Poetry for everyone: Weybridge haiku contest winners

Weybridge’s Sixth Annual Haiku Contest asked Vermonters to reflect on these challenging times. Reflect they did with 51 writers submitting 443 haikus. As in past contests, the themes ranged widely — despair over fickle weather, the challenges in growing old, the perils of climate change, the beauty of Vermont in all seasons.

Eyes closed at first,/ wintering inside the earth,/ black matted fur/ dampness pressing soft eyelids/ shut to outlast frost/ heaving around him.

‏A poet once wrote: ‏“Winter’s done, and April’s in the skies,
Earth, look up with laughter in your eyes!”

The state suggests I bring in my bird/ feeders./ If I don’t want to find myself/ staring into two dark eyes./ If I have enough courage./ To step onto my porch./With my bugle. My flag.

This is Now./ Of all of the moments in my entire life,/ This is the only one that is Now.

May prejudice dissolve into fine burgundy wine,/ Making us drunk, instead, on respectfulness.

‏I was driving through the fields of Heaven when I realized I was still on Earth,
because Earth was all I had ever known of Heaven and no other place would do
for living forever.

“I can’t say I don’t look forward to this once-/a-year. When I’ll bump into you, elbow one/of my neighbors. By the history table.”

Former Middlebury resident Susan Jefts has published a new book of poetry, “Breathing Lessons,” put out by Shanti Arts.

No one could say who they were./ The men at the perimeter./ Why they appeared in uniforms./ Seemed to be wearing badges/ stitched into their shirts./ At this distance five-pointed stars.

“The roof has come off the church/ and rain is falling in the baptistry.”

As the title implies, the featured collection gives readers Margolis’s understanding of what it means to be happy. However, by no means should this indicate that every single poem will bring a smile to your face.

In the scope of her book, Kunin is not simply taking us on a journey of language, but holds our hand as we crawl into a soft, cushioned space of the poet’s authenticity and vulnerability.

Gratitude to all of you for checking-in./ Calling me in the middle of the night,/ to see if I’m not trying to get some sleep,/ sleeping on my roof. The water’s that high/ in some places in my brave state/ of Vermont. Where the rivulets rise…

Most of the time the dark waters will rise,/ then fall into sun and birdsong, everything/ glistening, vivid as broken glass in fresh mud…