First of all, to all the people who submitted entries and voted,
the Shiki team wants to say thank you very much for participating.

The Shiki Internet Haiku Prize

faint stars -
the flapping of canvas
on the grape truck

-by Yu Chang


After we informed Mr.Chang that his haiku won, he sent us the letter.


What is the 3rd Shiki Internet Haiku Contest ?


Below are all the entries which received at least one vote.

first frost -
the shell of a cicada
still clings to the grape vine

         -by Hilary Tann

afterward                            
the pear at  her lip-                 a plucked grape -
slightly bruised                      some part of itself
                                      still on the stem
        -by willard
                                              -by Laura Young

ripening grapes-                 
so taut under his touch               autumn wind -
her swollen belly                     the last pear is just falling
                                      in my neighbour's garden
        -by Neca Stoller
                                              -by Dr. Juergen Peterle

one last look                      
the ripe pear still hangs             eating a pear
over the neighbor's fence             in the dark orchard
                                      new moon
        -by Yu Chang
                                              -by Miller, Paul D

gathering chestnuts-                 
among the brittle leaves              turning away
last year's birthday doll             from the pear tree --
                                      turning back
         -by Neca Stoller
                                              -by roberta beary

cathedral bells . . .                 
the chestnut vendor's                 on forest floor
steaming cart                         among decaying leaves
                                      a single chestnut
        -by Michael Dylan Welch
                                              -by Hiromichi Watari

crisp winter morning                 
alone on the naked tree               seedless grapes
a wrinkled pear clings                in a wooden bowl --
                                      the wet receipt
        -by Martin Peacock
                                              -by Michael Dylan Welch

sun through bare branches -           
the snail's bright path through       autumn evening
fallen chestnuts                      smoke from the chestnut vendor
                                      stings my eyes
        -by Harold Bowes
                                              -by Hilary Tann

setting sun --                       
in her apron pocket                   paper cones
a stolen grape                        full of roasted chestnuts
                                      warming their hands
        -by Miller, Paul D
                                              -by Ferris Gilli

on the windowsill                     
five green pears                      full moon
each missing one bite                 over bare grape vine
                                      faint howl
        -by Joann Klontz
                                              -by Hiromichi Watari

red grapes                           
dusted with sugar                     cold and wet with dew
her shy smile                         heavy grapes catch the first light
                                      tractor engine starts
        -by Ferris Gilli
                                              -by Martin Peacock

wind tousles your hair                
on my old street                      the grape's vines grasp
the smell of chestnuts                the walnut's branches-
                                      year after year
        -by Yu Chang
                                              -by Juanito Escareal

canning pears                         
peelings on the floor                 open fruit stall --
jars in a row                         bees gathering
                                      at the purple grapes
        -by Patricia A. Laurent
                                              -by Eric Solibakke

like day, these wild grapes           
passed through rainbows of color      chestnut shade --
toward purplish blackness             the fox's
                                      fleeting shadow
        -by Dennis Holt
                                              -by Eric Solibakke

first light -                         
a cardinal plucks                     wooded path --
the ripest grape                      smooth beneath my thumb
                                      a chestnut's skin
        -by Mark Alan Osterhaus
                                              -by AC Missias

pear blossoms                        
and the sound of crickets . . .       then stay gnats -
still I hurry on                      feast on the pear juice
                                      matting my beard
        -by Joseph Kirschner
                                              -by Doris D. Kasson

morning sun --                        
striped by window blinds              under the pear tree -
pears in a bowl                       pale blossoms in her dark hair,
                                      bright stars in the sky
        -by Michael Dylan Welch
                                              -by Noor Singh Khalsa

along with the street's kids          
i kick chestnuts                      in the bottle
like a kid                            of pear-brandy
                                      imprisoned pear
        -by gilles fabre
                                              -by Mirko Varga

one last pear                         
from her backyard tree ...            her breath visible
'sale pending'                        she plucks wild grapes
                                      still green and small
        -by Joann Klontz
                                              -by ken kuniyuki

with my tongue                        
crushing a grape on my palate -       the chestnuts are
the coolness                          about to cry out on the charcoal
                                      silence between you and me
        -by Tom Genovese
                                              -by Kimiyo Tanaka

too much fun to eat                   
she rolls it with her nose -          shadows within
a puppy's first grape                 the pale-green grapes -
                                      lightning flashes
        -by Tom Genovese
                                              -by Dhugal J. Lindsay

evening shade -                       
in the beer garden                    on the schoolyard's edge
children gather chestnuts             one child
                                      pockets chestnuts
        -by Doris D. Kasson
                                              -by Joann Klontz

November wind blows keen              
snowflakes dance in the streetlight   a chestnut,frozen
roasted chestnuts!                    whatever was it
                                      made me kick it ?
        -by Martin Peacock
                                              -by gilles fabre

as she walks away. . .                
the last of the ripe pears            in my jacket pocket
cupped in my hand                     a single chestnut
                                      rattles in its shell
        -by Charles M Rossiter
                                              -by ken kuniyuki

pears on a table                      
still chairs                          dewy grapes
cricket in the night                  on steaming vines
                                      the morning sun
         -by Hiromichi Watari
                                              -by marius geerts

ripened by the sun                    
the grape will now be eaten -         table set for one -
explosion of life                     a single grape
                                      rolls out of sight
         -by Karo Edge
                                              -by Mark Alan Osterhaus

late summer harvest                   
succulent yellow pear                 crushing grapes
dripping on new shirt                 even the sky
                                      turns purple
          -by Gary Barnes
                                               -by willard

picking yellow pears                  
warm from the sun                     your not quite roundness
she tastes a raindrop                 defeats my pencil again -
                                      grape, I shall eat you
          -by Ferris Gilli
                                               -by Julian Edge

one by one . . .                      
picked by the vintner himself,        how satisfying--
the last shriveled grapes             that first pear that first grape
                                      that first chestnut
          -by Charles Trumbull
                                               -by Charles M Rossiter

cool morning --                       
on the white table                    fiery sunrise -
one sunlit pear                       pear blossoms
                                      tipped with pink
          -by AC Missias
                                                -by Richmond D. Williams

a golden pear                         
in a white china bowl                 An ant looks up,
placed in the family shrine           a grape
                                      eclipses the sun.
         -by ken kuniyuki
                                                -by Dennis H. Fukushima, Jr.

old chestnut seller                   
hunkered against snow flurry          thin overcoat
smiles, stirring hot coals            in a deep pocket
                                      warm chestnuts
         -by Gary Barnes
                                                -by willard

chattering starlings                  
fly off as one                        after the harvest
lone pear tree                        a misshapen pear
                                      near the trunk
         -by Anne Rutter
                                                -by Paul MacNeil

peeling grapes                        
soft green flesh                      I bite into a cold pear
against my lips                       the juice is piercing through my heart
                                      he is leaving
          -by Carolyne Rohrig
                                                -by Kimiyo Tanaka