The Year One Vote

Cast your vote and win a free copy of Haiku Diem: The Best of Year One!

Welcome to the voting page for the final three haiku to be included in the collection of the best haiku from Year One that I'll be publishing the fall. My illustrator Kerry Dennehy and I have already selected 47 pages worth of haiku for the book. We'd like three more for an even 50, and we'd like you to choose which ones they'll be! Simply look through the haiku on this page, and then vote for three haiku by emailing your choices to YearOneVote@HaikuDiem.com.

By voting, you'll also enter yourself into a drawing for three free copies of the book when it's completed.

Please, only one entry (three votes) per person! The deadline will be October 31.

day 3

Loves me, loves me not.
What remains in either case:
the flower's plucked heart.
day 9

the Las Vegas heat:
a fullness through which I walk
in an odd comfort
day 25

morning light wakes me,
a mother nudging forward
her reluctant child
day 30

my shadow deftly
follows me around the room,
beats me into chairs
day 32

the color of joy
like the flash of a trout caught
only in glimpses
day 40

chairs stacked seat back down
raise limbs into the air in
wooden surrender
day 50

the robin's shadow
pecks back up at it from the
green depths of the grass
day 52

a world of movement
the birds' taut circles among
lengthening tree trunks
day 56

silent corner of
the overgrown city field
bulldozer at rest
day 58

bright summer sidewalk
hard candy covered with ants
a gleaming gemstone
day 62

the wind flows among
the cornered houses, searching
for open windows
day 63

for open windows
all is simple: let it in!
including the night
day 64

including the night,
there are three boundless landscapes
the wind flows among
day 67

kitchen cabinet
visible from easy chair...
I count my stacked cups
day 87

droplets on a leaf
hold reflections of the world...
an ant comes to drink
day 88

caterpillar cased
in crystal swims through dream of
seas of buoyant light
day 91

the curtained windows
of homes along the dark street
leak TV flicker
day 98

warm night on the square
spread of palm fronds overhead
lit up from below
day 99

one moment, two birds'
swift circlings in taut pursuit:
the next moment, gone
day 102

across the pavement
liquid with new rain, the snails
make a run for it
day 104

at the roots of trees
motionless on their sidewalks:
concrete's slow buckle
day 109

raindrops one by one
let go and streak down the glass
leaving subtle trails
day 154

plume of expelled breath
followed by the slow dissolve
of cold into light
day 164

cold earth at the roots
of each winter scene, every
mind's destination
day 177

another new year
another cold morning fills
the windows with light
day 186

seldom trod corner
of building walkway collects
day's ration of warmth
day 192

browned leaf on the walk
only occasionally
stirs as if alive
day 206

metallic pleasure
last of the ice cream licked off
the back of the spoon
day 227

concentric circles
of downtown buildings around
some unknown center
day 230

woke in my plain room
from dreams of a wilderness
wet and verdurous
day 234

where did that come from?
while walking across the street
the smell of crayons
day 236

hanging with the birds
lined up on their power line
a pair of sneakers
day 238

dewy grass pristine
except for the darkened tracks
ending at my feet
day 245

gray light from gray skies
gray streets flanked by gray pavement
dark holes of puddles
day 255

the snow covered field
untrodden fragility
reflecting the cold
day 265

still entwined around
the metal bars of the fence
the long dead rose vine
day 270

now the sun is back,
the tulips open again
to the world, like me
day 287

bicyclist's close pass
I hear the whir of the chain
and one labored breath
day 291

roadside weeds passing
dull greens and browns and sudden
sprays of bright flowers
day 292

office worker ranks:
so many shadows pressed back
into castered chairs
day 296

dreamed touch of a hand
against my cheek that woke me
was the sun's warmth
day 306

night silence deepens;
the refrigerator hum
is all that remains
day 312

single drop of rain
falls gently against a cheek
from two miles above
day 313

a slow hard waking
casting off like heaped blankets
the weight of the night
day 316

fallen willow leaves
green and brown patchwork bearing
the faint prints of feet
day 325

foot shaped depression
in the soft mud, flattened weeds,
a crumpled aster
day 338

behind the hung frame
the whiter wall of the past
so many nail holes
day 341

that day on the trail
from somewhere unseen: the sound,
the smell of water
day 352

under construction
shell of a house built around
empty window frames
day 363

that concrete trashcan
on the corner: marked, dirty...
was it always there?

copyright © 2011 by Freeman Ng