We have closed our submission form for the George Klacsanzky Memorial Haiku Contest. Michael Dylan Welch, the judge for our contest, has begun the anonymous judging process. Please be patient with the announcement of the results, as our judge needs to select the winners from 492 submissions, which equals around 1470 haiku.
We are honored that so many poets submitted to our inaugural contest, celebrating Haiku Commentary‘s 10th anniversary and the life of George Klacsanzky, a pioneer and leader in the haiku community.
On the Jefferson River one swallow’s perch song making a summer
— Jeff Streeby (USA) Part of a haibun titled “A Brindle Bull.” Published inBacopa Literary Review, September 2019; won Bacopa Literary Review’s Mixed Form Prize in 2019; nominated for a Pushcart Prize; reprinted in January 2020 by Contemporary Haibun Online.
The Jefferson River grounds the poem in a historically significant place. It was named by the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1805 in honor of President Thomas Jefferson because it carried the largest volume of water at the time compared to the nearby Madison and Gallatin rivers. The river also carves through the dramatic Jefferson Canyon near Cardwell, which is also home to the famous Lewis and Clark Caverns State Park.
In juxtaposition to this important river is a swallow perched and singing, bringing the present into focus. The poet’s choice of one swallow instead of many makes the haiku more centered in the moment. Swallows are birds of motion, being aerial acrobats and migratory. To witness one perched and singing is to recognize a pause in perpetual movement. This corresponds to the river, which is constantly flowing. The swallow, unlike the river, takes a moment to provide a song that could be perceived as a celebration or initiation of summer. It is almost as if the swallow is saying, “River, I know you will not stop, so I will stop for you and sing your glories.”
The final line makes the seasonal reference or kigo clear. “making a summer” is where the poem diverges from simple observation. A single swallow, as perceived by the poet, creates an embodiment of summer with its song. It echoes the Zen notion that perception and reality arise together. Summer is often a time of joy, and I feel the poet is comparing this season’s emotions to the history of the Jefferson River, embodied in the swallow’s song.
Though the haiku lacks a cut marker (kireji) to separate its two parts, a comma is intuitively felt after the first line. There is no real need for punctuation to be added.
The pacing is in the traditional English-language haiku format of short/long/short lines, which approximates the rhythm of Japanese haiku. The brevity and minimalistic language of the poem matches haiku tradition. The poet could easily make this haiku verbose but rightly did not.
Looking at the sound, the contrast between the soft “o” sounds and the harder “r” sounds brings musicality to the haiku. Swallows have a “twitter-warble” song during courtship and egg-laying, with a series of continuous warbling sounds followed by rapid, mechanical-sounding whirrs. These sounds could be reflected in the letter “r” used throughout the haiku.
This is a haiku that merges the past and the present, flow and pause, and the miniscule and grandiose with great effectiveness.
bird by bird I dismantle the birdcage
— Richa Sharma (India) published in folk ku journal, issue 3, 2024
I appreciate this haiku for its metaphorical value. What is the birdcage? The limited thoughts/beliefs we have on a myriad of subjects seem to create a mental birdcage. The birdcage could also represent a limited worldview or mental prison that is self-created and/or imposed by others. What would happen if the mental birdcage was dismantled? Would our inner birds then truly begin to sing and fly?
This haiku reminds me of the four questions that Byron Katie offers regarding any thought or belief that someone is struggling with: 1) Is that thought true? 2) Can you absolutely know that the thought is true? 3) How do you react when you believe that thought? 4) Who would you be without the thought? Byron Katie then asks her clients to explore “turnarounds” or what are potential opposites of the thought that we believed was true. This process of inquiry can be highly enlightening as we learn to see and experience life without limited thoughts/beliefs that may not even be true to begin with. I highly recommend her book Loving What Is.
In terms of sound, the “b” sound is predominant throughout this haiku, which seems to make the word “dismantle” stand out even more. I think dismantle is a powerful word. I had not seen this word in a haiku before, until now. I think it works great in this poem. What else can we dismantle to live more loving and joyful lives? What can we let go of to walk lighter and with more ease and less suffering?
Aside from the metaphorical power of this haiku, it can also be read literally (i.e., the poet saw birds and heard the beauty of birdsongs, to such an extent that he physically took apart his birdcage). This haiku might also spark conversations about animals and birds in the zoo. In addition, this haiku brings to mind a famous poem by Maya Angelou, “Caged Bird.”
