Fireflies’ Light A Magazine of Short Poems
Missouri Baptist University Department of English Issue 16 September 2019
Fireflies’ Light A Magazine of Short Poems Editor: John J. Han Assistant Editors: Mason Arledge, Mary Ellen Fuquay, Grace Hahn Cover Art: Terrie Jacks Webmaster: Katlyn Moncada Fireflies’ Light is an online magazine that showcases short poems, essays on poetry and poetics, and book reviews. It is published four times a year by the Department of English at Missouri Baptist University, One College Park Dr., St. Louis, MO 63141. Interested students, faculty, and friends of the Department may submit manuscripts to john.han@mobap.edu. We consider up to ten poems, up to two essays on poetry and poetics (150-1,000 words), and up to two book reviews (5001,000 words) during a reading period. Below are submission deadlines and target publication dates: Submission Deadline March 1 June 1 September 1 December 1
Publication Date March 15 June 15 September 15 December 15
Short poetic forms include, but are not limited to, ABC, chain poem, cinqku, cinquain, couplet, epitaph, etheree, fibonacci (fib), free verse, haiku, kyoka, lanterne, limerick, lune, octet, quatrain, sedoka, senryu, sijo, tanka, and triolet. A poem should follow the rules for the chosen form, and the author must identify the form used in the poem parenthetically after the title. Missouri Baptist University reserves the right to publish accepted submissions in Fireflies’ Light; upon publication, copyrights revert to the authors. By submitting, authors certify that the work is their own. All submissions are subject to editing for clarity, grammar, usage, and Christian propriety. The views expressed in this publication do not necessarily reflect the views of Missouri Baptist University. Issue 16, September 2019 © 2019 Missouri Baptist University
Issues 1-15 of Fireflies’ Light appeared either as a print copy or as a PDF for distribution among the contributors as well as Missouri Baptist University leaders, faculty, and students. Starting with the present issue, Fireflies’ Light will be published online on ISSUU, a digital publishing platform. —Editor
The fireflies’ light. How easily it goes on How easily it goes out again. —Chine-jo (late 17th century) [translated from the Japanese by Kenneth Rexroth]
Table of Contents Free Verse By Anna Roberts Wells, Terrie Jacks, Mason Arledge Haiku By Ben Moeller-Gaa, Bryan Rickert, Mason Arledge Senryu By Mason Arledge, John J. Han Tanka By Bryan Rickert, John J. Han, Terrie Jacks, Mason Arledge Kyoka By Terrie Jacks, John J. Han Haiga By Terrie Jacks Limericks By Mason Arledge Fibonacci By Mason Arledge Cento By Mason Arledge Essays on Poetry and Poetics Stars between the Stars: Re-Reading Books of Haiku By Ben Moeller-Gaa How to Avoid Writing a Prosaic Haiku By John J. Han The Cell Phone as a Writing Tool By John J. Han
8 14 17 19 21 22 24 25 26
27 31 33
Artworks “Shakespeare” 1 “Shakespeare” 2 By Carol Sue Horstman “After the Rain” “I Feel Your Pain” “Autumn Grasshopper” By John J. Han
6 7 16 25 30
Brief Guide to the Poetic Forms Used in This Issue
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Notes on Contributors
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“Shakespeare” (1) By Carol Sue Horstman
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“Shakespeare” (1) By Carol Sue Horstman
“Shakespeare” (2) By Carol Sue Horstman
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Free Verse_____________________________ “August Heat” and Other Poems By Anna Roberts Wells
August Heat In the awning’s shade weighed down by burning sun, she stands in her soft dress of cotton thin enough for sunlight to illuminate long legs as she reads the chalked menu and selects. Stepping back, she fans her face with an open check book, tapping her impatient espadrilles. Her free hand slides upward to pluck the front of her halter top hoping one cool finger of air will touch her dampened breast. She shifts her weight, jutting one hip as she tosses her hair to break its cling on her cheek and neck. Gazing furtively from under the bill of his cap, the vendor feels August heat rising as he fills her order with methodic deliberation.
