Tanka Splendor 2001 Award Winners
an’ya
Pamela Babusci
marianne bluger
Jeanne M. Breden
Marjorie A Buettner
Margaret Chula x 3
Claudia R. Coutu x 2
Cherie Hunter Day & David Rice
Dennis H. Dutton
Amelia Fielden x 2
Suzanne Finnegan
David Gloss
kirsty karkow
Doris Kasson
Michael Ketchek x 3
David Kirkland
Angela Leuck x 2
Thelma Mariano x 2
Laura Maffei x 2
Matt Morden
Carol Purington x 2
Bruce Ross
Grant Savage x 2
John Sheirer
Rodney Thompson
Michael Dylan Welch
(Placed in the order of the number of points each tanka
received. Authors' names which are underlined indicate that you can directly
email that person your thoughts or comments and you are encouraged to do so.)
from Europe
your daytime calling
my deep night,
our voices making love
along the sea bed
Amelia Fielden
whether it's the wind
or the length of your silence
that brings this chill
I watch another leaf
fall from the autumn sky
Kindle of Green
Cherie Hunter Day
David Rice
the creek in the park
dry most of the year
rushing with winter rain
I
stop on the footbridge
instead of
just walking across
maneuvering my cart
down the grocery aisle
past potted hyacinths
in heavy perfume
my impulse
to rescue them
fish
hatchery
salmon leap the ladder
to the holding tanks
upstream a
large dam
our
instinct to change the world
just when I thought
I was unapproachable
you move closer
then
everywhere
the sudden
kindle of green
your open heart
full of invitation
is easily accessible
doesn't a
flower-fire
sweep
through the hills each spring?
out of nowhere
a certain sweetness stretches
towards us
we must
drop everything
held in our
callused hands
******
even the stars
are caught in the glow
of tonight's moon
how long will it last, I wonder -
my standing here alone?
early sunlight
pours through the window
dripping gold
she eats a mango
at the kitchen sink
on the bed
in the empty spot
where you used to lie
nothing to embrace
but spring moonlight
SAVAGE SPRING
marianne bluger
where shoots
have pierced the leafslick
in the din
of a snow-melt brook
we mouth our vain shouts
March
makes me feel - like that
pink worm
the robin is stretching
out thin in the rain
squawking
phoenix heart
cracks her speckled egg
and sinks claws deep
in my bony back
spring-shocked
sunblind - I too
stumble dazed
through the crowds
of winter-pale strangers
the market
is bustling again
but where
is the gnarled farmer
who sold me squash last fall
from the new vendor
one flat of mauve alyssum
& change
for a ten
from my twenty
water
just water - these tears
in the rain
while the earth is
turning green
cold
silk
touching
my nipples
in the late spring wind
*******
my father
in Critical Care
three time zones away
all day the wind releases
dead branches from the trees
a baby cries
in the raspberry fields
as I pick
the crimson fruits
are splashed with my milk
Amelia Fielden
because of what
men do to each other
in the garden
the little stone Buddha
dappled with light
invited at last
to meet his parents
i find myself
wondering which me
i should wear
in the language
of the old country
that I can't read
letters my father kept
from his long dead friend
the way you look at me
while I rub your arms --
you are the painting
I have never painted
a thousand times
shaking the drops
from her bright red umbrella
this friend
with troubles in her past
meets me by the train
after the rain,
she finds puddles
to jump in -
my child, knowing nothing
of the storms to come.
Dennis H. Dutton (Karma Tenzing Wangchuk)
By dawn and by dusk
deer nibble the fallen apples
of October
This, at least - that I have not lived
on yesterday's sweetness
mid-march
even after twenty years
of married life
in the breeze
a hint of spring
my sister
on the porch of her new house
and between us
the snow-covered walkway
nearly impassable
Midsummer's night -
a wanton Gipsy moth
takes its leave;
will you be so inclined
once the flame goes out?
how we have aged
you and I like spindrift
along the shore
until we are carried off
by tides of a greater sea
the scars
on the minister’s wrists
only visible
when he lifts his arms
above his head in prayer
A lone saxophone
cries out on the street corner.
Sweet, sweet intrusion!
Grim-faced commuters rush past -
no time for amazing grace.
unable to sleep
in this deep autumn chill
my son comes to bed
with an offer to share
his comfort blanket
A quiet storm
soft flakes reshaping each angle
of tree and field
How the lightest touch
of a stranger's glance changes me
The blue heron cries
white capped waves search for the shore.
We walk hand in hand
finding gentle harmony
shaping a life together.
We felt rejected
it seemed veggies and flowers
were more important
than our hot little bodies -
then Dad turned the hose on us
windfall apples
I cut away bruises
worms, skins and seeds
now I know what it means
to be rotten to the core
I missed out
on the strawberries this year
no jam
enough sweetness from you
for a year of mornings
in the cemetery
talking about the dead
and dying-
how strange, this sudden
longing for a baby
old man
with Alzheimer's
gets no visitors
having outlived everyone
even himself
kept behind glass
his mother's collection
of porcelain dolls
didn't I notice
their painted on smiles?
in an empty lot
the pale purple flowers
of thistles
you have hardened your heart, but
who can say what yet might bloom?
making
a bamboo trellis
for morning glories...
oh, indigo wind, who will
climb my womanly vines?
full moon rising
through the cedars
it was like that
short glimpses
then fullness
parents and in-laws
moving toward senility
suddenly
there's no one
I need to impress
your third transfusion
each night
a little longer
each day the sun
a little weaker
clink and tink
of father sifting bolts
his father sifted
thick forefingers
ingrained with grease
AFTER WORDS by Jane Reichhold
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