The Best Haiku of 2024: Winners of the 2024 SCP Haiku Competition

.

The Best Haiku of 2024

The Winner and Runners-Up of the Society of Classical Poets 2024 Haiku Competition

Judged by J. Thomas Rimer and Margaret Coats (see their remarks below)

See all entries here

.

COMPETITION WINNER

.

middle of winter—
an old friend and I part ways
before a black bridge

—Jason Mackey

.

RUNNERS-UP IN SEASONAL ORDER

.

five red petals fall
stain Demeter’s sobbing snow;
pomegranate Spring

—Emily C. A. Snyder

.

.

the first drop of sap
hitting softly the bottom
of an old steel pail

—Jeffrey Ferrara

.

.

the start of spring break
all those heavy books stay still
deep in the backpack

—Sebastian Chrobak

.

.

a leaf and a worm
lying wet on the wayside
after a spring storm

—Koichi Kazama

.

.

Foam, flashing white, red
Spirit over the waters
Ten thousand fishes

—Aaman Lamba

.

.

standing smug and louche
the dandelion strikes a pose
on my well-coiffed lawn

—James Presley

.

.

Meadow daisies bow.
Eagles soar, clouds pause, taps play
Rain mingles with tears.

—Catherine Posey

.

.

hands scratched and juice-stained
after blackberry picking
spiders re-spin webs

—Mantz Yorke

.

.

A flash of lightning
In awe of Mother Nature,
I count the seconds . . .

—Halli Steinberg

.

.

I sprint to dinner
warm rain spatters my sweater
leaving cheetah spots . . .

—Cindy Greene

.

.

submerged paper boat
the toddler retrieves his tears
from the puddle’s edge

—Nitu Yumnam

.

.

waves unearthing shells
deeply buried in the sand—
those words left unsaid

—Alvin B. Cruz

.

.

Resinous bombshell
Explodes my hammocking daze
A falling pinecone

—Talbot Hook

.

.

where stubbled fields wait
cloying mists haunt low hollows
slow plows brow the earth

—David John Etchell

.

.

Pumpkin orange moon
perched alone on a tree branch—
nothing rhymes with you

—Mary H. Sayler

.

.

Swooshing from red woods
train hoots at curved viaduct
near my parents’ grave

—Miodrag Kojadinović

.

.

Souls lost in shadows,
Chasing echoes through the dark,
Fires fade, cold remains.

—Hannah Xman

.

.

mother’s braided hair
the exposed roots of an oak
covered in fresh snow

—Ngo Binh Anh Khoa

.

.

Stiff cracks split cold glass
Breaking wintry calm under
Furry moccasins

—Skye Campbell

.

.

Bridges connect worlds. In the winning haiku this year, Jason Mackey describes a somber passageway: a black bridge in mid-winter. The moment within the season is the coldest time of year, with little memory of warmth, and no hope yet for spring. Two old friends are parting ways. Time and place suggest the worst for their friendship—no feeling and no future. The black bridge could imply an utterly unknown dark path ahead. But for a wooden bridge, “black” is “burned,” and Mackey might mean he and his old friend have “burned bridges,” or destroyed possibilities to return to a more pleasant past. The other key word in the haiku, though, is “before.” The parting of ways takes place “before a black bridge.” The two persons are on the same side of the bridge, and if it is burned, neither can cross. Both see something lost. Must they separate, yet remain within limits of wreckage created perhaps by themselves? Or does each bravely seek different territory, on the same side of an unspecified river, to explore alone? This haiku has a three-part structure, with personal prospects framed by an unpromising time and a dismal place. Its almost limitless bleak potential is rare.

Mackey’s poem might glance toward death, while the other dark haiku here, by Hannah Xman, definitely does. In this late fall or Halloween scene, the senses of souls perceive only misleading shadows and echoes, while the heat and light of fire fade, and “cold remains.” The double sense of the final words as “dead bodies” effects an additional chill. Miodrag Kojadinović depicts death otherwise, suggesting sadness for departed parents as the stillness of their graves contrasts with the red color of woods in autumn, and the swooshing motion and hooting sound of a train passing nearby. “Hoot” is more often used for owls than for trains, and thus adds to the natural feel of the setting. The military funeral haiku by Catherine Posey engages nature as much as humanity. Clouds and flowers and symbolic eagles seem to observe and respond. Only when “taps play” and tears mingle with rain does the human significance of the subtly drawn picture emerge.

Halli Steinberg anticipates thunder when seeing an awesome flash of lightning—but it never comes. The haiku grasps the reader in similar anticipation with Halli’s tricky technique of counting seconds until the thunderclap follows. We’re still waiting! Cindy Greene makes a transforming comparison using another momentary phenomenon, as the first spatters of warm rain blotch her sweater and turn her into a cheetah. Like the speedy big cat, she sprints for dinner. The summer storm leaves a puddle, where Nitu Yumnam observes a distressed toddler with a sunken paper boat. The scale of the scene and of the sentiments is amusing, as the child can “retrieve his tears” along with his toy at “puddle’s edge.”