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Cows I choose to go the long way round through woods, small towns, the fields. There is no dodging semi-trucks. There are only farmers slow to turn into country lanes that lead to barns perched in silhouette on hill ridges like ancient Greek temples seen from the sea. About the meadows, cows congregate to await the call to come and eat, to sacrifice their milk to those dour, priestly men who hold full sway of both life and death over them. They graze on, undisturbed by circumstance. Except for a fit of passion in the spring when the bull is set among them, they move like nuns called to prayer as they amble, all hip sway off to the barn. I journey on in this backdoor way before the onslaught of schedules, obligations, semis fall heavy on my shoulders. I think of cows and envy them their thoughtless lives Enheduanna Listen up, guys. For centuries you guarded the clay tablets, the papyrus, the paper. You hoarded the stylus, the quill, the ink. You even forbad your women to learn to read the precious words you wrote. She was the emperor’s daughter, priestess of the god and goddess of the moon in Ur many generations before God called Abraham to leave that land. One of her duties was to write hymns of praise to her deities.
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History tells us she did something no author had ever done before. She signed her name to every poem she wrote…Enheduanna.
Requiem for an Inconsequential Child “Requiem aeternum dona eis, Domine.” Creeping the perimeters, hardly noticed, neither in nor out of the circle, neither teased nor embraced, tolerated only. Our boys were knife-pleated, starched Levis, button down oxfords, white bucks. We girls; dyed to match sweaters, crinolines under poodle skirts, t-strap flats. He was bib overalls, rough, oversized; long sleeved khaki shirts; worn down, second-hand shoes, if shoes at all. “Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea magnima Culpa.” Slow humored, shy, he smiled mostly, The question hung in the air around him, “Why can’t I come in?” Not shunned, just uninvited, inconsequential as he was; noticed only when careless cruelties raised him out of apology into anger. Then we withdrew, and he prowled the edges of his shame again. “Kyrie, Eleison. Christe, Eleison. Kyrie, Eleison.” Thus all his life moved seedy, starved. his mother retreated from him in
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cracked visions, haunted voices. His father, drowned in an elixir of moonshine and cheap wine. Women sold him their bodies but not the real self that is never sold, but given. Bosses expected sweaty product not shared drinks after labor. The church, school, neighbors wanted conformity, contribution, not shame and drinking, reminding them that charity did not begin at home. “Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, Miserere nobis.” Now he lies in pauper’s grave unmarked by stone or plaque; un-mourned by phantom wife or child, his seed as sterile as his life; un-noticed by those who grew with him in community though not communion; un-baptized except by the fire of life; un-sung in any song but the silence of God. “Dominus Vobiscum.” “Et cum spiritu tuo.” Go, the mass has ended. “Ite, missa est.”
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Secret Tasty Tidbits By Terrie Jacks Hiding in the grass a fat little worm this breakfast I have by hunting I earned. Tasty it is, soon gone it will be, but let’s keep that fact between you and me. For eating worms, you may say, seems rather gross, but for me, worms for breakfast is better than toast.
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The Inside Was Dark By Mason Arledge The inside was dark. Light in corners suffocated by dirt. The outside was cold sorrow’s frozen tears flowers and stones. The inside was hard to breathe the dry humidity of breath. The outside was quiet screams silenced by the sound of gasps. The inside was fear pressing the wood un-Fortunato soul. The outside was death lungs inhaled a cloud invisible air nowhere. But my heart still beat, thump thump still alive, thump But the inside was dark.
