
In August of 2013, Jacar Press in Durham, North Carolina published
an anthology titled 7 (just the
number seven). The book is also available on Amazon. I’m one of the fourteen poets included. It contains seven haiku
each by the following poets (in order): Fay Aoyagi, Tom Clausen, Garry Gay, Ferris Gilli,
Lee Gurga, Carolyn Hall, paul m., Marlene Mountain, John Stevenson, George Swede, Michael
Dylan Welch, Ruth Yarrow, and the two editors, Roberta Beary and Lenard D.
Moore. In the words of publisher Richard Krawiec, who wrote the introduction,
the book presents poems by “the best living English-language haiku writers” as
nominated by “several dozen haiku writers and editors, most of them well-known
in international circles.” Nearly 100 poets were nominated, and the poets
included were those who were the “top vote getters.” It’s an honour to be
included, and also intriguing to think about who is not included. The book says that each poet who was asked to
participate (one of them apparently declined) had been asked to submit ten haiku
(I was actually asked to submit fifteen), of which seven were chosen. The
following are my seven poems selected by the editors, followed by the eight additional
poems I also submitted.
after the quake
the weathervane
pointing to earth +
meteor
shower . . .
a
gentle wave
wets
our sandals + +
crackling
beach fire—
we hum in place of words
we
can’t recall
spring
breeze—
the
pull of her hand
as we
near the pet store
tulip
festival—
the
colours of all the cars
in the
parking lot
first
snow . . .
the
children’s hangers
clatter
in the closet
toll
booth lit for Christmas—
from
my hand to hers
warm
change + +
On request, I had submitted fifteen poems
for this anthology, including the previous seven, but the following eight poems
were not selected. I include them here as a representation of my top poems, at
least as of the date I submitted them, 2 June 2011. The one that I most wish
had been selected from the following poems is “home for Christmas.”
first star—
a
seashell held
to my
baby’s ear +
summer
moonlight
the potter’s wheel
slows
reading
in bed
my pulse flickering
the lightly held bookmark
Valentine’s
Day—
she
reminds me
to
fasten my seatbelt +
home
for Christmas:
my
childhood desk drawer
empty + + + +
scattered
petals . . .
the
thud of my books
in the
book drop
an old
woolen sweater
taken yarn by yarn
from the snowbank
children’s
book
sh
elves