again
this catalogue
of past griefs
and I keep washing
the same dish
Sanford Goldstein, This Tanka World, 1977
inside the greenhouse —
a woman
humming
to her unborn baby.
all come to nothing;
below the bank
a stream carries away
last blossoms of spring
Anna Holley, Splendor Tanka 1996
the long sleeves of your old coat
warm my fingertips
even from beyond this grave
you manage to comfort me
an’ya, Splendor Tanka, 2000
all the pigeons of Venice
at once fill the sky
that is how it felt when your hand
accidentally touched mine
or the length of your silence
that brings this chill
I watch another leaf
fall from the autumn sky
Thelma Mariano, Splendor Tanka, 2001
the little blue dress
for when I need
to become myself again
embedded in the paper
of a sympathy card
I tear them into strips
and plant them in the shadows
coming to bed
I watch you sleeping
in the last light
of the candle
you lit for me
a friend with breast cancer
writes me at last
“my hair is growing up”
tears slip into my smile
small suitcase
a lifetime
of expectations
going away
than my parents lived to be
fall stillness
the trees are barren and
silence arrives with the cold
she loves me not
petal by petal
I’ve pulled
this love apart
all a-tremble
I hug myself, the pain
of never-ending war
Kirsty Karkow, Yellow Moon 16, 2004
the rose
that you planted
in the window box
has flowered at last
Martin Lucas, Rose Haiku, 2005
leading my horse
to the river at midnight
scattered stars
in such impossible numbers
we don’t mind drinking a few
Michael McClintock, Gusts: Contemporary Tanka, No. 3, Spring/Summer 2006
in the darkness of grief
blind to hope
and deaf to prayers
I hold tightly to your hand
Denis M. Garrison, Eucalypt, issue 3, 2007, Distinctive Scribblings Award
the point of staying –
if I sit
just so the moon
floats in my tea
Bob Lucky, Eucalypt 2, 2007, Distinctive Scribblings Award
where your hands
slid all over me
a deep humming
like the aftersound of bells
still only half awake
I wonder
which of these thoughts will be
the one to rouse me from bed
Christopher Herold, 2009 Tanka Splendor Award
the coat I haven’t
worn in
over a year
still smells of her
I tell myself
to feel
the depth of the sky
from within me . . .
sunset explodes in bronze
and green fir spires –
we stand hands together
free from the weight of words
John Martell, Eucalypt 8, 2010
on crumbling tombstones
in the woods
I feel the weight
of ancient grief
Gerry Jacobson, Eucalypt, 9, 2010
back home
from the oncology ward
I peel my first orange
the burst of justice and smell
colour of the sun I missed
Sonam Chhoki, Eucalypt 10, 2011, Distinctive Scribblings Award
in a field
flanked by plum trees
a chimney
its wood-fire stove
burning with rust
Rodney Williams, Eucalypt 11, 2011, Distinctive Scribblings Award
I open my wings
and let this loneliness
fly away
in the summer forest
Kozue Uzawa, I’m a Traveler, 2011
in the crossword puzzle
my brother left
at the cancer clinic …
answers we never find
Kenneth Slaughter, 2012 TSA International Tanka Contest Winner
pinking shears
and euphemisms
my tidy mother
always able to neaten
the frayed edges of life
Julie Thorndyke, 2012 TSA International Tanka Contest, First Honorable Mention
*
softens with age
the stoop
that was your father’s
has become your own
Michele L. Harvey, Eucalypt Issue 14, 2013
with a broken broom
I gather at the center
a thousand winged seeds
Jenny Ward Angyal, Skylark 3:2, Winter 2015
I walk what’s left of
the pine dunes
my time here passes by
like the birds overhead
H Gene Murtha, Posted on Facebook on May 20 2015, a few months before he breathed his last on 9th October 2015
of moonlight wakens
the river
those little wrinkles
in the corners of your smile
Hazel Hall, cattails, September 2016
only my eyes
need several minutes
to adjust to darkness
a red rose fades
between us
how sharp the thorns
David He, China, cattails, September 2016
along this notebook page
almost invisible
the tiny separations
that ease the final parting
of a bird the song
opens
in my life how can there be
a summer’s end
Kath Abela Wilson, tinywords, Issue 16.2, 22 September 2016
he tucks her nightdress
under the pillow —
after sixty years side by side
where to put his grief
… any more
like the sleeves
of an old sweater
your life unraveling
Susan Weaver, Ribbons, 12:1, Winter 2016
rearrange hometown memories
in the lineup
I wait for a brand new
permanent resident card
Chen-ou Liu, tinywords, 18 January 2017
happiness were easy
paper flowers
rearranged
in a waterless vase
Kat Lehmann, tinywords, Issue 16.2, 27 January 2017
her plane disappears
into starlight…
and somewhere
in her luggage
my love poem
Michael Dylan Welch, Hummingbird, X:2. December 1999
a dubbin tin
on sunday nights
our shiny school shoes
line up at the door
how large
her children’s eyes, how small
their empty rice bowls
the room
alive with
the shapes
of moving smoke
ai li, i’m going home, 2020 (e-book)
skeins of wool
unravel at my feet
in the last light
a swirl of snow geese
begins to descend
Debbie Strange, Fleeting Words Tanka Contest 2023, Honorable Mention
Over the ears of rice
In the autumn fields,
I know not when and where
My love will end.
Even though the bamboo leaves
Rustle in the wind,
Brightening the whole mountainside,
I think only of my dear one
Left behind.
The breeze that passes
Through the little cluster of bamboo
In my garden-
How faint the rustle is
In the calm of evening!
The colour of the cherry blossom
Has faded vainly
In the long rain
While in idle thoughts
I have spent my life.
Ono no Komachi (c.850)
Broken by the sound of the breeze
That plays on the bamboo leaves
Near the window,
A dream even shorter
Than my fleeting sleep.
I dress myself smiling
in the long mirror
a portrait of yesterday
one cannot deny
Akiko Yosano, Japan’s greatest tanka poet.
*
into empty sky?
Even the fragile snow,
when it falls,
falls in this world.
Izumi Shikibu [974?-1034?]
tr. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani1
How invisibly
it changes color
in this world,
the flower
of the human heart.
Ono no Komachi [834?- ?]
tr. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani1
No way to see
on this moonless night?
I lie awake longing, burning,
breasts racing fire,
heart in flames.
Ono no Komachi [834?- ?]
tr. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani1
Best wishes on your tanka journey dear readers.
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