NC State University Insect Museum

These two haiga stood out not only for their original (and fantastic) artwork but also for the beautifully composed poems. Enjoy!

Martha Love
Gastonia, NC

Amber Tripodi
Germantown, TN

I finally assembled the list of honorable mention poems. We had so many (I think my short list was something like 64 poems) that it took me awhile to get organized. Here they are for poets under 13 in no particular order:

Mitchell Kreisel
Grandy, NC

Judges’ comments: Innocent and humorous, this poem resonated with our thoughts on the child-insect relationship.

Taylor Crocker (11) and Emma Hoffmann (10)
Raleigh, NC

Judges’ comments: We love the rhythm; the first two lines sounded almost like gliding, with their multisyllabic words, while the last line interrupted our reading like a brake, an unexpected break, with its staccato of short words.

Rose Dorman (10) and Gabrielle Riddle (10)
Raleigh, NC

Judges’ comments: These poets really know their natural history, as crickets do indeed use their wings to sing (an entomologist I know recently got this fact wrong in his discourse with a reporter!) The poets also add a touch of romance that made us smile.

Erin Harp (11) and Corinne Terry (11)
Raleigh, NC

Judges’ comments: Very clever and poetic. We loved the imagery and the comparison to a dancing acrobat. Magical.

Daria Hill
Fayetteville, NC

Judges’ comments: This poem is modular and diverse, presenting something good (chirping), something bad (crunch!), and something…true (people do eat them). We don’t normally step on things we eat, and yet crunchiness could apply equally to chewing or stomping.

Judges’ comments: Though this haiku opens with a direct seasonal reference, we were drawn in by the two layers of allusion spilling through the subsequent eight words. “Cicada,” usually employed as a proxy for summer, is a frequent kigo (seasonal reference) in traditional Japanese haiku. Here the poet almost adopts a super-kigo by merely hinting at the cicada: symphony, encore, seventeen years.

Smiles spread around the room as we reminisced about July in western North Carolina, west Texas, and the tropics, where summer cicada symphonies blistered our ears with deafening volumes of white noise. Are these calls really music? Perhaps the poet’s alluring ovation is ironical? Or is he (like us) a natural historian with a penchant for the awesome power of cicadian chant?

The soft, subtle tone of this poem convinced us that his passion is real, and we select this poem as Runner-up in this year’s Hexapod Haiku Challenge. Congratulations.

Judges’ comments: In this senryū the poet forges a coherent image that represents the multidimensional nature of the Hexapod Haiku Challenge: a celebration of science, entomology, insects, literature, and whimsy. Silverfish (Zygentoma) frequently make pests of themselves as the consumers of books (their natural diet includes starchy substances, and so they’ll eat paper and the components of book bindings). The alliteration affects our reading as both a euphonious literary device and as the conveyor of clues. This particular silverfish is making its way through the Ds of someone’s library, feasting indiscriminately (at least initially) on volumes covering science (Darwin) and fiction (Dostoevsky). We sense frustration as the owner demands answers (“tell me”). The subsequent question, though tainted with sarcasm, signals a change in tone. Indignation morphs into intellectual curiosity: which do you prefer to consume, Darwin or Dostoevsky? The question is at once literal (do the book components have the same flavor?) and scholarly (whose words inspire you more, young silverfish?). Exquisite.

This entry was our unanimous choice for Best in Show, and we thank the poet for sharing with us this delightful read.

Judges’ comments: This haiga exquisitely captures the innocent appreciation younger people often have for insects – that sense of wonder and thirst for interaction that exist before external forces corrode and misinform one’s perceptions of the natural world. Bees, with their coat of branched setae and lumbering yet persistent flight, are charismatic. The temptation to hold and caress them is strong, and yet the experience usually results in pain rather than pleasure. The protagonist here longs for that loving interaction, and despite being stung, responds with the emotional control of a Bhikkhu, honest and composed: “I’m so sad you’re not [cuddly].”

In judging haiga against haiku we typically downplay the associated illustration. The scenery that accompanies this poem, however, was a delightful complement: birds soar, a gentle breeze wafts, the sun is shining, and the bee flies on. The attitude is overwhelmingly positive, despite the recent violence. The black heart looming in the sky, however, betrays this carefree façade and adds a sense of foreboding. We were reminded of that classic folk diddy about bringing home “a baby bumble bee” in order to impress mom. The child is quickly stung (“Ouch!”), and the extended lyrics allude to increasingly sinister events.

We congratulate Sky on penning this fun poem. Thank you for sharing it with us.

Judges’ comments: Finely focused on a frenzy of activity, line one sets the hook and reels you in. Who is the protagonist, and what is the object (or objective) of this activity? Line two pulls us back and smoothly, alliteratively provides more clues: silky, sticky, invisible. The prose is melodious, almost metrical as it balances the first two words against the third, and the answer to the riddle is indirectly revealed (while allowing, perhaps, for wilder imaginations to roam). Line three draws us into the Zen one often experiences while reading a haiku: after watching the spider carefully stitch its web, an object that is at once functional and artistic, the observer (and perhaps the spider?) stands back and delights in its completion. It’s as if he were at the feet of Michaelangelo’s David. It’s…beautiful. The poet’s patient observation of this spider in this case led to a moment of great appreciation, rather than the all-too-common response to a spider’s presence – a contrast not lost on us. We congratulate Mr. Thompson on this award and thank him for sharing this moment with us.