Aaman Lamba presents the primordial sea of grandest scope with ten thousand fishes, which may mean “species of fish,” if this haiku represents the Fifth Day of Creation, when the Spirit was moving over the waters. So large a subject leaves little space for the season, but the colors white and red suggest a school of sea bream, a kind of fish associated with late spring. Another grand haiku is the pumpkin orange moon by Mary H. Sayler. Among millions of moon poems, many on the harvest moon as the most beautiful of the year, how can Sayler make hers unique? She triumphs with an unexpected link to the English word “orange,” conventionally said to have no rhyme. Note that the pumpkin orange is both moon and bird “perched” on a branch. Nothing sings like that single thing shining from Sayler’s tree!

A single word, well-used, makes a difference for James Presley in his “louche” haiku (so called by the competition judges). The word belongs to English as a borrowing from French, where it means “squinting.” The connotations of “suspicious” and “disreputable” fit the dandelion on Presley’s “well-coiffed” lawn. Equally comic in its way is the “resinous bombshell” exploding the “hammocking daze” of Talbot Hook. Identifying it as a falling pinecone in the last line is classic haiku humor.

Emily C. A. Snyder brings classical Greece to Japanese haiku with her “pomegranate spring.” This is a luxuriant poem to please those who know the myth of Demeter and her daughter Persephone. Because Persephone ate a few red pomegranate seeds after being abducted by the god of the underworld, she must stay there during part of each year, while her goddess mother mourns for her and makes agriculture unproductive. Change-of-season haiku are difficult to do well, as possible conflicts of kigo may obscure the season. This poem counts as a vivid piece for the spring new year.

The maple sap haiku by Jeffrey Ferrara is right there at the change of season, as sap begins to run when daytime temperatures rise above freezing. The poem is a fine one, with just a soft sound to announce the progression in nature. The spring break haiku by Sebastian Chrobak belongs to a later part of the season. It depends on human observances only slightly connected with nature, but nonetheless manifesting joyful exuberance. Chrobak’s poem features springlike youth with good intentions to study, but at the same time an understandable weakness of discipline during the season.

Sound can contribute dramatically to the effect of haiku. This is especially true in the poem by Skye Campbell. The first line is full of hard consonants mimicking ice being broken. “Ice” itself is too modest to make the noise, so it becomes “cold glass.” The breaking is done by “furry moccasins,” warm and soft shoes that suggest comfort but interrupt calm in this haiku. Sound effects also feature in the haiku by David John Etchell, telling of autumn plowing that turns stubble left at harvest back into the earth. This is often more time-consuming than preparing the ground for seed in the spring. The words “low hollows/Slow plows brow the earth” demonstrate slowness. They also use “brow” as a verb to describe precisely what happens to the ground, receiving deep lines like those on the brows of many older persons.

Koichi Kazama satisfies Master Bashō’s preference that haiku be simply descriptive. There is nothing extraneous—no interpretive words. Yet the simplicity of “leaf” and “worm” naturally leads to contemplation of how these things are different in themselves, and compared to humanity, and in the situation after a spring storm. Mantz Yorke works in the same simple style, not leaving what we could call his “camera location,” but focusing closely on the blackberry field as human hands do the picking, and in the process break webs the spiders will need to spin again.

Alvin B. Cruz turns from waves unearthing buried shells, to a human consideration brought to mind by the image. In other words, he seems to read his own haiku in order to supply the final line—often a fruitful procedure. Ngo Binh Anh Khoa presents the human correlative first, as he speaks of a mother’s braided hair being like visible roots of an oak with fresh snow above. The first two lines compare person and thing, while the third layers time into these images. Words are unassuming—but what a wealth of characterization this masterful observation and associated symbolism could supply! We judges thank the 2022 winner of this competition for competing again to provide this wonderfully creative juxtaposition.

Indeed, thanks to all who entered the contest for the opportunity to read your many and varied contributions. We also appreciate the numerous notes of thanks to us given by you. We hope these brief remarks about what impressed us in works by the winner and runners-up may be of some value.

.

RECOMMENDED BOOKS OF TRADITIONAL FORM HAIKU IN ENGLISH

Mary Harwell Sayler, Haiku Happening (published in 2023 by an SCP member)

E. Owen, Mastering Japanese Form Poetry and the American Haiku 

Edith Shiffert, Kyoto Dwelling

Richard Wright, Haiku:  The Last Poetry of Richard Wright

.

PETER PAUPER PRESS TRANSLATIONS OF JAPANESE CLASSICS

Japanese Haiku (available FREE online from the Haiku Foundation)

The Four Seasons

Cherry Blossoms

Haiku Harvest

.

.

CODEC Stories: