The Heron's Nest

The Peggy Willis Lyles Haiku Awards for 2021

Judge’s Comments – Ferris Gilli

With concise imagery and layered implications, the haiku genre demonstrates one of the most frugal yet expressive forms of human communication. It seems to me that the language of haiku, spanning continents and shared in many tongues and dialects, is universal. In my observation, while not all memorable haiku involve natural themes, poets who are conversant with haiku are very likely conversant with nature, as was Peggy Willis Lyles. As exemplified by her brilliant work in hundreds of literary sources, Peggy was adept at bringing readers into her world, into her immediate experience. Her haiku speak from the heart, though without words of emotion. Long before Peggy and I met in person, we shared ideas through written prose and poetry. Reading Peggy’s poems over the years and collaborating with her in haiku-related genres positively influenced my haiku journey as well as my perspective on life. Through her written words, Peggy continues to mentor. Any writers new (or not so new) to haiku surely must be inspired, and their communication through haiku gracefully informed by this extraordinary poet’s gifts to us. I like to think that one or two authors of these winning haiku were guided at some point by Peggy Willis Lyles.

First Place

I fell in love with “tangerine sunset” for its enchanting imagery and its ability to transport me to another era, to what can seem to be a different world. The poem’s beauty and realism, its immediacy and common language invite me in. While stick-ponies are still thriving today, this vivid, timeless image of a boy riding a pretend pony instantly takes me back to my own small-town childhood in the mid-1900s. The most popular stick-equines, sometimes called hobby horses, were those with a small horse’s head at one end, often made of wood, with some having reins attached. Those were usually store-bought rather than homemade, and may have had a wheel at the other end of the stick. Not every child had one of the more finished versions, but the lack didn’t keep a determined, imaginative boy or girl from riding a fully capable mount. A suitably sized branch cut from a tree, perhaps a stick found lying on the ground, or even a broom served the purpose. On her stick-pony, a child in Georgia could gallop from her own front yard to the Great Plains and back in a day, or a minute—barefoot.

The poem’s classic structure helps ensure its success. There is no excess anywhere in the haiku. Every word is vital to its essence, to this reader’s visualizing and feeling the scene. As I read “a small boy gallops,” I expect the child to be riding a real horse or pony, so that the third line completing the scene with a stick-pony comes as a delightful surprise. The last word reveals where the boy is headed. Entering the poem, I too am going “home.”

The first line is the perfect backdrop for what is happening in the rest of the haiku. In some cultures, tangerines represent good fortune, while their bright, reddish-orange color symbolizes youth and energy. The image of a small boy galloping on his stick-pony certainly evokes those qualities. The blaze of “tangerine sunset” juxtaposed with the next two lines enhances the ambiance and conjures the Western trope “ride off into the sunset.” At the end of the movie, a cowboy, often a drifter who rights wrongs, saddles up and rides west into the setting sun. His work is done in this town. The little cowboy in this vibrant, memorable haiku has likely settled a feud, taken care of the bad guys, and is ready to move on to the next town—after supper and a good night’s sleep.

Second Place

Such a small, quiet poem, but at once it stirs my curiosity, and questions arise. What are the roles we don’t prepare for? What are the roles we should prepare for? Whose fault is it if we’re not prepared? The first five words of this haiku candidly give notice that it is impossible to predict with certainty the responsibilities that life will bring to any person. In the best of worlds, from birth to death, we are constantly preparing (or are being prepared) for the familiar, expected phases of our human existence. Dedicated parents prepare their children for life in a society by teaching them social graces and the delicate nuances of communication. Schoolteachers hope to prepare students for their roles in the grown-up world. Religious leaders encourage congregants to accept the truth of mortality, while helping them prepare for life and death with faith-based doctrines. Doctors prepare patients for what may happen in medical crises. Certainly, we are expected to take on certain roles as children and as adults. But common sense dictates that we cannot prepare ourselves or others for every role that may unexpectedly, perhaps happily, change a life—or be cruelly forced upon us.