This is a powerful haiku that borders on surrealism (and perhaps folklore) but is also accessible with deep psychological meaning and modern-day relevance.
river rope swinging into no thoughts
— Luke Levi (USA) published in Frogpond, 48:2, 2025
The phrase “river rope” immediately draws attention with its unusual pairing and the soft repetition of the ‘r’ sound. Without punctuation, the opening remains open-ended, inviting readers to imagine the river and the rope in their own way. Is the river calm or rushing? What kind of rope is it? What time of day is it? The poet leaves space for multiple interpretations.
“swinging into” introduces a gentle rhythmic movement—the pull, sway, and faint sound of the rope in the air.
The final line, “no thoughts,” turns the poem inward. Rather than presenting a concrete image, it leaves us in a meditative stillness, suggesting a mind emptied by the simple act of watching the rope swing. Everything else in the scene seems on hold around that quiet or subtle motion.
The absence of punctuation and a clear kigo further deepens the haiku’s openness and mystery.
This haiku takes the tradition of a “wish upon a shooting star” to very real emotional depths. As a life-saving treatment, dialysis being wished upon through a superstition highlights the desperation of the patient. Commonly, a wish made in this fashion is much lighter and whimsical. It is also associated with childhood, and the patient herself might be a child. The meteor shower mirrors that seriousness and overwhelming experience of needing dialysis, which is a mechanism for survival rather than a cure.
“Meteor shower” functions as a seasonal word (kigo), traditionally evoking images of wonder, transience, and celestial beauty. In Germany, meteor showers happen most in summer and winter. In looking at the mood of this haiku, I would suspect that the meteor shower would be happening in winter.
The poet deftly leaves some details out. We don’t know who “her” refers to: a mother, a daughter, a patient, or the speaker herself? We don’t know if the wish is granted. We don’t know if she can afford it or access it. This haiku is effectively spartan in information and wording.
The lines are written in descending order, from distant grandeur (meteor shower) to personal strife (her wish for) to the stark focus of dialysis. The lines becoming smaller and smaller could be reminiscent of many things: how a meteor falls to the Earth, the dimming of life for the patient, or the flow of liquids during dialysis itself.
In looking at the punctuation and sound, this haiku does not employ a dash or ellipsis to mark a cut. The haiku is so sparse and is phrased in such a way that adding punctuation might have looked clunky. The first two lines have euphony with the letters “o” and “r.” However, in the last line, the switch up in content is matched with a change in sound: “i” and “y” are focused upon, while “s” is still carrying some of the flavor from the first two lines.
In only six words, this haiku presents medical trauma, economic hardship, human longing, and cosmic indifference—and does not sentimentalize it. In this haiku, the wish upon a star, an innocent gesture, becomes a call for empathy and assistance for those who are less fortunate.
The crow lurking In my parking bay Learning to walk again
A powerful haiku that has at least two interpretations. The crow could be learning to walk again due to an injury or old age. The poet also could be learning to walk again for similar reasons and/or due to another medical condition. I appreciate how learning to walk again slows us down and lets us appreciate life and notice more in our surroundings.
Interestingly, there are three -ing verbs in this haiku, which is not commonly seen in English-language haiku, but it doesn’t come across as distracting. On the contrary, the -ing verbs seem to show connection and coherence.
In short, this is a haiku that inspires compassion for both the crow and the poet. In the end, a lot of people will learn to walk again as we grow older, and may become more like a child again as well. A beautiful haiku.
The opening line, onion bulbs, establishes both a literal and symbolic foundation for the haiku. On one hand, it refers to a physical object associated with harvesting and storage; on the other, it suggests something layered and hidden. The image implies that beneath the surface of ordinary things lies something hidden within human experience. The em dash creates a pause, supplying a sense of hesitation and emotional weight.
The ending phrase, I peel another layer of sorrow, extends this metaphor into something very personal. The act of peeling becomes an inward process of confronting a long-time buried feeling. Each layer removed does not lead to clarity or resolution but instead reveals further sorrow, suggesting a therapeutic process. The word another depicts repetition, implying that this is an ongoing, possibly exhausting process of resurfacing something painful or difficult to face.
The haiku does not have a clear end. Rather than arriving at a core truth, it presents sorrow as something endlessly layered, where reaching to the core is either delayed or uncertain.
Coloured Artwork Of Leonid Meteor Shower Of 1833 is a photograph by the Science Photo Library
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