pumpkins,
cold to the touch,
and hard
but i cradle them
. . . my children

Morgan Ewald

curled, crumbling leaves
filled with rainwater
my sister thinks
a tea party
has been abandoned

Brittany Mytnik

I love the great fall imagery in this piece. The leaves aren't "fiery autumn leaves" hanging brightly on the trees but curled and crumbling--the type of autumn leaves you step on without thinking every day. Because they are filled with rainwater, you can smell the must from their decay. There is very much an Alice -in -Wonderland feel to the final lines "my sister thinks/ a tea party/has been abandoned" --the image is innocent, as if the sister does not understand the significance of the changing season, and thus, the 'dying' world is merely another play place; there are none of the sinister associations of illness or aging that fall has been made to symbolize to the older generations.  Sam

heated leather seats
lessen the swell
of insecurities
when I leave your car
a wind of doubt blindsides me

Kendall Robison

offering to pour her
a glass of cider
nerves grow
I blame my shaking
on tiredness

Bill Rzeszutko

pumpkins,
cold to the touch,
and hard
but i cradle them
. . . my children

offering to pour her
a glass of cider
nerves grow
I blame my shaking
on tiredness

pumpkins,
cold to the touch,
and hard
but i cradle them
. . . my children

top quarter champion

TOP half Chamption

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

bottom quarter champion

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

prepared to face this chill
with just this sweater,
you wrap your coat around me
and no cold
could ever reach me

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

pulling jackets
from the back of the closet
I carefully rehang yours
three years and I'm still unable
to get rid of it

Nora Kocher

I got two different stories about this one, but the result is sort of the same. The first story I came up with is that a spouse or child died unexpectedly and the narrator is still unable to let go of what reminds them of the deceased. Which is why after three years of them being gone, they still cannot get rid of their jacket. The second story I thought up was that divorce was at hand and the narrator still loves and misses them so much that they, again, cannot get toss out some of their stuff that they left behind. Desi

prepared to face this chill
with just this sweater,
you wrap your coat around me
and no cold
could ever reach me

Brittany Mytnik

the instant
you touch my lips
I melt
the love between us
sending sparks through me

Ashley Longcor

I picked these two, most likely because I'm in a scandalousmood, but because I love the smooth imagry and the flow from the first tanka tothe other. Both of these have very vivid adjectives through subtle hints, likethe powerful yet whispering emphasis of wonder in the second that can correlate with the sparks from the first; or how instant from the first ties back intosee in the second. There is such a connection between these two that I wanttoplay dot-to-dot and connect every one I see!! Joseph

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

Nora Kocher

The first time I read this, all I could say was, “Oh. Oh. Oh. Wow.” I was not expecting the end of it. It was a kicker, for sure. I was lying down when I read it but I shop up when I read the last sentence. Then I started thinking about how weird and awkward it would be to have an affair with someone… who’s married… and lives on your block. I sort of want to know if the wife ever found out about them, too. Desi

TOP half champion

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

CHAMPION

from the porch
I see my neighbor
raking leaves
I wonder if his wife
ever found out about us

cell phone jingles
in my pocket
I remember Grandma's windchimes
and answer . . .
breath caught on the wind

BOTTOM half champion

Posted on the balcony
I overlook the matte stillness
and estranged atmosphere
that is Autumn--
I smile at her work

Desi Thomas

I really like this poem because it gives such personification to the season of Autumn. And I LOVE the part where is says I smile at her work because it is so true. Every year I wait and wait for the leaves to change and for all the fall colors to come into the world and for the leaves to fall, and I do smile. I see it, and I think that it is so beautiful. And I really love the words in this tanka as well. She uses larger words, which sometimes don't work as well in poetry like this, but I think this one really uses them well. And I love the image with "matte stillness" because it describes what seems to be a painting, and turns out to actually be the season Autumn. Morgan

I love the personification of autumn in this poem, merely from the rare use of proper capitalization and the words "her work." I also enjoy the powerful verbs used. The narrator is "posted" on the balcony, as if standing watch for something--a coming change, perhaps. This plays into "I overlook" as opposed to merely "I see". The "estranged atmosphere" brings back that idea that something is not right, the narrator must be on guard for something. And yet, in the end, the narrator seems to relax, and simply take in the picture perfect landscape below.  Sam

a flutter of wings
skittering paws
hands turning cold
it's true
winter is coming

Owen Kosik

dancing drops of water
racing each other
across the window
I'm rooting
for the one on the left

Kendall Robison

I was quickly able to relate to the mindset of this poem, so I liked it right away. The scene is one that most people know: that point of boredom where you aren’t just watching the raindrops on the window, you’re watching multiple raindrops and seeing which would win in a race. The language was clever and funny while still conveying the boredom of a rainy day. Owen

lying in the grass
twirling the stem
of a dead leaf
between my
fingers

Morgan Ewald

Posted on the balcony
I overlook the matte stillness
and estranged atmosphere
that is Autumn--
I smile at her work

lying in the grass
twirling the stem
of a dead leaf
between my
fingers

lying in the grass
twirling the stem
of a dead leaf
between my
fingers

top quarter champion

BOTTOM half champion

cell phone jingles
in my pocket
I remember Grandma's windchimes
and answer . . .
breath caught on the wind

bottom quarter champion

cell phone jingles
in my pocket
I remember Grandma's windchimes
and answer . . .
breath caught on the wind

black dog staring
at the forever closed door
hoping and wondering
when they will return
for her

cell phone jingles
in my pocket
I remember Grandma's windchimes
and answer . . .
breath caught on the wind

black dog staring
at the forever closed door
hoping and wondering
when they will return
for her

Kendall Robison

You feel
for our father's scent.
A stem
three buds separated--
my trinity

Joeseph Sparks

cell phone jingles
in my pocket
I remember Grandma's windchimes
and answer . . .
breath caught on the wind

Samantha Parks

I enjoyed the language used in this tanka. I thought it was clever to relate the “jingle” of her cell phone to the memory of her grandmother’s windchimes. I also liked how the last line revisited the relation with the use of wind as a force that is taking her breath away. The poem was very elegant and cleverly arranged. Owen

with papa
at the train yard
seeing all the engines pass
now i can only put
flowers by his grave

Bill Rzeszutko