The Scorpion Prize for Best Haiku/Senryu of ISSUE VI:1
The Scorpion Prize is a commendation for the best haiku or senryu of an issue. It is announced in each current issue for haiku/senryu appearing in the previous issue. The award is adjudicated by Jason Sanford Brown or a guest judge. A short summary of the adjudicator's thoughts about the haiku are presented. At this time there is no cash or gift award, just kudos.
First Place: A Tie
between park benches
I like a short but evocative haiku. The third line makes me think about our lives in the city. Behind the windows facing the park, people may conduct their daily activities indifferent to their neighbors and the world outside their boundaries. At the same time a word ‘interval’ in the second line offers hope. This solitary season will end soon. Trees will start to bud. Laughter will fill the streets. Young mothers, lovers and tourists will share these benches and their joy.
in the stillness
of a dragonfly
A poet does not tell us why she sees the desert in a dragonfly. Did she lose something important? Is it the last dragonfly at the end of the season? Reading this haiku, I think about my own desert inside me. When was the last time I spread my wings wide? According to Chinese legend, a dragon goes up to the sky at Spring Equinox and returns to the lake on the earth at Autumn Equinox. This dragonfly may be sent down by the dragon king and is sending telepathy message of what it saw on the earth.
Honorable mention (in order):
in the pothole—
Peggy Willis Lyles
I like compose my own story as a reader of haiku. I see the full moon at the bottom of a deep well. A concubine who lost affection of the Emperor or a village girl who lost her lover during the war might have thrown herself to this well I am seeing. I feel the coldness of the water. I hear the voice of the dead. Tomorrow, the moon starts to wane. The unfortunate returns to their darkness.
a single grey
A color of this single balloon is the centerpiece of this haiku. Because a balloon is a spring kigo, many balloon haiku will provide the image of hope and happiness. But this haiku makes me think about what will come after the sun sets.
Ann K. Schwader
I like lightness of this haiku. What do ravens have to complain about? Lack of care in the garden? Taste of a curator who selected the sculpture? Or a disturbance from the visitors who bother the ravens’ community?