Welcome!
Meet Christopher Bays
Christopher Bays lives on the outskirts of an Audubon-sanctioned reserve in Ohio. When not recovering from a long night of screech owls, or gallivanting around the country with family, he works as a Professor at Clark State College, teaching English composition, literature, and creative writing.
Prior to teaching, he was a business owner and world traveler. His poetry is influenced by these travels and his experiences growing up as a military dependent in Germany, Turkey, and elsewhere.
In 2017 and 2020 his poetry won 1st place for Best Unpublished Haibun through the Haiku Society of America. His poems have also won other national and international awards and have been published here and abroad. Various anthologies include his work, such as The Red Moon Press of English-Language Haiku (2017-2019) and Red Moon Press’s Contemporary Haibun 16 (2021).
Edge of Suburbia is his first book of poems.
Debut Collection
Christopher Bays’ first full-length collection of English-language haiku, monoku and haibun, published by Red Moon Press.
“I’ve stayed away too long . . .” Christopher Bays says upon a trip to his homeland. In edge of suburbia we are invited as he revisits his childhood — his father’s war demons, his mother’s ghosts, his own loneliness and desire to fit in. We are reminded of the tenuous yet inseparable bonds between family, friends, community and the world we live in and the courage it takes to return to our roots and to listen to the echoes of the seeker inside all of us.
– Terri L. French, editor, contemporary haibun online
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To purchase the book ($20 plus shipping), please contact Christopher Bays by clicking on the following link: Contact-Chris.
Sample Poem from edge of suburbia
Shackleford Banks
“As the Spanish galleon sank, their ancestors leaped into
churning waters and thrashed their way onto this crystal
beach.”
The tour guide, a natural story teller, points starboard. All of us
on the ferry lean toward the island. I expect to see ghosts. But
there are only pale grasses and sand. Seagulls squawk overhead.
A boy next to me shouts, “I see one. Over there!” Everyone on
the ferry turns toward a grove of trees rising from behind sand
dunes. Dark shadows between the trees appear to be moving.
My wife says she sees a flicker of ears. I wonder if a branch
could be a leg. A man with a camera the size of a telescope
corrects us, “Only salt meadow cordgrass.”
“It’s a baby,” the boy insists. His mom speaks up, “I am sorry.
He has such an imagination.” The tour guide chimes in, “Too
damn hot today. They are probably lying low in the middle of
the island.”
Though disappointed, we laugh it off. The ferry turns away,
chugging back to the mainland.
old songs . . .
wild horses whinny
beyond the moonlight
Some of Christopher’s Awards and Honors
First Place in the Haiku Society of America
Contest for Best Unpublished Haibun of 2020
First Place in the Haiku Society of America Contest for the Best Unpublished Haibun of 2017
The An (Cottage) Prize in The Genjuan International Haibun Contest, Japan, 2018
Second Place in The Robert Spiess
Memorial 2018 Haiku Awards
Special Mention in The British Haiku Society Awards 2016
Honourable Mention in The Vancouver
Cherry Blossom Haiku Invitational 2018
Honourable Mention in The Irish Haiku
Society International Haiku Competition 2017
Honorable Mention in The Key West
Heritage House, 14th Annual Robert Frost Poetry Contest 2008
All about Poetry
Christopher’s
Invented Poetic Forms
The Pseudotaph
A pseudotaph, or false burial, is an invented word and poetic form that is similar to the epitaph when it comes to tone, which can range from the melancholic to the humorous, and verse, which can range from the metrically bound to the free. It makes use, however, of different subject matter. Whereas the epitaph addresses dead animals or people, the pseudotaph addresses the burial of things, thoughts, concepts, emotions or memories. Although there are no line restrictions, the form appears best when kept short.
One of his sample poems:
Pseudotaph to a Stain
You must’ve arrived quietly when
I was seated by myself, a book of
poems in one hand, the other spooning
chili. I must’ve missed you as I read,
“Black wires grow on her head” or
when someone bumped me in line.
You became like a kiss denied,
others whispering behind my back.
Well, it’s over. I’ve girded you with
a sackcloth, placed you in this grave.
* Christopher Bays’ definition and sample pseudotaph were first brought to the reading public’s attention by Radiuslit.org, on March 18, 2012 (Chief Editor Victor Infante; Lea C. Deschenes, editor; Tara Betts, poetry editor)