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Haiku_________________________________ Haiku By Ben Moeller-Gaa morning rain giving way to birdsong darkening the backyard down to the final out the streetlights switch on between pages the house darkens with twilight awaiting fireworks at the river this heat evening calm the flip of a fishtail on the pond from bloom to bloom the butterfly and the photographer
buzzard wings
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Haiku By Bryan Rickert mountain stream the quickening pace of a banjo cave hike the red empty eyes of its dwellers carrying the casket the flag’s edge soft on my cheek autumn in Mississippi the color of leaves and the blues far from town an airplane’s trip through the Big Dipper
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Haiku By Mason Arledge moonlit breeze green lights and red streets traveler’s path scent of butterflies children search the dirt for buried treasure
John J. Han, “After the Rain” (Ballwin, MO)
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Senryu ________________________________ Senryu By Mason Arledge ordering food they ask for a name— Bruce Wayne neighbors stare trick or treating at eighteen as Batman eleven chapters to read in one day summaries will do college budget burrito costs five dollars pocket has four billions of people how does one find a wife an angel words spewed from my mouth she has a boyfriend
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Senryu By John J. Han coming out— I decide not to hide my hairline Mariposa 33 (Autumn/Winter 2015), p. 5 my smile he thinks I share his political views Failed Haiku 4.44 (1 Aug. 2019), p. 91 fortuneteller baffled by how his kid has turned out Failed Haiku 4.44 (1 Aug. 2019), p. 91 his first book the title printed upside down Failed Haiku 4.43 (1 July 2019), p. 97 fighting among themselves— the fans of a losing team Failed Haiku 4.43 (1 July 2019), p. 97 no knock on them, he says before he knocks them Failed Haiku 4.43 (1 July 2019), p. 97
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Tanka_________________________________ Tanka By Bryan Rickert not realizing until after you’ve gone your scent leaving the pillow so quickly stroll the park canes in hand our favorite tree still shading young lovers the moment I step from the car scent of fields and woodland blossoms of my youth autumn rain the ivy’s attempt to hang on the lengths we go to never say goodbye orchid shadows across the keys note by note her sonata blossom unfolds
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Driving alone in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas… Dolly Parton’s twangy voice deepens my autumn yearnings. —John J. Han Sound & Fury: A Literary Journal for Avila University, Vol. 5 (Spring 2014): 3. morning blessing coffee on the deck deer visit neighbor’s chickens squawk, birds sing thankful to be alive —Terrie Jacks the cloak of night came unaware, the men played on song of history tombstone caged by living vines the lone sign of remembrance pink, white, red, and orange grace of God in flower beds a fire of nature heat penetrates the graces beauty rampaged by beauty —Mason Arledge
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Kyoka_________________________________ I fantasized this poem—verse with only a few choice words. I could do worse. —Terrie Jacks The Chinese waitress tells me I must be Chinese. I say I'm Korean. Disappointed, she asks me if my parents are Chinese. —John J. Han Shot Glass Journal: Online Journal of Short Poetry Issue #7 (May 2012). a slow day accessing YouTube to watch police cars chase those who think they can flee a slow day learning how people drive in the Himalayas, Peruvian Andes, and Chile —John J. Han
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Haiga_________________________________ Haiga By Terrie Jacks
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Limericks______________________________ Two Limericks By Mason Arledge
Gym Tim There was a young man named Tim Who liked to go to the gym Just to lift weights Right before dates Yet his chances were very slim
Chen Chin There once was a wise man named Chen Who was one with spirit of men He was rather fat And they all knew that So they asked about his four chin.
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Fibonacci______________________________ Ghouls and Ghosts By Mason Arledge Watch Them Repeat It Again Insanity marks Souls who look for light in the dark Humanity cries as they fight The cold, stone, black hearts Ghouls and ghosts Their own Sad Fate.
