catching the light --
a spider threads
Message from Earl Keener
What can I say ? I am stunned. Speechless. It is probably fitting. All words come out of silence and flow back again. I am extremely honored and I am extremely fortunate. Honored, that so many skilled and talented writers have looked favorably on my haiku. Fortunate, because I have not been at this long, and aside from the success of this particular moment and this particular haiku, I know what great field I am a little pointillist dot in - of what radiance, exclamation, and unforgetable beauty/works others in the field are capable of producing.
I work in the track gang (railroad repair) of a small steel mill in Weirton, West Virginia. Working there,I was fortunate to meet a fellow who, like me, wrote poetry. He became my best friend forever. Eventually, he interested me
in the haiku genre and introduced me to Shiki. I thought I would dabble in haiku -- but it has somehow - if not changed my life-preserved it, deepened it, birdhoused it, clothed it...no...that's not quite it: Haiku ponds the imponderable. And because it does so, I cannot look away from the possibility of it happening again...
There are so many I would thank. It would seem I should start with the masters, both living and remembered - and everyone I've encountered through the shiki workshop and shiki list, and haiku community at large. (The poetry of the people!) I should thank the miracle of the times that makes such events
and eventualities possible, and of course the shiki team itself.
catching the light --
a spider threads
It was an October morning. Every year I shepherd the cosmos volunteers into a plot by the stone gate left over from when this rural community was only a farm. This done, I watch them grow. I love this flower not simply for its color and spidery leaves but also for its seasonal longevity. One of Walt Whitman's "noiseless, patient spiders" was industriously uniting its space, its niche, with the cosmos niche in the sandstone wings of the gate. Some threads were catching the light of the sun. This is how one's life is made - or some such thing I must have thought...whatever - I felt that it was good... and even when it was not good that it was still a gift...
and so continues to be:
Unworthy, blessed, and honored,
_________First Place__________ catching the light -- a spider threads the cosmos Earl Keener________Second Place________ piano practice losing my place to the roses roberta beary________Third Place________ breaking the mountain's reflection a water lily Sue Mill
_________Below Third Place________early morning -- a purple crocus tints the ice Earl Keeneriris the path of the rain along its blade Arkady Eltermanalmost home lilacs bloom in every lane maletisnowy day she paints the poppies a deeper red DeVar Dahlfirst snow-- the thin petals of a winter rose Naiajasmine we arrange our chairs to face upwind Ferris Gilliclear morning - a butterfly sips dew from the lotus Tore Sverredallifting fog more poppies and more max verharta child's laugh the first plum blossoms high in the tree paul m.mountain road a patch of nameless flowers stops the traffic Arkady Eltermannursing home - so many cut flowers Hilary Tannpoppies on both sides of the fence hospice gardens DeVar Dahlbedridden poet-- slowly painting one iris, he sees whole fields Billie Wilsonwedding day wind shakes raindrops from the roses Ferris Gillireflecting pond-- a water lily half submerged Naiachrysanthemum petal after petal autumn passes M. Gordona child's art the tulips tower over everything John StevensonSummer shower. An old woman with umbrella visiting her roses. Zoran Doderovicpeony clusters how old I have grown without you Marjorie Buettner
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