Judged by John S Green, Paul Miller, and Isabella Mori

Read more about our Haiku Invitational and our other standout haiku submissions!

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Something about the Haiku Invitational theme, those brief, remarkable sakura blossoms, brings out the best in everyone. This year’s poets and their thoughtful poems were no exception. We received 1,482 haiku from all over the world and felt honored to serve as judges for this annual, spirited event. The variety and depth of each poet’s response to the theme delighted us. Of special interest were Japanese terms that gave the poetry extra seasoning: hazakura, cherry leaves on a tree after the pink flowers fall off; yumemigusa, a poetic expression of the dreaminess of falling cherry blossoms; hanami, which stands for flower-viewing, and sakura-gari, specifically looking for and viewing cherry blossoms; komorebi, sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees; and a favourite, hanafubuki, which refers to the “snow” storm of falling sakura.

In selecting winners for each of the Haiku Invitational’s six categories, we looked for haiku that hewed to the aesthetics of haiku tradition but were also fresh and from a unique individual perspective. Our task was well-rewarded with poems that revealed new sides to the ancient theme. We suspect you will be rewarded as well.

—John S Green, Paul Miller, and Isabella Mori, judges

Vancouver Winner

One of the joys of haiku is sharing other peoples’ moments and experiences, discovering that our lives hold more commonality than difference, and I am always disappointed when readers don’t take the time to look up an unfamiliar word; they are often missing out. The term “hazakura” refers to cherry trees that have lost most of their flowers and are now starting to leaf. Cherry trees, with their brief, intense blooms, provide a powerful symbol of the impermanence in our lives. This seasonal backdrop is skillfully paired with a mother helping her small child on with his shoes, and noticing that they no longer fit. This is a common occurrence of parenthood, seeing how children outgrow their clothes, and eventually their role as children. This is a poignant moment of discovery, one that the reader is invited to share, well-captured by the poem.

– Paul Miller

British Columbia Winner

I don’t know what first caught my attention, the originality or the image. Here a calf is lucky enough to be grazing and not cooped up in some industrial compound, maybe near the farmer’s garden with a cherry tree in it. Perhaps a spring wind has littered the freshly growing grass with cherry petals. I can see the fragile blossoms stuck on the calf’s tender muzzle. Both “cherry blossoms” and “calf” are spring kigo (traditional Japanese season words). Some traditionalists might say that haiku should contain only one season word but I find this image delightful. I am also intrigued by the specific mention of the Holstein breed. First, it adds specificity, but more interestingly, Holsteins are the largest dairy breed, and the juxtaposition of this big, heavy breed with the small, almost weightless cherry blossom gives the poem a deeper feel that goes beyond the obvious content.

– Isabella Mori

Canada Winner

I’ve recorded in slo-mo waterfalls, a hummingbird, a salmon jumping upstream, my cat cleaning herself—that long pink tongue incessant. Closing my eyes, I can see the falling petals magically descending in the breeze—the air filled with colour and fragrance. In film, we witness the special effects that directors create when they slow down the event to muster an elevated emotion in the viewer. I remember the opening scene of the movie Frida, when the bus crashes and, in slow-motion, shattered glass showers the passengers, including the beloved artist, Frida Kahlo, at the young age of 20. Just when we think more cherry blossom haiku will be repeated clichés, along comes this winner seeping into our soul.

– John S Green

United States Winner

“Pink smudge”—what an original and arresting way to describe a cherry petal. “Smudge” makes me think of something very small, and of the fleeting nature often alluded to in sakura haiku. In this context, I also think of the soot-smudged faces of firefighters. This word does some heavy lifting! In contrast to that tiny smudge, we have the smoky sky, which speaks to a larger fire, even one of the forest fires we’ve been experiencing more and more, occluding the sky for weeks on end. How does that pink smudge on the fireman’s boot—plastered on it with the water from a fire hose, perhaps—stand in relation to the smoky sky? I see the hopelessness of the size and insubstantiality of that little bit of cherry petal, but at the same time I also perceive a tiny glimpse of the promise of spring, a dot of playfulness, a much-needed reminder that there is more than terror and suffering in this world.

– Isabella Mori

International Winner

Cherry blossoms indicate spring, the season that restarts the world. Yet not all change is welcome, especially in a relationship—and a seemingly fragile one at that. The focus in this poem is on a single cherry blossom by an unknown “she.” It isn’t hard to step into the shoes of her partner—in this case, the poet—to feel a little jealousy, a little anxiety about the state of their relationship. Especially in the presence of new beauty. How very human.

– Paul Miller

Youth Winner

Even young adults understand the wisdom of trees. I wish I had written this gem. I find something deeply tender with the first line, “first blossoms.” It offers a subtle bow to the honesty of innocence. Perhaps the teen has been ridiculed or chastised when they have opened up to their friends and family. Perhaps, as many learn, they distrust the world that too often vilifies compassion and truth. Forest bathing is a way to find sanctuary in a vibrant but quiet canopy of the woods. The art of listening without judgment is a positive trait we all could stand to appreciate. This poem displays one of the joys of writing from the heart. Every secret can be revealed with reverence.

– John S Green