John J. Han, “I Feel Your Pain” (Creve Coeur, MO)
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Cento__________________________________ The Descent By Mason Arledge Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; The breath of night like death did flow When that which drew from out the boundless deep Rode the six hundred. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight That I shall never look upon thee more, O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, Had we but world enough and time, To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” But we loved with a love that was more than love— Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. ________________________________________
1. “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe 2. “The Cold Earth” by Percy Bysshe Shelley 3. “Crossing the Bar” by Alfred Lord Tennyson 4. “Charge of the Light Brigade” by Alfred Lord Tennyson 5. “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas 6. “When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be” by John Keats 7. “O Captain! My Captain!” by Walt Whitman 8. “To His Coy Mistress” by Andrew Marvell 9. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot 10. “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe 11. “Death Be Not Proud” by John Donne
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Essays on Poetry and Poetics_______________ Stars between the Stars: Re-Reading Books of Haiku Ben Moeller-Gaa It’s January 2, 2016, and I have just finished reading Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years, an anthology put together by Jim Kacian, Philip Rowland, and Allan Burns, which is published by the esteemed literary anthology company, W. W. Norton and Company. It is the third time that I’ve read through this anthology, cover to cover, 800 haiku in all. And it is as this moment that I am taking time to ponder “Why did I do that?” It’s a good question, one that I get asked when I tell people that I tend to re-read these big haiku books over and over again, year after year. It seems crazy. It seems like a lot of work. And the short answer is an obvious one: I love haiku. But, like a good haiku, there is always more to it. You see, the first time through any book, there is the joy of discovery. And with haiku, there’s so much to take in! The above-mentioned anthology alone has 800 haiku in it. Eight hundred of anything is a lot to take in at once. When I first tackle any book like this, I go in armed with my pen to mark those poems I like and make comments on ones I really like. I also often Tweet those poems that seem ultra-relevant to the moment at hand, and write my own haiku inspired by what I’ve just read. It’s a process getting through that first pass of the book. I learn so much, see so many new tricks, and love revisiting haiku and their poets that I’ve seen before in other journals and anthologies. And when I’m done, I put the book on the bookshelf and get excited thinking about the next time I will read it. Because there is always a next time. The second, third, fifth, sixth time through a book like this, I am always amazed at the number of poems that I mark again as favorites. I put a single line next to the ones I like and after multiple readings, these lines act like tree rings that show me how many passes through the book I’ve made. In the case of Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years, there are a number of poems that have three marks by them. This means that each and every time I’ve picked up the book and read through it, these haiku spoke to me. There is something about them that, no matter what time of year, time of day, or time of life I might find myself in, they always hit it out of the park. Take this haiku from John Stevenson on page 166:
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a deep gorge… some of the silence is me Fantastic! I can’t tell you what went through my head the first two passes through the book, but this third time the haiku conjures up images of Waimea Canyon in Kauai, the Garden Island of Hawaii. My wife and I spent a week on the island this past October to celebrate our ten-year wedding anniversary. Standing at the top of that canyon, or gorge, takes your breath away. Some of the silence I experienced taking in the “Grand Canyon of the Pacific” was most certainly me. Here is another haiku that has three marks. It is from Lorin Ford on page 277: distant thunder the future in my bones Again, fantastic! And, again, I can’t tell you what I thought about the first two passes through, but this time I am reflecting on our most recent severe weather in St. Louis. Several days of constant rain caused flooding here in December of 2015 that rivaled the Great Flood of 1993, which I recall quite well. I’m pulled into the poem seeing how history repeated itself, and feel the possibilities of repetition again in the future. And speaking of futures, I am staring down my 40th birthday in a month. That date on the calendar feels like distant thunder to me of what my future will bring. What is also really fun about re-reading is coming across haiku that spoke to me previously but, for whatever reason, didn’t speak to me this time around. I can’t tell you why they didn’t move me. Perhaps it was the season, the time of day, or something going on in my life at the time that caused the haiku to ring true to me then, but the combination of these same factors caused me to move by it this time around. Then there the other haiku that spoke to me this time around that failed to move me in the past. Here’s an example of a haiku that jumped out at me this third time through. It’s from Susan Constable on page 284: rising river a shadow still wedged between the rocks
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This one, I’m sure, sticks out at me more this time because of the recent flooding mentioned above. I predict that it will likely continue to call to me moving forward based on the experiences of the flood as I spent time down by the river watching it rise, taking pictures, and trying to take it all in. I can’t wait to pour through the book again later this year to see if that holds true. But there is more to re-reading haiku books than discovering a new haiku and/or falling in love with a poem all over again. Reading and re-reading helps me to write my own haiku. I rarely ever start a writing session without a book in hand to read. Reading helps me to slow down my mind and get into a good haiku headspace. It plugs me into the conversation of letters, and soon I find myself off and running. Sometimes a line will jump out at me and inspire a new haiku or I’ll see a technique being used that allows me to figure out how to write a haiku which I’ve been struggling with. Here’s an example of a haiku that had a line that inspired a haiku of mine from my second reading of this book. It’s from Patricia Donegan on page 119: spring wind— i too am dust I really liked the pause of “i too” and how it connects the human of the poem to the wind and to the mortality of everything. My haiku, which was published in A Hundred Gourds 4:4, is as follows: young koi i, too, once had fins I could go on and on here with many more examples, and that’s part of the point. Through reading and then re-reading, I am always enriching my life and enhancing my skills as a haiku poet. I also am staying connected to the conversation of letters among all these poets who have come before me and are writing around me. Being connected to the poems and the poets and stepping into the moments they’ve captured keeps me connected to myself, my own work, and to the world around me. As I put Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years back onto my bookshelf amid the others that I re-read every year, I touch its spine and smile at the anticipation of my next time through. What time of year will it be? What will be going on in my life then? And what haiku are in me that have yet to be written? Who knows?
