Submissions

Anyone not yet an Icebox contributor, who wishes to submit an English haiku, haiqua, tanka, or (short) haibun or renga, can do so by offering it as a comment on this page. Just type it into the reply box below and click ’submit’. An editor might later decide to move it onto the top page.

If your contributions prove interesting and you leave an email address, you may be invited to become a contributor.

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33 Responses to “Submissions”

  1. The pressure to be a poet, how interesting a contrast: pressure/poet. Still, in so many ways we all do need a nudge sometimes to get out of a rut, or out of the way.

    summer heat replaced
    by cooling air, joyful “Ah”s
    art class vacation

    That is, I spent the hot months over in Oregon teaching printmaking to the best
    students encountered yet. When they finally got some point, the room was filled with their “ah”s of accomplishment.

    not children, tho new
    to a wonderment of
    their creation unleashed.

    good timing: returned to
    cool rain falling on friends’
    heated brows: I laugh.

    So glad to be away,
    glad to be back, too;
    pity for the baked souls.

  2. Down Genju-an’s mossy steps
    Still damp with typhoon rain;
    Like walking on ice

  3. Credit Crunch

    Rowing in the street -
    As I walk past, they both stop
    To ask for a light.

  4. Tad Wojnicki Says:

    celery dinner
    sweet notes
    drawn from every string

    Simply Haiku, vol3, no.2

  5. Tad, Thanks for your submission. We prefer unpublished poems, though.

  6. Tad Wojnicki Says:

    Make your haiku electrifying. I love the haibun, and I share your joy of teaching, but I want your haiku to stand in a stark contrast to your prose. How? (1) Strip it bare, and (2) Let it shoot skyward. Easy said? Haha, Tad Wojnicki

  7. Tad Wojnicki Says:

    The above comment was a Reply to Richard Woodchopper’s haibun posted here on September 16, 2008.

  8. first snow:
    bubbling in my throat
    a warm whisky

  9. Feathered grasses wag
    Like agitated cat tails.
    Santa Fe morning.

  10. Pete Kaiser Says:

    Not a reply, and too long for haiku, but a wish: for someone to tell Jane I tried to get in touch by email, but the (Notre Dame) email address I have for her isn’t accepting mail. If she likes, she can reach me through the email address on the page at

    http://www.resiak.org/ardeche-lanjalvines/

    (Or here? I don’t see how.)

  11. passing storm
    under the pine
    still rain

  12. Tori Inu,
    You mean the pine is dripping? Difficult to understand this poem!

  13. yes and no (the last line could mean two things and stems from those little drops of rain weighing down the pine needles throughout the tree)…

    Imagine the storm passing (no rain under the pine), but while you are under the pine (trying to stay dry) the drops are falling all around from the tree (still rain) and while appreciating the moment you notice those drops on the pine needles close to your eyes that have yet to fall (still rain)

  14. claws on my sleeve
    claws on my belly–
    purring cat

  15. In the heat of the midday sun I stopped the rush and go
    stepped out of the flow to compose a letter to my father.
    It started with pleasantries, moving swiftly to blame and
    doubled back to self-pity. I don’t want to lose him. But I
    have never had him, he is more than the genes
    that made me, but his image is faded. This makes no sense:
    we have no memories together. No washes to wring the
    colour out, to sieve the smells, no endless meals around
    an immovable table. I have no claim on him, nor him on me,
    yet I crave his stake driven into my forbidden terrain.

    The distant father
    waves from a mountain, hidden
    by my crying hands

  16. Holywell Retreat -
    Among the trees, young voices
    Call up at trapped kites.

    Eastbourne

  17. Hello Tito!

    I just wanted to drop a note in thanks for your recent visit. We enjoyed your company.

    An interesting theme you chose for your visit to our moon viewing party:

    Entering the stage
    of bumpy built up Osaka
    June’s prima donna moon

    I’ve noticed the same effect here in St. Paul. (a sister city to Nagasaki)Although, things may look different, this old town hasn’t changed for me-I know its streets and alleys like the back of my hand. An answer for you, based on a recent poem:

    new facades
    can’t disguise this old town
    light of the June moon

    bandit (willie)

  18. Good day:

    I would like to offer two unpublished haiku poems for your pages. I have enjoyed reading other writer’s submissions. I would also like to invite you to visit my poetry e-zine.

    a firefly glows
    after we kiss
    …smiling Buddha

    first day of summer
    a skunk
    also friendless

  19. Fourteenth of July -
    Gunpowder and lavender
    Scent the warm night air.

  20. Quatre heures du matin:
    Correspondance à Valence -
    Senteur de croissants.

  21. yook Saito Says:

    (August 6, of Hiroshima)
    Sizzling chants of cicadas -
    A fire engine shoots
    Towards 64 years ago today,
    Towards ever-erupting burns today.

    (August 9, of Nagasaki)
    Rain ceases,
    A fire engine shoots
    Cutting it fine -
    Cicadas’ hum ascends.

  22. his death wish
    a moth plunges
    into the flame

  23. hefty raindrops
    in the autumn morning
    swooning in silence

  24. Slicing his apple
    As thinly as possible:
    My ageing father.

    • This evokes memories of my own father – as he got older, the peeling and slicing became increasingly difficult for him, but his independence demanded that he do it himself. Thank you for this excellent image.

  25. dad and me alone
    a rare quiet moment
    –close the coffin

    my decrepit knees—
    pink flamingos
    making 4s

  26. last light–
    i follow my shadow
    into the kuwait desert

  27. autumn morning ~
    in all shapes and fancy
    colourful leaves swirl

  28. Wow
    many pretty submissions!
    busy October writers!!!

    Blessings -

    Visit: Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine

  29. the clash
    of hot and cold ~
    autumn again

  30. gerry bravi Says:

    something never ends ~
    the fragrance of wild roses
    I cannot see

    warm sand
    trickles through my fingers ~
    two gulls drift apart

  31. Tim Napier Says:

    Sunrise: The Morning After

    Orange embers glow
    on the horizon – dawn’s hearth -
    coals from night’s passion.

    Seasons By The River

    1. A Local Scent – Spring

    We sniff the air, deer-
    like, stopped by a local scent:
    fragrance of balsam!

    2. Corruption – Summer

    Odor of earth: moist,
    corrupt. The river changes -
    all that we will know.

    3. Fever – Autumn

    The fact that river-
    light is reflected does not
    cool the mind… the mind!

    4. Dry-Docked – Winter

    White masts stand against
    the blue river: boats sailing
    in the frozen yard.

  32. Tim Napier Says:

    I am reminded of Wallace Stevens’ Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A Blackbird, stanza V: “I do not know which to prefer/ The beauty of inflections/ Or the beauty of innuendoes,/ The balckbird wishing/ Or just after.” My attempt misses its mark, but Faulkner loved his failures more than his successes

    Choose: The Thing Itself
    Or Its Memory

    Experience red:
    Ripe cherries bloody our hands,
    Lick, taste so good! Or-

    Remember cherries:
    Ripe, fingers red, taste so good,
    Boughs hang heavy: Which?

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