Otata 1 (January 31, 2016)

This inaugural number is in memory of Phyllis Walsh, whose Hummingbird, whose wings filled our hands.

Contributors
Maya Hiromi, Charles Trumbull, Lorin Ford, David McMurray, Scott Metz, Gary Hotham, Mark Harris, Malcolm Ritchie, Tom Montag, Dietmar Tauchner, Joseph Salvatore Aversano, John Perlman, Johannes S.H. Bjerg, Tom Clausen, Giselle Maya, Max Verhart

 

fuyu no tsuki ikyou no machi no kasigeyuku

winter moon
the heathen town tumbling
into ruin

— Maya Hiromi

 

 

Ξ

 

one wave
one surfer
one

 

 

teasel burrs all in a row birdsong

 

— Charles Trumbull

Ξ

 

 

 

as light fades
a seagull’s
white cry

 

 

 

winter night –

the patter

of little

rat feet

— Lorin Ford

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

Dinghy veers
right round the Great Laker
summer breeze

 

 

Counting fish
three more nights this month
to fill the moon

— David McMurray

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

how the deer’s taken
    on the valley
                 colors
— Scott Metz

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

morning fog
parts of the tree left
to our imagination

 

 

 

 

the order the world takes
autumn leaves
under our feet

 

— Gary Hotham

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

to bomb

to say we end

rosemary
for remembrance

— Mark Harris

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

try and write it you can’t
the fragrant colours of spring

 

 

in the night sky cloud
as a moonshelf

— Malcolm Ritchie

 

 

Ξ

 

from

NOTEBOOK: NEW MEXICO

January, 2016

Along Highway 64
Pine trees marching in

out of the storm,

shoulders white with snow.

 

 

 

 

 

Taos Pueblo

Lost in snow.
What am I not

meant to see?

 

 

Along Highway 68

Over the edge and into the mouth
of darkness, where trickster tells the truth.
No one falls down the mountain.

 

— Tom Montag

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

between            and
night                 dream
          an open
          window

 

 

heat shimmer
on the street
the city’s
illusions

 

 

luminous leaves
my life a breath
of the earth

 

— Dietmar Tauchner

 

 

 

Ξ

 

hunting patterned skin the forest deep

 

                                                              violent wind storm petal face

 

feathered into
the after
life cooing

 

— Joseph Salvatore Aversano

 

Ξ

 

 

 

Cedar Tree Neck

massive boulders
in the spray point the
way the ice slipped from
their backs departing

 

 

 

 

after our grandson’s stay
there stands my pen upright in
incense burner’s ash

 

 

 

 

deer
have discovered
night’s wonderful delicacies

of my hosta garden

day lily petals too
this time every

year

 

 

 

 

Reading Nyogen Senzaki

kneeling to pluck
wild garlic from the grass
behind the seawall nibbling
bulbs breath carried by a
west wind over
open sea

 

— John Perlman

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

 

 

stocking up on immortality
a carp
under the ice

 

 

 

after death
my shadow will back
to its waterfall

 

a blue stone a red stone and a grey one
slowly a hyacinth 
gives up

— Johannes S.H. Bjerg 

 

 

 

 

Ξ

 

 

a walk about
the great school
of the woods

 

–Tom Clausen

 

Ξ

 

Silence of Light
It touches both liars
and lilacs

 

 

 

Whisking tea
Green as a spring meadow
Unfazed by piercing winds

 

— Giselle Maya

 

Ξ

 

 

2016
buddy holly still in love
with peggy sue

 

— Max Verhart

 

ΞΞΞΞΞ
ΞΞΞ
Ξ

Address submissions to otatahaiku@gmail.com

—John Martone

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