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With that, I’d like to close with this three-time favorite from Paul M. from page 219: deep winter stars between the stars I know
John J. Han, “Autumn Grasshopper” (Ballwin, MO)
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How to Avoid Writing a Prosaic Haiku By John J. Han A common mistake beginning haiku poets make is composing a 17-syllable sentence and then arranging it in 5-7-5 syllabic structure. Below are two of six “haiku examples” from the UCLA International Institute website that I accessed in 2010; the site no longer exists, but I have a print copy of the poems: As the wind does blow Across the trees, I see Buds blooming in May. I walk across sand And find myself blistering In the hot, hot heat. Professional English-language haiku poets today compose their poems in free style and use up to—but typically fewer than—17 syllables altogether. Those who are new to haiku tend to assume 5-7-5 structure is the norm for a contemporary English haiku, thereby adding unnecessary words. In line 1 of the first haiku, the poet may have felt the need to add the word does to have 5 syllables. (The poem has 16 syllables altogether possibly due to miscalculating syllables.) Line three of the second haiku is redundant: the word hot appears twice, and heat is supposed to be hot anyway. Descriptive sentences feel prosaic no matter how beautiful they may sound; by fully explaining, they do not invite readers to revisit them for a deeper meaning. Traditional Japanese haiku create a syntactic division within a poem by using one of the classical cutting words (kireji in Japanese), such as ka, keri, and ya, all of which indicate wonder or surprise. In Basho’s two haiku below, each first line ends with ya (や in Japanese): ara umi ya sado ni yokotau ama no gawa (italics added)
a wild sea— stretching to Sado Isle the Milky Way
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Furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto (italics added)
old pond! a frog jumps in; the sound of water
Due to the fundamental differences between Japanese and English, no English word can serve as a kireji. Some haiku poets use a dash, a colon, or an ellipse after the first line to divide the first part from the second one. Others simply do not use any punctuation after the first part. Either way, creating a syntactical pause between the two parts is a common strategy in haiku writing. In Japanese haiku, a season word (kigo), such as cherry blossoms and winter wind, precedes a kireji in line 1, but in English haiku, a kigo is optional. Still, English-language haiku tend to begin with a word or phrase for the first line, and lines 2 and 3—typically in the form of a sentence fragment—provide an association with, comparison with, or contrast with line 1. The more lines 2 and 3 are pleasantly surprising, the better.1 One can revise the two poems above for the sake of verbal economy and a break as follows: spring wind— blossoming buds on a dying maple tree lost in a desert… the horizon hidden behind heat haze In addition to using 13 and 15 syllables each, the poems now combine a phrase and a sentence fragment, a structure that is preferable to a sentence. The dash and the ellipsis serve as a caesura—a break commonly used in Western poetry as well. However, even without the punctuation marks, the form of the first line in each poem would force the reader to briefly pause before moving to the second line. Note This structure is the most popular in English-language haiku today. However, there are many other forms of haiku, such as one-word haiku, one-line haiku, and shape (or concrete) haiku. 1
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The Cell Phone as a Writing Tool By John J. Han Coming up with a couple of great lines for a poem and then forgetting them is a common experience for poets. It can happen while you are half-asleep in the middle of the night, or it can happen while driving or during a meeting at work. I myself have lost a number of lines for a poem because I did not write them down immediately. A good way to avoid losing ideas for a poem is to type them or voice-memo them into a cell phone before they fly away. Whenever a word, a phrase, a sentence, or a stanza comes to mind in bed, I resist the temptation to commit it to memory while in bed. Then, I go to my study, turn on my cell phone, and text the idea to myself. In the morning, I access the message, e-mail it to my inbox, check the inbox, copy the message, and then paste it into my poem. I sometimes leave my bed multiple times at night to record fleeting ideas on my cell phone. When the prospect of getting up from the bed feels inconvenient, I remind myself of how many poetic ideas I have lost because of not recording them immediately. While driving, I record ideas on the phone. The process is simple: press the microphone icon on the phone with your finger, record a message, and detach the finger from the phone. Similar to a written message, the recorded message is delivered to myself; later, I transcribe it. For some years, I sometimes scribbled haiku and senryu on scratch paper or even typed key words on my phone while driving on the highway. I did that only when there was little traffic and I have never caused an accident or inconvenienced other drivers, but my poetry writing “on the road� was time-consuming and potentially dangerous. (Please be warned that this is not an endorsement of the act of writing while driving.) Speaking to a phone takes much less time and is easy to do. Some poets write a poem in one sitting, and minimalist poems like haiku and senryu may not need much change. In most cases, however, poetry writing requires multiple steps of revisions. In this regard, a mobile phone can be an excellent tool for poets.
