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.
Click on the ICEBOX top panel to return to the top page.
September 16, 2008 at 7:34 pm
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.
October 2, 2008 at 8:34 am
Down Genju-an’s mossy steps
Still damp with typhoon rain;
Like walking on ice
October 6, 2008 at 8:14 am
Credit Crunch
Rowing in the street -
As I walk past, they both stop
To ask for a light.
October 10, 2008 at 7:33 pm
celery dinner
sweet notes
drawn from every string
Simply Haiku, vol3, no.2
October 14, 2008 at 9:05 pm
Tad, Thanks for your submission. We prefer unpublished poems, though.
October 22, 2008 at 6:44 pm
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
October 22, 2008 at 6:50 pm
The above comment was a Reply to Richard Woodchopper’s haibun posted here on September 16, 2008.
November 5, 2008 at 9:19 pm
first snow:
bubbling in my throat
a warm whisky
December 16, 2008 at 9:47 am
Feathered grasses wag
Like agitated cat tails.
Santa Fe morning.
January 30, 2009 at 7:46 pm
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.)
February 23, 2009 at 11:53 am
passing storm
under the pine
still rain
February 23, 2009 at 1:20 pm
Tori Inu,
You mean the pine is dripping? Difficult to understand this poem!
February 23, 2009 at 1:28 pm
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)
April 28, 2009 at 10:50 am
claws on my sleeve
claws on my belly–
purring cat
May 20, 2009 at 5:50 am
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
May 25, 2009 at 1:43 am
Holywell Retreat -
Among the trees, young voices
Call up at trapped kites.
Eastbourne
June 9, 2009 at 5:22 am
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)
July 13, 2009 at 3:02 am
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
July 20, 2009 at 2:59 am
Fourteenth of July -
Gunpowder and lavender
Scent the warm night air.
July 20, 2009 at 3:03 am
Quatre heures du matin:
Correspondance à Valence -
Senteur de croissants.
August 9, 2009 at 5:48 pm
(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.
October 5, 2009 at 2:57 pm
his death wish
a moth plunges
into the flame
October 18, 2009 at 7:30 pm
hefty raindrops
in the autumn morning
swooning in silence
October 23, 2009 at 1:16 am
Slicing his apple
As thinly as possible:
My ageing father.
October 25, 2009 at 11:08 am
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.
October 23, 2009 at 10:38 am
dad and me alone
a rare quiet moment
–close the coffin
my decrepit knees—
pink flamingos
making 4s
October 25, 2009 at 8:34 pm
last light–
i follow my shadow
into the kuwait desert
October 25, 2009 at 9:05 pm
autumn morning ~
in all shapes and fancy
colourful leaves swirl
October 27, 2009 at 11:16 pm
Wow
many pretty submissions!
busy October writers!!!
Blessings -
Visit: Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine
October 28, 2009 at 1:06 am
the clash
of hot and cold ~
autumn again
November 2, 2009 at 12:38 am
something never ends ~
the fragrance of wild roses
I cannot see
warm sand
trickles through my fingers ~
two gulls drift apart
November 9, 2009 at 2:47 am
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.
November 9, 2009 at 10:26 pm
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?