A call for Irish entries for the World Children's Haiku Contest 2017/2018 (one three-line haiku + an artwork per child from the island of Ireland who is under 15 years of age on 15th January 2018) organised by JAL Foundation (Japan) in co-operation with the Irish Haiku Society. The winning haiku will be published in the anthology "Haiku by World Children".

The Ireland Section: rules, the entry form and more information can be found on the Irish Haiku Society website:
http://irishhaiku.webs.com/haikucompetition.htm

All the entries shall be postmarked by 15th January 2018.

Shamrock Haiku Journal Readers' Choice Awards 

We invite all the readers of Shamrock Haiku Journal to vote for the best haiku/senryu poem published in 2017, i.e. in the issues THIRTY-SIX to THIRTY-EIGHT (you cannot vote for your own poem, though). 

To vote, send an e-mail to irishhaikusociety[at]gmail.com with "Best haiku of 2017" or "Best senryu of 2017" in the subject line. Please insert the full text of the poem you vote for (only ONE poem in each category) plus the name of its author in the body of your e-mail. The deadline for vote is 28th February, 2018. The best poems will be named in the next issue of Shamrock Haiku Journal.

honeysuckle the scent of summer passing


drizzle-wet trees
a nettle leaf flicks
within the stillness


closer to dusk
the herb-robert
one petal less


back in the shallows
of a bog pool
golden birch leaves


from autumn's debris
the clarity
of a robin's song

-- Thomas Powell (Northern Ireland)




waterlily lake
a dragonfly
at each dazzle point


surface tension –
a tangle of sea snakes
sunbathing


quickening pulse –
a swarm of butterflies
in the buddleia

-- Lorin Ford (Australia)




evening chill
the glimmer of foam
on moon-lit sand


rust-colored clouds
wood smoke hangs heavy
over russet fields


marsh hollow
the skeletal stubs
of blackened birches

-- Jay Friedenberg (USA)




old wound
peonies droop
from the weight of rain


sand fiddlers
the lengthening arc
of the sun


blood moon
the subtle scent
of citronella

-- Jennifer Hambrick (USA)




midday sun
the passing shadows
of egrets


evening calm
the heron and I
still in the breeze

-- Ben Moeller-Gaa (USA)




Buddha
his little hat
of snow


spring snow –
taking the soup bowl
with both hands

-- Bryan Rickert (USA)




keening gull
the sea's song trapped
inside a shell


currawong calls
in the fig
gathering darkness

-- Gavin Austin (Australia)




hard frost overnight
the bare maple
in its yellow pool


after the wedding
legs of the gazebo
askew

-- Paul Bregazzi (Ireland)




winter hills –
clinging to craggy rocks
an ice fall

-- Adelaide Shaw (USA)




prairie sky –
the sudden spray
from a peeled mandarin

-- Michael Dylan Welch (USA)




washed out pier –
a pelican perched
on every pylon

-- Melissa Watkins Starr (USA)




Navajo loom
a bat weaves
dusk into night

-- Frank Hooven (USA)




rising sun
a hawk races its shadow
across the lake

-- Greg Schwartz (USA)




no leaves
to hide its nakedness
winter moon

-- Dottie Piet (USA)




wisps of fog
in the valley
swans in flight

-- Joanna M. Weston (Canada)




limestone cliffs
eroding to powder
a scent of the sea

-- John Hawkhead (England)




waves
hushing a rock
to sleep

-- Sharon Verrall (Ireland)




late spring –
beneath the rainbow
a scarecrow aflutter

-- Tim Murphy (Ireland/Spain)




summer eve
the warmth of
grandpa's garden bench

-- Christof Blumentrath (Germany)

autumn painting –
the quenched cry
of sleeping flowers


the sky's
blue blood –
the stars bloom in it


acacia bursts
into blossom –
roaring buds

-- Florentin Smaradache (Romania; translated from Romanian by Anatoly Kudryavitsky)

All that Remains

by Derek Ross (Scotland)


Once, six thousand people lived here, but now Kayakoy, an abandoned hillside town in South West Turkey, is in ruins. The town's ethnic Greek population were forcibly removed to mainland Greece as a result of the Greco-Turkish War of 1920-21. Yet, the houses are intact enough to give an insight into the lives that were played out here. Many still have a trace of their internal colour, the odd carved icon clings to a chimney breast, here and there the fallen walls of gardens.
     I'm drawn to a house that has the remains of a doorway and door. There is no one else around, so I ignore the "Keep to the Path" signs. I only take a few careful steps inside. Rubble is everywhere, the roof has long gone but most of the walls still stand. A pigeon flees through a gaping window and startles me. I begin to feel uneasy, as if I am intruding somehow.       
     Walking back to the bus stop, I remember reading that the Turks of neighbouring villages petitioned Ankara to let their friends stay, but to no avail. As I walk on, I can hear the chatter of gossip, the laughter of children, the clatter of donkeys hooves on narrow streets.


        setting sun
        long shadows drift
        over worn cobbles