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Brief Guide to the Poetic Forms Used in This Issue Cento: An original poem comprising lines borrowed from the works of other authors. After arranging the lines in a coherent way, the poet identifies the source of each line. Etheree: The Etheree consists of ten unrhymed lines of 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 syllables. Etheree can also be reversed and written 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1. It is attributed to an American poet, Etheree Taylor Armstrong of Arkansas. The Etheree is a highly flexible poetry form and lends itself to the writer's creativity. An Etheree should focus on one idea or subject. Double Etheree is two Etherees that make up one poem; the syllable count is 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-10-9-8-7-6-5-43-2-1. Fibonacci (or Fib): A math-based poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence (1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, etc.); most fib poems today are written in six lines of 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, and 8 syllables each. It can also be written in reverse order: 8, 5, 3, 2, 1, and 1. Free verse: A poem written without meter or an external rhyme; many free verse poems, however, use internal rhymes and other rhythmic devices. Haiku: A Japanese poetic form from the 17th century, the haiku portrays the beauty and wonders of nature and human emotions as reflected in nature. It used to be written in 5-7-5 structure, but nowadays, it generally consists of three short lines in which the poet uses up to 17 syllables altogether. Haiga: A haiku combined with a simple visual art (traditionally brush painting but currently any type of painting, drawing, or photography). A photo haiga is sometimes called a photoku. Haibun: A form that combines poetic prose and haiku. Among the best-known haibun writers is Matsuo Basho (1644-94), the author of the travelogue Oku no Hosomichi (Narrow Road to the Interior). Kyoka (“mad poem�) is to tanka what senryu is to haiku. Kyoka is identical to tanka in form but is comic and parodic in tone. Contemporary tanka and kyoka are written in free style, without exceeding 31 syllable altogether.
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Limerick: A nonsense poem based on word play. It usually consists of five lines and has the end rhyme scheme of a-a-b-b-a. The first line typically includes a person and a place name. A limerick has the syllabic pattern of 8-8-6-6-8 and follows the stress pattern of da DUM da da DUM da da DUM da DUM da da DUM da da DUM da DUM da da DUM da DUM da da DUM da DUM da da DUM da da DUM. The first line usually serves as the title of a limerick. Senryu: A three-line unrhymed Japanese poetic form structurally similar to the haiku but dealing satirically and humorously with human nature. It arose as part of Edo (Tokyo) culture in the 18th century. Tanka: An aristocratic poetic form from ancient Japan, it is popular in both Japan and the English-speaking world. The traditional tanka consists of five lines of 5-75-7-7 syllables, respectively; most common themes of traditional tanka are love (especially unrequited love) and nature. Most contemporary English-language tanka poets tend to use five short lines of various syllable counts without exceeding 31 syllables altogether. —J.J.H.
