Each new issue of Prune Juice features a best-of-issue senryu chosen by one of the co-editors.  

lovebirds

a little boy

with a stone

Robert Witmer, Japan

Since taking the helm of the journal, the new editorial team of Prune Juice has marvelled at the fine quality of the submissions received. Issue #41 was no exception. We’ve curated poems that promise to delight, challenge, amuse, nudge, and inspire. Selecting the standout senryu among such a remarkable collection is a daunting task.

As I immersed myself in the draft of this issue, Robert Witmer’s senryu lovebirds refused to go dark each time I closed the lid of my laptop to attend to my day. This poem was with me in the shower, on my way to work, and as I walked by the elementary school animated with children in the playground. In the evening, I’d read this poem between the lines of wars and rumours of wars in the news.

I am captivated by the simplicity and timelessness of this senryu, the subversive surprise of its third line, and the space it leaves for the reader. Remarkably, there is no action in the poem. At all. Not a single verb. Just a pair of lovebirds and a boy. And a stone. A stone that may or may not unite the destinies of the characters, much like the snowball in Robertson Davies’ novel Fifth Business, which, when packed with a stone, triggers a chain of events leading to the eventual demise of the boy who threw it along with his unintended target.

Witmer’s senryu places us on the precipice of potentiality, creating palpable tension. In this liminal space between now and not yet, questions beyond the immediate “will he or won’t he” arise. The poem prompts contemplation on the origin of our dark compulsions, the reasons behind our turn to violence, and the need for transformation from an “I/It” to an “I/Thou” mindset.

The conclusion of this brief story remains elusive, as the questions it raises mirror the enduring quandaries we grapple with in our shared human narrative. In a time when the world calls for reflection on what it means to be human and to coexist with all sentient beings, Witmer’s senryu invites that challenging conversation.

For these reasons and more, this poem is a deserving recipient of the Best of Issue award for Issue #41. Thank you, Robert Witmer, and congratulations on this well-earned recognition!

P. H. Fischer, Co-Editor
December, 2023

will
read to heirs
in the syntax of hail

Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo, Philippines

hiding
our estrangement
filigree window

Wanda Amos, Australia


dna results
tonight I run
with the foghorns

Myron Arnold, Canada


forever
      searching
             for
                                beginnings
                                       Scotch
                                            tape 

travel agency
beside the spinning globe
a lone goldfish

Ingrid Baluchi, North Macedonia


early menopause
dry leaves fall
into my lap

Hifsa Ashraf, Pakistan


famished between breaths a star posing as dead

beyond body the after-gloom reeking of genesis

Rowan Beckett, USA


ho
ho ho
the text reads
involuntarily committed
again

Jerome Berglund, USA


last view of the sea
from the prison bus
windsurfer

Steve Black, UK


Columbine: a perennial

Alan S. Bridges, USA 


—later
the sword swallower
brushes his teeth

Gordon Brown, USA


love?
after sex
with an alien
his tentacles
still inside me

cat’s eye moon his affairs with thing 1 & thing 2

Susan Burch, USA


opening remarks
at the county meeting
lizard pushups

Alanna C. Burke, USA


fruitcake recipe
Mom’s last ingredient
an etc.

Thomas Chockley, USA


halfway vegan
the meat
on my breath

Elan Chogan, USA


second marriage—
growing into
hand-me-downs

Mary Ann Conley, USA


baby shower 
a rain of 
gifs

Shane Coppage, USA


snowman
a homeless guy eats
the carrot nose 

William Cullen Jr., USA


social
media
feeds
the
need
for
silence

Timothy Daly, France


grandson’s questions . . .
my mother mobilizes
all her wrinkles

re-fastening the tie
of my dripping umbrella . . .
psychologist’s office

Maya Daneva, The Netherlands


backstage
her whole body sings
the blues

wants vs. needs
the hoarder’s
blank face

Pat Davis, USA


waking to her warmth
distant trucks
on the interstate

M F Drummy, USA


democratic elections
the crowd chooses
Barabbas

Keith Evetts, UK


for good luck
I wear my Everest t-shirt
pulmonary lab

Bruce H. Feingold, USA


mama clouds
the softness
still inside

the little strip
that keeps her alive
allotment garden

Katja Fox, UK


ghosted again
the herky-jerky descent
of a spider

Lisa Gerlits, USA


after rehab 
this strange tenderness
of my parents

Alexander Groth, Germany


stuffed lion
on my bed
he comes anyway

Shasta Hatter, USA


his approximation of love statistically

Patricia Hawkhead, UK


worm castings the shit we go through

Kerry J. Heckman, USA


nursing home
her restraints more visible
than mine

Robert Hirschfield, USA


should you clip my rorschach’s wings

making
its own weather
hearsay

Jonathan Humphrey, USA


performative exuberance a convocation of falutins

Peter Jastermsky, USA


cactus bloom
gentle words
are an option too

Ravi Kiran, India


frugal to the end
he chooses
pine

Kim Klugh, USA


bloomless orchid
she’s sorry I feel
that way

Kimberly Kuchar, USA


friday morning
a few dates
in my blender

K.G. Munro, Scotland 


kodokushi every single star

Eva Limbach, Germany


back to school this year’s forever war

Eric A. Lohman, USA


leftovers
papa seasons
the grace

Bob Lucky, Portugal


hi!
hiya!
hyacinth!

olive tray
she picks
the lonely one

Mary McCormack, USA


empty nest
I give the cat
a little wave

Laurie D. Morrissey, USA


thigh-high meadow
naming the monster
that made it rustle

car track
our son practices
his road rage

Ben Oliver, England


the whites
of his lies
stump speech

Roland Packer, Canada


nurses’ station
the crossword puzzle
always unfinished

John Pappas, USA


softening my otherness in Rome

Madhuri Pillai, Australia


changing the channel
from the news
to pro-wrestling
I grapple with
not growing up

Dave Read, Canada


don’t text back I love you

Bryan Rickert, USA

midnight diner
an extra chair
for my demon

Jenn Ryan-Jauregui, USA 


just in time
for Independence Day
an imaginary enemy

Julie Schwerin, USA


negating the pre-programmed self red yellow blue

Shloka Shankar, India


first time everything in pianissimo

Raghav Prashant Sundar, India


the hard ch’i of Santōka’s heels

Patrick Sweeney, USA


secret recipe
the meal she makes
out of passing it on

Herb Tate, UK


blood moon suddenly she matters

Elisa Theriana, Indonesia


red envelopes
her middle-aged kids
get lucky dollars

Richard Tice, USA


how many spoons
for this meal
autism

C.X. Turner, UK


prairie wind
a herd of buffalo
becoming dust

Joseph P. Wechselberger, USA


suburban growth—
the Cascade View apartment
blocks the view

Michael Dylan Welch, USA


boa
what started
as a hug

Mike White, USA


lovebirds
a little boy
with a stone

Robert Witmer, Japan

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