Shamrock No 30 Haiku from Ireland and
the rest of the world

An international online journal that publishes quality haiku, senryu and haibun in English

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Shamrock Haiku Journal Readers' Choice Awards 2014 



Seven haiku have been nominated as the best of the year by our readers and contributors. The following piece that appeared in our No. 27 was voted the best haiku published in Shamrock Haiku Journal in 2014: 



morning
the slow silence
of a snail


-- Gregory Longenecker (USA)



The following haiku that first appeared in our Nos. 29 and 27 respectively were runners-up



auction –
a smell of horse
where the horse has been

-- Hugh O’Donnell (Ireland)


back on the wagon
after Christmas
unsold trees

-- Rachel Sutcliffe (England)



Five senryu have been nominated as the best of the year by our readers and contributors. The following piece that was first published in our No 27 became the winner in the best senryu category:



a bowl of soup
the blind man lowers his face
into the steam

-- John McManus (England)



And the runner-up was the following piece that also appeared in our No. 27: 



the first bite
is all I want
wild pear

-- S.M. Abeles (USA)



We congratulate the worthy winners, and express our sincere gratitude to each and every reader who cast a vote.






Irish Haiku Society International Haiku Competition 2014


The prize-winning haiku from this competition are available for viewing here:


http://irishhaiku.webs.com/haikucompetition.htm



There are excellent poems aplenty on that page; check them out!











arrowhead leaves
in the flickering wind
shoals of fish


emerald fish
break surface
a stippling glaze


wren song
filling the frozen valley
the ping of crystal


through the slush,
blades of grass
slicing light

-- Anton Floyd (Ireland)




late summer heat…
the prayer strip's reflection
flickers on the window


deep night
where the fireflies were
stars


cold August night
through the dark skylight
darkness

-- Bruce Ross (USA)




summer drought –
a can of worms
left on the dock

boarded-up cabin –
goose track
across the wet porch

a toast to the bride –
my reflection
in the wine glass

-- Michael Dylan Welch (USA)




apple tree branch
an inchworm
measures it's length


abandoned copper mine
an old mule grazes
among rust-colored rocks


gap in the forest canopy
a yellow sunbeam
becomes a cloud of gnats

-- Jay Friedenberg (USA)




the sunset tints
a field of dry grasses
pink lemonade


a brisk wind
through his old knit sweater
uncut hay


wondering
what it means
five-leaf clover

-- Seren Fargo (USA)




new moon
mist drifting
through the trees


mist on the bay
a tinkling of masts
at the marina


station bridge
a florescent rainbow
of sprayed colours

-- Gavin Austin (Australia)




overcoat shouldered
by the kitchen chair
last night’s warmth gone


October laneway
a planetarium
of fallen apples


time-jumping chipmunk
you were there
you are here

-- Paul Bregazzi (Ireland)




passing crows
the flap of ragged fabric
in a freshening breeze


morning prayer
kneeling at the altar
of her handbag

-- David J. Kelly (Ireland)




concrete wall
rusting shamrock
stains the flaking paint


of the billion stars
this one
the dawn-bringer

-- Patricia Groves (Ireland)




red fox
his gaze
through the glass


windy boreen –
cock pheasant puffed out
in search of his destiny

-- Nora O’Dwyer (Ireland)

Boreen: unpaved rural road in Ireland.




ripples along
the lough shore
a dunnock's song


into the sun the wood pigeon foils the falcon

-- Thomas Powell (Northern Ireland)




fish supper
the tramp gives his chips
to the gulls


the curious gaze
of a caged ape
my son returns it

-- John McManus (England)




cold snap
a woodpecker
at the bird table


autumn wind
the yellowing leaves
of a diary

-- Anna Maris (Sweden)




sunset
in a field of wildflowers
a rusty red truck


between birdsongs
the wind
filling the spaces

-- Michael Ketcheck (USA)




end of autumn
a jack o' lantern's smile
begins to soften


migrating birds
his flannel jacket
flaps open

-- Brent Goodman (USA)




silent fields
my breath wreaths
the waning moon


willow buds…
parsing the light
from long-dead stars

-- Mark E. Brager (USA)