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Notes on Contributors Mason Arledge is currently an undergraduate student pursuing a degree in English at Missouri Baptist University. He resides in St. Louis, Missouri, and has developed a passion for learning in an effort to live an adventure. He is the creator of life2lose.com, a website focusing on personal development. Mason is also an avid fitness enthusiast with an affinity for sports and the outdoors. John J. Han (Ph.D., University of Nebraska-Lincoln) is Professor of English & Creative Writing and Chair of the Humanities Division at Missouri Baptist University. He is the author, editor, co-editor, or translator of 21 books, including Wise Blood: A Re-Consideration (Rodopi, 2011), The Final Crossing: Death and Dying in Literature (Peter Lang, 2015) and Worlds Gone Awry: Essays on Dystopian Fiction (McFarland, 2018). Han’s poems have also appeared in periodicals and anthologies worldwide, including Akitsu Quarterly, Failed Haiku, Frogpond, Haiku Page, Kansas English, The Laurel Review, Modern Haiku, POMPA, Steinbeck Studies, Valley Voices, and World Haiku Review. Carol Sue Horstman, a graduate of Washington University in St. Louis, is a sculptor, painter, filmmaker, photographer, poet, and illustrator. After teaching all of these subjects, as well as music, for forty years, she retired to become an independent artist pursuing sculpture sites in communities and gallery venues. Carol exhibits large steel sculptures in public parks and private collections and has constructed a 96-pound book of milled steel that has garnered many awards; the pages turn, and the book is called My Mystery. Carol has been published as a newspaper cartoonist as well as in the NLAPW magazine. She is a member of the On the Edge poetry group in De Soto, Missouri, which she finds is friendly and supportive. Terrie Jacks graduated from the University of Missouri with a B.S. in Education. She has taught school, substituted, and currently volunteers as an Oasis Tutor. She has lived in several different states and spent several years in England. When her two sons were young, she made up stories to entertain them. Now her grandchildren give her inspiration for stores and poems. Her poems have been published in Cantos, Fireflies’ Light, Oasis Journal, Spare Mule, Grist, Cattails, Failed Haiku, and Galaxy of Verse. Some of her stories have appeared in The Right Words and Flash. For several years, she illustrated Korean folktales retold by John Han that were published in the Korean-American Journal.
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She continues to illustrate her poems and sometimes enters them in local art exhibits. Ben Moeller-Gaa is a haiku poet whose full-length collection from Folded Word, Wishbones (2018), won the 2018 Touchstone Award. He is also the author of three haiku chapbooks, Fiddle in the Floorboards (Yavanika Press, 2018), the Pushcartnominated Wasp Shadows (Folded Word, 2014), and Blowing on a Hot Soup Spoon (poor metaphor design, 2014). A native of Belleville, Illinois, he graduated from the Knox College Creative Writing Program, and his haiku, essays, and reviews have appeared in over forty journals worldwide, including Acorn, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, December, and World Haiku Review, as well as in several anthologies, including Haiku 21, A New Resonance 9, and Red Moon Press’s annual “Best of English Language Haiku.” You can find more on Ben online at www.benmoellergaa.com. Bryan Rickert is a haiku poet who lives in Belleville, Illinois. He has been writing haiku, senryu, and haibun since 2012. In the last three years, Bryan has been published in Frogpond, Modern Haiku, Acorn, Akitsu Quarterly, The Heron’s Nest, Prune Juice, Failed Haiku, Contemporary Haibun Online, Atoms of Haiku III, Horizon: The Haiku Anthology, Taj Mahal Review, and a number of other fine journals and anthologies. Her serves as editor of The Living Senryu Anthology (www.senryu.life). Bryan’s poetry collection Fish Kite (2018) is available through Cyberwit Publishing. Anna Roberts Wells was born in Little Rock, Arkansas, and grew up in a nearby farming community. She attended Little Rock Central High School, graduating the year the school was embroiled in the integration crisis. She graduated from Hendrix College with a degree in English and taught junior high English and speech for one year. She left the teaching field and became a social worker in the foster care system. After attending graduate school at the University of Tennessee, she lived in several states before settling in St. Louis. Anna is married and has four grown children and four grandchildren. She presently is retired and living in Festus, Missouri, where she does volunteer work and writes. She is a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) and On the Edge chapter of the Missouri State Poetry Society.