Over the last year and a half, unprecedented events stunned and burdened millions of people with “roles / we don’t prepare for.” The world was not prepared. I can’t remember a time in my seventy-plus years when such a simple phrase as “not prepared” could be so deeply fraught with fear at the global level. Many parents added the role of schoolteacher to daily routines, as they home-schooled their children, while their homes became virtual workplaces. Teachers taught from virtual classrooms, and students strove to adjust to virtual learning. What child or teacher had prepared for that? In some homes, parents exchanged roles as primary care givers and wage-earners. Hospitals ran out of room and supplies and lost medical staff to the virus. Who had prepared for that? Medically untrained family members took on the care of loved ones infected with Covid-19, while desperately fighting to protect themselves and others from infection. Wearing masks, self-quarantining, and grandchildren suddenly being kept apart from loving grandparents were other offshoots of the rapid onset of change. Who had prepared for that?

The line that completes the poem is much more than a pretty flower. As the emblem of the fleur-de-lis of heraldry, the iris represents hope, faith, and valor. In the context of my interpretation of “roles / we don’t prepare for,” imagining a wild iris lifts my mood. With its lovely blooms so welcome in these times, the iris recalls human courage and perseverance. I hope that my thoughts about this haiku express some of what the author hoped to convey.

Third Place

Most people know that high and low tides are caused by the moon’s gravitational pull, which generates the tidal force. Some may not know that the highest tides in the United States occur in the North Pacific Ocean, near Anchorage, Alaska, while The Bay of Fundy, in Nova Scotia, Canada, has the highest tides in the world. The import found at the heart of the haiku, however, goes deeper than ocean tides.

The beginning line, “a basket of shells,” brings thoughts of the sea. With the next two lines, the poem expands to include oceanic effects across the globe. The third line implies that children are present in the immediate scene with the basket of shells. I can hear happy shouts and the crash of waves; I can bury my toes in the sand and remember the sounds and shadows of shorebirds. The “other children” are playing on beaches around the world, sectioning into waves or sitting quietly in the foamy shallows, while adults alert for danger keep an eye on them. This haiku is a reminder that no matter where we are, whether we are solitary in the vast interior of a rain forest or in the middle of the greatest desert, we are not alone on the earth.

Now an inherent idea emerges that is more profound than the scenes I imagined. To me, the lines “other tides wetting / other children” are metaphor for all the ways innocent children can be and are affected by the decisions and actions of every nation and social institution. Of course, different readers may have different interpretations of this intriguing poem. I believe “a basket of shells” sends an urgent message. The haiku’s thought-provoking imagery and its implicit significance will continue to resonate with me.

Honorable Mention (unranked)

The poem itself is seductive, each line laden with possibility. The poet is an artist, painting for the reader’s imagination, using sensuous images filled with color, heat, and innuendo. The combination of words implies all that is needed for a reader to get to the essence of the scene. I am watching a couple having dinner by candlelight, with other lighting in the room muted. I think they are in a restaurant, their small table for two set apart from others. Each person at the table knows exactly what is going on here. This is courtship in every sense of the word, and then some. I am imagining that the lovers have not so far been sexually intimate, but I sense that what is happening, what is being said at this table, the subtle physical communications, are drawing them closer to that end.

The telling word here is “teases.” The faint breath in a whisper teases the candle flame, while the whispered words tease the listener, whose small movements and facial expressions tease the speaker. And so on, back and forth, with each whisper more bold than the last, each look more suggestive. Romance and seduction are not necessarily synonymous, but I think that in this case, each becomes part of the other. Each person’s questions and responses tease the flames of their emotions. The poet captures the heart of the moment, and my own heart as well.

