiku on the beach, tides, the sea (at NaHaiWriMo)

the sea in Ilocos Norte, the northermost province of the 7,100 islands of the Philippine archipelago, a scene I so miss. Photo by Raymond Ramos, a cousin in the 3rd degree,
a.
when shifting tides
shift the codes–
sunset
b.
secrets
digging into sand dunes–
a pale sunlight
c.
squalling seagulls–
scanning empty shorelines
for chances we’ve lost
d.
Cape Bojeador*–
we measure heights of billows
against our skies
*built by the Spaniards a lighthouse in Cape Bojeador in the northernmost tip of the Philippine archipelago juts out with a promontory as if into the sea where one may view giant waves crashing against each other and not only on high cliffs but mid-sea. On closer look at the waters, you may see a difference of hue—this is the point where the Pacific Ocean meets the China Sea, a truly stunning sight.
Need to know why editor passed on these haiku
These haiku belong to a batch of 20 I recently submitted with temerity to what I call a ‘cutting-edge’ haiku journal. None was accepted, of course, although two interested the editor. Why? I can’t figure out on my own. Could you help me think this through? I reworked on three of them (1, 2 & 5) and did not include what got the editor’s eye.
1.
seagulls scanning tide marks
as if tasked
2.
competing with shadows
the winter wind
3.
salmon–
on winter clouds
a hue
4.
stepping into a fog
knowing
white also fades
5.
origami–
in her hands a crane
a smile
Lullaby (yet another lyric poem from haiku-strays)
I wrote this poem on one of the early days when obsessed with learning haiku, the form seemed to shape my brain–wherever that part is where words run into lines. This thought, this memory sparked after I wrote a personal essay that I submitted to Passager about my grandmother’s bath-hair washing ritual (“Digos: a ritual” also posted at my other blog, http://filipineses09.wordpress.com). The rhythm apparently timed in with my measured strides during my daily walk at the Inner Harbor in Baltimore where I lived then. Water, birds: seagulls, ducks, robins, ravens, orioles, sparrows; trees: conifers, chestnuts, magnolias; weeds: dandelions, clover, jewel weeds co-inhabited the dome–a span of sky. I walked daily toward dusk, which is why perhaps this poem—or haiku that strayed—is a lullaby.
grandma on a swing
flying on a lullaby–
a smile thin as breath
combing her hair, my fingers
the teeth untangling silk knots–
her tiara
cheeks I kiss–once
a cushion of veined organza
now loose ripples
Paloma, she warbles–
a dove, my name, alights
on her lips, flapping wings
moons chasing suns
sprout wings–in the darkness
whispers grow eyes
in her flight
mementoes (when my haiku mutate into free verse)
through shedding arcs
up the sand hill down the slide
i make a short cut to my wedding
my veil tangled in a hail
of magnolia endings
six heads bob over the hedge but
a man selling balloons i pull up
a picture the sun
fades in my hand my ring turns
blue in autumn rain
i gawk on my mud-soaked feet
pigeons i startle whoosh up
spray the sky
as seagulls prancing stomp
on my impaled shadow
on my wall i let go of daylight
on the window ledge
my cabbage roses wilt
on leaf tips I glimpse my tears
dripping from my shredded heart