Submissions 5 – NEW ONES HERE!
Anyone not yet an Icebox contributor, who wishes to submit an English haiku, haiqua, senryu, 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.
Click on the ICEBOX top panel to return to the top page.
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February 26, 2017 at 2:15 am
white butterfly
on a dandelion –
praying hands
July 22, 2017 at 1:25 am
sound of church bells
as the train whistles by —
wind, wind
low sun —
my shadow imprinted
on the grass
two planes flash
in the night sky —
two fish swimming
traffic jam —
on my windscreen
rain shimmers
late in bed
thinking …
unable to let go
at the well
between letting the stone go
and splash
February 23, 2018 at 3:32 am
Thanks for these, Diarmuid. “at the well” chosen for Icebox inbox 40.
February 23, 2018 at 11:18 am
Gerald we published that one in Persimmon recently, so maybe another would be best? I also have sone submissions by email from a few others, but am too busy until at least Sunday to difg them out and send them. Hang on a mo… By the way, this is a page and not a post, so it may not come under the 100 days limitation thing. Try a comment on a post more than 100 days old, too. Thanks.
September 22, 2017 at 7:28 am
Sunset…
The red chest sanitario of the loicas
in the snow
Among the cherries
the sounds from the santuario…
Some petals fall inglés
Autumn dusk
The flight of geese
reflectad in the river
The smell of honeysuckles…
The night lights up
with the first lightning bolts
September 22, 2017 at 5:59 pm
doksuri brewing a dark monsoon
where pregnant frogs gather in the rain
pneumonia oozes from flooded fields
March 28, 2018 at 5:24 pm
I like the idea of the contrast between the sense images in this poem (specifically, honeysuckle/lightning bolts). If you submit this poem to the Experimental Space page, perhaps additional comments will be offered.
March 29, 2018 at 5:18 am
Thanks a lot for reading and comment my Haiku ,Gerald. It is an honour.Sorry for the mistake in
Sunset…
The red chest of the loicas
In the snow.
( sanitario doesn’t go)
July 17, 2018 at 10:02 pm
Thanks Gerald for your comment.I do appreciate it.I don’t know how to submit to Experimental Space
August 19, 2018 at 12:40 pm
Hi Julia, you can find the Experimental page in the orange list at the top right corner of Icebox’s front page.
It’s listed as:
Experimental Space – English Haiku Poems 響き合いF, Kyoto
This page is for haiku you want someone to comment on.
August 28, 2018 at 9:32 am
Belatedly, I decided to use the last (minus ‘the’ in last line, if you don’t object) in our summer 18 Inbox. The third ‘the’ made the rhythm awkward. Thank you
September 26, 2017 at 6:18 pm
a hare’s moon
the few embers
that linger
Alan Summers
September 26, 2017 at 7:28 pm
owl hoots
the night shifts
with mice
naming snow-
between the violet
and the green
mackerel sky
each bird twice
as busy
fledgling moon
the bedroom ledge
where stars slip
September 26, 2017 at 8:47 pm
by Alan Summers
:-)
November 14, 2017 at 4:31 am
rough stones
polishing the table
till she sees his face
May 12, 2018 at 5:17 am
Hello, I was visiting in Kyoto recently and so thrilled to find your book Persimmon and the lovely haiku inside. And very happy to find this haiku society! I am a Taiwanese American poet living in the US. I have been writing haiku for a little while now, and here are a few I’d like to submit. Thanks for your consideration…
Fat snowflakes fill
the air. The city begins to
disappear, slowly.
On a shallow stream
a yellow leaf floating past
old dreams grow quiet
Water bug larger
than my cheek—do you wish to
join my morning wash?
A thousand and one
golden Buddhas, a face for
each woman’s sorrow *
Alive with birdsong
a glittering cave of leaves
Buson, rest easy
A lonely thatched hut
two poets shared—one leaving,
one staying behind.
Old pains a heart can’t
forgive—and yet here is the
ocean, here it is.
Pear blossom petals
scatter the pathway—before
us, and behind us.
Oh, tiny frog!—you
dodged my careless footsteps
in the rainy night.
Here is loneliness—
a dark sky of stars, each one
bearing its own light.
A sorrowful heart
watches a ranunculus
bloom, day after day.
The scent of jasmine
floats along the dark road—a
languid day ending.
Wandering at night
I see my father’s face in
an old cobblestone.
The indigo sky
darkens—old friends drink the last
of winter’s plum wine.
Just a little rain
dropping, dropping on my head
brings me some sadness.
May 12, 2018 at 8:41 pm
Thanks for the submissions, Maria. It is good that our small vermilion book of verse, Persimmon, reached a kindred spirit.
August 28, 2018 at 9:34 am
I took verses 6 and 13 for the Icebox inbox posting on the top page. See there. Thank you.
May 12, 2018 at 5:18 am
* At Sanjusangen-do temple, there are 1001 golden statues of Buddha, lined up in a way in which each one is visible, even the farthest ones back. Each face is slightly different. They say that there is a face that each visitor is looking for. I’ve noticed that all the Buddha and statues I’ve seen on the trip are male.
September 27, 2018 at 1:42 am
interesting gender transference between the two images in poem #4.
I like the idea of lightness, or simplicity in poem #1. “Fat” and “slowly” might be too much / too heavy?
September 7, 2018 at 10:14 pm
misery sings
plankton shoes
old compass
turkey spittoon
rainbow solstice
volcano pyre
September 21, 2018 at 5:27 pm
hungry wasps
lost crooked boot
pink Geraniums
September 24, 2018 at 7:45 pm
Hope this isnt too long for haibun in the submissions..
Offerings
The trolls at Fowlmere live under the bridges, sometimes under the boardwalks that meander through the marshy reed beds. They live in the damp, dark, shady places, loathing the sunlight and will eat you if you don’t answer their questions correctly or give them the gifts that they ask for. Fortunately, there are many opportunities to appease them in order to cross their bridges to safety. They ask us what our favourite colours are ( which we have rehearsed well beforehand ) sometimes they ask for leaves or berries, sticks, songs, poems or numbers. They are as fickle as the wind and the rain.
dragonflys
circling the gunnera
two feet wide
At the old watercress beds the pump galoops water and our dresses are wet to the knees. The trolls won’t eat the spicy bitter watercress but we like it with our apples and crackers. The chalkbed stream water is so clear and transparent that Ophelia floats by on luminous weeds as we throw blackberries on her and the silky, seed expanded heads of reeds.
dried up reed beds
from the hide
Florence blows shut
the windows
We are becoming familiar with the different families of trolls. Some are nicer than others, can even be experienced as kind, as we try to understand their natures. Still, we are left alone to climb trees and make dens.
from the bridge
half a yellow leaf
floats by
October 2, 2018 at 8:28 pm
Indian Summer
tailgate parties retake
Red Skin’s stadium
October 5, 2018 at 6:41 pm
ornamental iron
overshadowed in blooming
wisteria
October 9, 2018 at 12:07 am
Grand mother
falling
whilst looking at a blind man
I see her frailty
hand outstretched
from cotton mill to butchers shop
I drink from grandma’s cup
The Golden Shot
staying at grandma’s
I eat a sugar coated orange
Senyru I think?
Thankyou
October 18, 2018 at 6:56 pm
ornamental iron
for the benefit
of ivy