Modern TANKA Corner 2012 - 2013
Page 3.
Tanka (five lines with 5-7-5-7-7 or short-long-short-long-long structure), is one of the shortest literary art forms in the world that merges the perception of nature with a moment in human nature or with an event. They make the simplicity of a moment significant and memorable. Tanka have poetic patterns which fuse with descriptive ways of experiencing the wonders of the world and the human condition. Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine hopes to capture the essence of the tanka tradition with all respect due to the Japanese art form.
Pays $1.00 per tanka if funds permit. Manuscripts cannot be returned.
Lyrical Passion Poetry E-Zine © 2007-2019
2012
it does not seem
out of place
to place
a daisy upon
a forlorn branch
by Sherry Steiner
sitting with
my mother
in the soft moonlight
her face
becomes ageless
by Nancy Nitrio
(Moonbathing, Issue Number 5, Fall/Winter 2011-2012)
the lust to be
recognized as a poet
a beast inside
consumes and spits me
onto the glossy pages
summer stars
hang nearly within reach
her parting words
whisper through the grass
that pillows our heads
by Chen-ou Liu
so small
at the foot of Mt. Rainier
I disappear
like a child
playing hide and seek
English signs
for tourists prevalent
in today’s Saigon . . .
does Uncle Ho frown
or continue to smile
(Note: Uncle Ho was Ho Chi Minh)
wood crackling
in the fireplace . . .
for hours
I write and write
even in my dream
by Nu Quang
the storefronts I pass
on the way to work
on the way home
all the places
I never see myself in
by Lucas Stensland
autumn sparkles
like summer shape-shifted
and bottled like wine-
from a distance
we drink to tomorrow
(First published in Eucalypt #7, 2009)
after years
of harmless flirting
the boundaries blurred
a border skirmish
a trail of hurt
by Clive Oseman
an old man whispers
although no one else is near:
a single red rose
resting in his calloused hand
together with a photo
by Alexander Jankiewicz
beneath her navel
a tattoo that begins with
the F-word . . .
in the dark, her eyes
tell me the story
Father cries out
but...you're just a girl
my sister stands
with her legs apart
urinating
the smell
of bruised apples
simmering
in the summer heat...
a blood stain on her shirt
two white horses
grazing in the afternoon sun...
I chew
on the thoughts of writing
a love letter to my ex
by Chen-ou Liu
chestnut mare
mane streaming in the wind
behind her...
I sit on the ground
bottom bruised from the fall
by Tracy Davidson
like the last wisp
of a chalkdust moon
a lone heron
skims the bamboo thicket . . .
I will not bend to your will
do not go gentle
yet, tread softly . . .
poems that shaped me
etched in stone
with a butterfly's wing
he liked to think
he held the key to my heart . . .
ham-fisted
picking the lock
with a paperclip
the hum of bees
in the lavender . . .
sitting on the step
the child I once was
asks why I left so soon
by Claire Everett
Cancer clinic
in the waiting room
an old woman knits booties
for her doctor’s
unborn kid
The first
to step out of
the fog
the persimmon
and then Mt. Fuji
by Alexis Rotella
2013
No need/to go home/the mountain/or the moon
We talk/about the water/children swimming past their fathers/
nothing else
The dead are seething/nothing draws more flies
by Jay Filan
there are older trees
in the neighborhood,
but I think this one,
middle-aged and bent,
resembles me the most
it’s not very old
as loblollies go,
but still the lichen
on its trunk,
the twist in its branches
once again
the long silence
of illness,
and then, the silence
of nothing at all
mourning dove
spirit of
this grey-green dawn
and all
the weary dreams
by M. Kei
The perfume bottles
on my mother's vanity
from her single days --
scents
no longer her.
by Alexis Rotella