Sunday, September 8, 2019

Cool Announcement: Three Freebies, Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Vols. 1-3

My Dear Friends:

Publisher, poet and NeverEnding Story contributor, Denis M. Garrison, has made three volumes of  Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, I, II, and III (edited by NeverEnding Story contributor, M. Kei,  and an international board of editors expert in the form for each volume) available to read free online.

Selected Tanka (a list of selected tanka will be added below over time)

Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, I, 2008

the old woman
with a walking stick
bent over
her daughter's grave
like a question mark

André Surridge

I could tell
from the look in her eyes
the cancer had spread
from her lungs to her liver
and into both our lives

Barbara Robidoux

a man and boy
arguing as they load stone
onto a donkey's back,
the pyramids behind them
rising tall in the thistles

Michael McClintock

I am
I am not
I am
as I walk in & out
of mist

A. A. Marcoff

and when
the sand runs out?
the stillness
of the hourglass
and I are one

Denis M. Garrison

narrow layers
of an ancient lakebed
visible
on the sheer rock wall
I finger-walk back through time

David Rice

that final spring
we were together flying
our kite—until
you let loose the string
and heart from soul divided

an'ya

this past August,
all at once, the abuse of a decade
condensed into a bullet --
there's a house for sale
in our neighborhood

Larry Kimmel

a rooster on a leg string
stands at the end of his world
daring traffic --
even a chicken feels
the pinch of a tethered life

William Hart

blood-soaked the bodies
littering the marketplace
this hot afternoon
one melon and a small child
not hit by flying shrapnel

C. W. Hawes

still held
by the sound
of a shakuhachi flute
I walk out into the wind
with holes in my bones

Peter Yovu

in the deep silence
of scorching midday heat,
my mother's spine
remembers
our wartime defeat

Mariko Kitakubo


Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, Volume II, 2009

twenty three dollars
in the bank account
these days
even a crow’s cackle
will shake my bones

Sean Greenlaw

slicing a lemon
with my sharpest knife
seeds remain in place
segments hold their structure
despite my child’s divorce

Beverley George

evening
between her breasts
sugar to lick off
the cocktail glass
rim

ai li

in the curve
of her hip
she holds
an earthen pot’s
tilted twilight

Kala Ramesh

in the food court
he mounts an argument
for divorce—
she nods mechanically
spoon-feeding their infant

Amelia Fielden

pumping petrol
this autumn morning
numbers swirl
five? six? or seven days
since we last made love?

Carolyn Eldridge-Alfonzetti

my soul
can soar over the Pacific
yet my feet
know the enclosing walls
of an attic room

Chen-ou Liu

the red dot
on my forehead
binds me
to a man
who's in his own orbit

Kala Ramesh

the feel of you
so deep inside of me
each movement
bringing us closer
to separation

Karen Cesar

beside the sea
spray-painted on asphalt
a mandala symbol
fading now
like the hippie in me

Marilyn Potter

in a city
drifting among
strangers
sometimes I want
nothing more

Michael McClintock

I fight the urge
to ask them
how to make love last
old couple holding hands
where the waves break

Roberta Beary


Take Five: Best Contemporary Tanka, III, 2010

you ask
about this bruise
the color of a crow
I wave my hand
like a wing, wounded

Angie LaPaglia

my blood and bone
slipping from darkness
into the light
her small skull as round
as a Slavic moon

an’ya

a small death
the cracked shell
of a snail
now this delay
at the train station

Alan Summers

cherry blossoms
hold for three days
then scatter . . .
I tell him I don't want to be
in love anymore

Aurora Antonovic

just as I am
falling asleep, I remember
the first bra
I successfully unclasped
and lie awake for hours

Bob Lucky

long holiday
I keep my eyes on the road
she measures
the distance between us
by the number of rest stops

Chen-ou Liu

done fighting
we search in twilight
for a stone
from the ring
that struck my face

Dave Bacharach

the sound
of a broken bottle swept
across asphalt
like the cry of a child
you have given away

H. Gene Murtha

opening this urn
I set you free to visit
all the places
you never had the chance to
before you had wings

John Soules

time and again
I leave the nursing home
through a locked gate
fearing the code that lets me out
will one day hold me in

Susan Constable

Happy Reading

Chen-ou

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