The detailed imagery, the action, and the underlying possibilities in this haiku hold my attention. Each line contains a vivid image that is crucial to the effect of the haiku on this reader. The images are visual, but they evoke other senses, too: sound, smell, and tactility. The natural beauty of the scene holds me, and I want to be there. Accepting the invitation, I easily enter the haiku and take in my surroundings. Since there is a fenced garden, it stands to reason that people are living nearby. Obviously, the garden is fenced in order to keep out animals that could destroy the fruits and vegetables it contains. I sense that trees and bushes are plentiful, which suggests birds, other animals, and insects. Already I see and hear a red-headed woodpecker as it taps a chestnut oak. As the deer moves away, trailing its musky odor, I run my fingers over the rust-roughened latch. The board it is attached to has been worn nearly smooth.

Back outside the haiku, I wonder, is this place an old family home at the end of a dirt road, at the edge of a forest? Or does no one live here anymore, and the garden is only weeds? There is another possibility—that the haiku is happening somewhere in a suburb, in a treed housing development like my own, with a creek running through it as well. With that thought, the word encroachment comes to mind. We have encroached on wildlife habitats, and many of the animals that might have been completely displaced have become part of what is now our human environment. Deer, coyotes, raccoons, possums, rabbits . . . all are a familiar presence on my cultivated half acre.

This haiku reminds me of the time I overheard a little boy tell his mother quite firmly, “Benji (a stuffed bear) is so tired of drinking plain milk, and if he won’t drink it, I won’t either!” Most parents know that a great many small children have imaginary friends. We also know that children personify inanimate objects, especially dolls and stuffed animals. They ascribe internal states to objects in the context of pretense, but they can also make those assertions quite seriously. With children, sometimes anthropomorphism goes beyond mere pretense.

While “winter squall” is a compelling setting, its more subtle link to the rest of the haiku should be noted. The word “squall” can mean strong gusts of wind associated with thunderstorms or heavy snow, and “squall” can also mean the loud cries of a child. As I am always uneasy in harsh weather, the first line of the haiku takes me out of my comfort zone. The next two lines strongly imply that the child is also uncomfortable, and I empathize with both parent and daughter. Drawing from my own childhood and over half my life as a mother and grandmother, I am moved by the familiar moment in the poem. The poet’s daughter is frightened by the winter squall, or maybe the noise of the storm is keeping her awake. She may believe the doll is having the same experience, or she could be expressing her feelings through the doll. I think that in the poem’s context, it would be well to comfort both child and doll.

The juxtaposition of the first part of the haiku with “mockingbird song” is the hook. The ellipsis is well placed and is just enough punctuation to avoid a pivotal second line, which I believe would have weakened the poem in this instance. With only a few words, the author evokes several emotions. With my first reading, “lost in the crowd” brings a sense of tension, of feeling alone in spite of being surrounded by people. The crowd could be gathered anywhere. Perhaps this is an outdoor political rally, where hundreds of people are waiting for the candidate to speak. Entering the haiku, I allow myself to become part of the scene. Someone attempts to have a conversation with me, but we can’t hear each other amid the laughing, yelling throng. Our words are absorbed by the noise around us, our conversation lost in the growing crowd. Angry shouts mix with the laughter, making me uneasy. Suddenly I hear a voice that grounds me, so true and bright it pierces the surrounding clamor. The beautiful, clear notes of mockingbird song rise on a course above the human roughness.

This haiku is included for the mental pictures it elicits, and for the unexpected drama. I appreciate the potential humor that arrives with the last line, though other readers may not find the humor as I do, in the word “exhausted.” That left leg is not broken, not bent, not wiggling or wobbling or missing. No, the poor thing is simply exhausted. But exactly what is going on with the left leg that spells “exhausted” to the author? It could be any one of the possibilities just mentioned, or something I haven’t thought of yet. Those yard flamingos are sometimes designed to show the bird standing on one leg, with the other one bent and lifted as though they are about to take a step. But they never get to take that step. And if Pinocchio can long to be a real boy, perhaps the yard flamingo can long to share the burden of gravity with the other leg, if only for a moment.