crescent moon –
spider silk traces
a breeze


winter's edge –
a frozen waterfall holds
the stillness

-- Theresa Cancro (USA)




winter moon
passing through a crack
of an old grain silo

-- Ben Moeller-Gaa (USA)




a drift
of plum blossoms in the puddle
first stars

-- Mike Dillon (USA)




first freeze
pond fish puzzled
under glass ceiling

-- William Ward (USA)




chilly dusk
the taste of dark chocolate
in her kiss

-- Chase Fire (USA)




all day rain –
only at dusk do they emerge
sea plovers

-- William Seltzer (USA)




the patient
sniffing a crinkled leaf
ocarina tune

-- Bill Cooper (USA)




frosty morning –
the dragonfly's summer dream
at an end

-- Kevin Valentine (USA)




goldfinch
alit on a sunflower
painting the sky yellow

-- Albert Schlaht (USA)




rainbows
all over the road…
crash site

-- Carl Seguiban (Canada)




taking up their posts
in the water shed
great white egrets

-- Devin Harrison (Canada)




snowdrops
patch by patch
the sky grows bluer

-- Louisa Howerow (Canada)




tree-climbing supervision
briefly abandoned
dragonfly

-- Richard Turner (England)




spring thaw
shards of sunlight
shatter the pond

-- Rachel Sutcliffe (England)




garden wedding ...
the metallic wind chime
dances a tune

-- Anne Curran (New Zealand)




dusk thickens
bats disturb
choral evensong

-- Noel King (Ireland)




the midnight path
sparkles with frost –
fox crossing

-- Amanda Bell (Ireland)




retracted petals breeze flutters

-- Sally Dunne (Ireland)




textured pebbles
water whispering
stories

-- Olivia Dunne (Ireland)




swirling breeze –
a hunting cormorant
skims the waves

-- Patricia Stewart (Ireland)




monastic silence –
a perfect order
of rocks

-- Niamh Denise Griffith (Ireland)




discarded feather
in withering grass –
breeze moves blades

-- Philipp Herrmann (Ireland)




village of seagulls
sails shaving grey
on grey

-- Aoife Dwyer (Ireland)




wind-billowed sails
docks gone
to seed

-- Carol Jordan (Ireland)




music class –
hail stones drumming
on the roof

-- Shrikaanth Krishnamurthy (India/England)




sparkling light –
crows shift darkness
from tree to tree

-- Pravat Kumar Padhy (India)









September park
dozens of soldiers
sweeping leaves


crosses buried in snow –
all I can say
about my homeland


-- Adam Hlobus (Belarus; translated from the Belorussian by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)




fog over the park –
footprints in the snow
show black


roadside cross
welcoming me
with open arms


-- Uladzimer Sciapan (Belarus; translated from the Belorussian by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)








High Water Marks

by Glenn Coats (USA)


That night, I thought about the man who came to talk to my father at the dock; how easily my father spoke to strangers. The man who introduced himself as Jim kept a boat a dozen slips away from my father’s. He had grown up near the marshes, had fished and raked clams all of his life. Jim knew how to catch snapper blues and he threw anything silver into the bay and the blues could not resist. He caught gar and kingfish which belonged farther south in the Carolinas; hoisted eels onto the pier that were thick and long as his arms. The man was twenty-eight years old and engaged to a girl who could row a boat fast as any man, knew how to work a crab trap and swam for long distances under water. It seemed like Jim had lived a long full life and I prayed to God that I too would live until I was twenty-eight. It seemed long enough at that moment.

near the sea
houses
fill and empty

morning tide
the sand swept clean
of stories





Emergency

by Michael Dylan Welch (USA)


In my distraction, I mistakenly dial the wrong number, but hang up before anyone answers. My eyes grow wide in momentary mortification. Seconds later, the phone rings.
     “This is 9-1-1 – did you have an emergency?”
     “No,” I explain. “I accidentally pressed the wrong speed-dial button. My apologies, but I’m glad to know you called back.”
     I hang up the phone, and wonder why it’s so hard to call you. And if I did, whether you would ever call me back.


pink buds
on the cherry
beginning to show


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