a runner stops
to check her pulse
Brad Bennett, Arlington, Massachusetts
If it’s sap season, it must be autumn. A jogger stopping to check her pulse also seems to bring us as observers into a moment of checking our seasonal “pulse.” How is our year unfolding? As summer wanes into the fall, we come to an instant of deeper reflection, even assessment, in thinking about our lives. The poem’s arresting first line begins a series of breathless S sounds (continued with “stops” and “pulse”). Combined with the “er” of “runner” and “her,” this poem’s sounds create a pleasing music and rhythm, even a heartbeat.
warming her hands
between my own—
Julie Bloss Kelsey, Germantown, Maryland
The air has chilled in the autumn season, but here two friends or lovers have ventured out to enjoy the colorful leaves of autumn. This is a shared moment of personal intimacy, with one person warming the other person’s cold hands. This warmth is not just physical but emotional too.
a few moments
with cherry blossoms
Saumya Bansal, Agra, India
Most adults have had this experience when pausing their cars at a stop light. We might be temporarily impatient at having to wait, but the mind of the haiku poet finds solace in such idle moments, in this case appreciating beautiful blossoms. We might not have noticed them if it weren’t for that red light. Even the traffic light’s color echoes with the pink blossoms.
Adult Honorable Mentions (in order)
the first line of my poem
on the page
Minal Sarosh, Ahmedabad, India
The moon is an autumn season word in the Japanese haiku tradition, so what haiku poet could not feel that their poem’s first line has been provided for them as soon as they see a harvest moon? We also wonder, what will the rest of our poem say? In this case it’s a poem about writing haiku itself—or perhaps a longer poem. And we can thank the moon for inspiring us.
that doesn’t go away
Richa Sharma, Ghaziabad, India
As our worldwide pandemic continues, it’s hard to read this poem without thinking of Covid-19 illnesses that more and more frequently have reached us or people we know. Not only is the cough not going away, but the pandemic itself remains persistent, continuing to loom like an autumn cloud.
the seagulls rise
with the drawbridge
David Grayson, Alameda, California
A summer moment—visiting the beach. Only when the drawbridge rises do the seagulls respond, their lazy day interrupted. This poem’s pleasing movement and vivid image captures a visit to the seaside. The rising bridge suggests the departure of both boats and cars, indicating that this summer getaway has come to an end.
Youth Honorable Mentions (in order)
last skipping stone
left in my pocket
Iasmina Butnarescu, Botosani, Romania
What a youthful joy to skip stones in summertime. But this time that perfect “skimmer” stone is pocketed, as if waiting for summer to return.
the old calligraphy
of migrating birds
Denisa Hritcu, Botosani, Romania
Nature and human behavior come together here, with the artist recording the flights of birds in a drawing class. This migration could be spring or autumn, but it feels more like autumn, perhaps because of the word “old,” which also suggests that the “calligraphy” of the birds predates any human art, a reminder that nature may be life’s highest art.
carving my name
on the old oak
Florin Panainte, Botosani, Romania
In a moment of nostalgia before leaving a treasured place, the poet takes the time to leave a record of their existence. It’s not just so future residents will know them, but so the poet will remember that place more deeply. It is indeed a “moving” day.
Michael Dylan Welch is founder of National Haiku Writing Month (www.nahaiwrimo.com) and the Seabeck Haiku Getaway, cofounder of the Haiku North America conference and the American Haiku Archives, webmaster for Haiku Northwest (www.haikunorthwest.org), and president of the Redmond Association of Spokenword. He was keynote speaker for the 2013 Haiku International Association conference in Tokyo and has been teaching haiku for thirty years. His haiku have won numerous prizes and have been translated into at least twenty languages. Michael’s website, devoted mostly to haiku, is www.graceguts.com.