Editor’s Note: A total of 3,115 poems were submitted to this year’s contest, by a total of 739 poets.

READERS' CHOICES AWARDS

One-hundred-nine readers of The Heron's Nest have provided us with their selections of the best poems we published during 2021. We published 489 poems in Volume 23. Of these, 373 received at least one reader nomination. Ten points were awarded for a first-place nomination, nine for second, and so on.

Here are the top poems and poets as identified for these Readers' Choice Awards:

Grand Prize Poem

Haiku of the Year (13 nominations, totaling 100 points)

First Runner-up

(12 nominations, totaling 97 points)

Second Runner-up

(11 nominations, totaling 79 points)

Third Runner-up

(10 nominations, totaling 78 points)

Other Highly Rated Poems:

• 72 points: "some of the blanket" — paul m.— December
• 68 points: "forest trek" — Joe Sebastian — September
• 52 points: "salmon spawning" — Dan Curtis — June
• 51 points: "autumn night" — Susan Antolin — March
• 51 points: "blue hills" — Subir Ningthouja — December
• 50 points: "still no news" — Roberta Beary — June
• 47 points: "discovered again" — Christopher Herold — September
• 47 points: "climate change" — Keiko Izawa — March
• 47 points: "the bare backs" — Tom Painting — June
• 47 points: "watching a backhoe" — Lew Watts — September
• 46 points: "incoming waves" — Mike Rehling — June
• 45 points: "church lilies" — Roberta Beary — March
• 45 points: "jumper cables" — Ben Gaa — March
• 45 points: "finding his voice" — Rich Schilling — June
• 43 points: "sultry night" — Mimi Ahern — December
• 43 points: "corn country" — Bryan Richert — June
• 42 points: "three of us" — Lorin Ford — December
• 40 points: "snow season" — Brad Bennett — March

Popular Poets

This category represents the total number of points awarded to each poet for his/her entire body of work in Volume 23.

Grand Prize — Poet of the Year

Peter Newton: (20 nominations, naming 4 of 5 poems published in Volume 23 = 147 points)

First Runner-up

Michele Root-Bernstein: (23 nominations, naming 6 of 6 poems published = 140 points)

Second Runner-up

paul m.: (23 nominations, naming 5 of 5 poems published = 135 points)

Third Runner-up

Ben Gaa: (20 nominations, naming 6 of 6 poems published = 121 points)

Other Popular Poets

• Christopher Herold (5 of 5 poems, totaling 118 points)
• Roberta Beary (3 of 5 poems, totaling 117 points)
• Tanya McDonald (5 of 7 poems, totaling 117 points)
• Tyrone McDonald (1 of 1 poem, totaling 97 points)
• Bryan Richert (4 of 5 poems, totaling 96 points)
• Mimi Ahern (4 of 4 poems, totaling 94 points)
• Polona Oblak (3 of 5 poems, totaling 94 points)
• Dan Curtis (4 of 5 poems, totaling 79 points)
• Ann K. Schwader (5 of 5 poems, totaling 79 points)
• Brad Bennett (3 of 5 poems, totaling 75 points)
• Subir Ningthouja (2 of 2 poems, totaling 74 points)
• Joe Sebastion (1 of 1 poem, totaling 68 points)
• Tim Cremin (3 of 4 poems, totaling 63 points)
• Joe McKeon (4 of 4 poems, totaling 62 points)
• Christopher Patchel (3 of 3 poems, totaling 62 points)
• Michele L Harvery (3 of 4 poems, totaling 61 points)
• Rick Tarquinio (3 of 5 poems, totaling 60 points)

We congratulate the poets honored in this year's Readers' Choice Awards and offer our sincere and deepest gratitude to the readers who devoted their time, effort, and discernment to the nomination process. Whatever value these awards may have comes directly from this community of readers.