2026
Competition Awards

With many thanks to Brad Bennett, this year’s judge, Modern Haiku is pleased to announce the winners of the Robert Spiess Memorial Haiku Awards Competition for 2026. The purpose of this competition is to honor the life and work of Bob Spiess, editor of Modern Haiku from 1978 to his death on March 13, 2002.

This contest honors Robert Spiess, former longtime editor of Modern Haiku. In previous years, quotes from Spiess’s A Year’s Speculations on Haiku were chosen as inspirational themes for entries. This year, the contest was wide open. But to honor his legacy and contributions to the field, I reread Speculations (probably for the fifth time) and vowed to keep his nuggets of wisdom in mind during the selection process. I tried to choose poems that Spiess could have written or at least might have chosen to include in the pages of Modern Haiku.

So, what was I looking for? First, I chose several of Spiess’s Speculations as cairns along the trail. For instance, he talks about the concept of “suchness.” Suchness requires haiku poets to accept and present entities “just as they are, without superimposing their ideas upon them” (A Year’s Speculations on Haiku, December 9). I looked for this suchness in each poem I considered. The second speculation I chose was “A good haiku is unobtrusively aesthetic and quietly strong” (A Year’s Speculations on Haiku, March 10). I have always been drawn to haiku that seem simple upon first glance but continue to resonate. As we revise our haiku, we may apply tools from our toolbox, but in the end the best poems are artistic, yes, but seemingly artlessly created. The third speculation that guided me was that “Haiku are powerful in their modesty” (A Year’s Speculations on Haiku, July 28). I chose haiku that I felt were simple and pure, yet deep and resonant.

In addition, I am a big fan of the haiku moment and juxtaposition. I believe they are two of the three most essential aspects of haiku (along with brevity) that set it apart from other poetry forms. As I read the entries, I was attuned to well- observed, well-framed haiku moments. I also looked for intriguing juxtapositions, adroitly understated, that created plenty of dreaming room for the reader.

The word “speculation” means “the act of exploration and contemplation.” I felt honored and grateful to be invited to explore these haiku and contemplate their beauty and expertise.

~ Brad Bennett, Judge

First Place: Scott Mason

abandoned rails
goldenrod
passing through

Historically, haiku have been influenced by the aesthetic concept of wabi sabi, the appreciation of that which is weathered and imperfect. The abandoned rails in this scene are rusted, barely noticeable among tall spikes of bright yellow flowers. But there is beauty there. Other haiku have presented scenes like this, but this poem’s last line sets it apart. “Passing through” introduces a paradigm shift of time and movement. It used to be the trains that were passing through. Now it’s the goldenrod. Trains travel rapidly; the growth and regeneration of goldenrod is slow. That last line takes us from a phenomenon lasting mere seconds to the slow cycling through of generations. This haiku also features a sense of mono no aware, the acceptance of transience. We are all “passing through” along with the trains and the goldenrod. And the structure of this poem helps to reinforce the content: the first and last lines remind me of railroad tracks with the goldenrod growing between them. Finally, and perhaps essentially, this haiku is also about nature persisting, nature reclaiming the land. So many layers here.

Second Place: Alan S. Bridges

snowy night
stirring without touching
the teacup's side

One of the wonderful challenges of writing a great haiku is to describe a sensory experience but allude to human emotions. This haiku focuses on a very ordinary moment: pausing for a cup of tea on a snowy night. My first reading focused on all the quiet. The quietness of night and snow. And the feeling of not wanting to disturb this peaceful silence by clinking a spoon against the side of the teacup. An attempt to be at one with the quiet. This poem is also about winter solitude—it’s about staying inside. Inside the home, inside the teacup, inside the self. But further readings led me to wonder if this haiku is also suggesting that the tea drinker is protecting themself by avoiding getting too close to their outside edges. By staying in their center, they avoid the harsh scrape of contact. It’s a self- reflective moment, and perhaps all of these emotions are stirring inside the tea drinker.

Third Place: Joshua St. Claire

all that's left
of the old farmhouse
brushstroke sky

The first two lines of this haiku paint a picture of loss and sadness. Perhaps the farmhouse’s first floor is all that’s left. Perhaps just the stone foundation. But when we get to line three, we find that the farmhouse is completely gone, leaving only the sky. In fact, the haiku implies that the sky was a part of the old farmhouse, an intriguing and welcome notion. Line three also gives us an interesting juxtaposition between real life and art. When I first read this haiku, I started outside, observing a rural scene. Then line three took me into a painting. Perhaps the poet is painting this scene. (Or “brushstroke sky” could merely be a metaphor for cirri). Upon rereading, I found myself flickering back and forth between the sensory experience and the painting, between the concrete and the represented. Ultimately, this haiku is about entropy for me. All of our structures will eventually crumble, but of course we will always have the sky in all its ubiquity.

Honorable Mention Awards (unranked)

soft october rain
some letters missing
from the marquee

Matthew Markworth

This haiku drips with melancholy. Rain often evokes sadness. And historically, autumn symbolizes loss and impermanence in haiku. That kigo on the first line carries a lot of weight. Then, when we get to line two, the missing letters reinforce this sense of loss. I’m picturing a sign over the entrance to a theater, perhaps a theater that has seen better days. We don’t know what show, movie, or concert is or was playing. That dream- ing room allows the reader to fill in the name. “Marquee” can also be used as an adjective to describe someone who is starring in a movie or play. That letters are missing from the title of the show or the name of the star seems to suggest aging. We’re all getting older, and for some of us our star doesn’t shine as brightly as it used to. We may even be losing some memory, a few letters here and there. This poem also utilizes some subtle but effective euphony: the “s” sounds on the first two lines, the “m” sounds on the second two, the hard "c" sounds in “october” and “marquee,” and the rhyme of “some” and “from” all act to cohere this haiku.

rotted rafters
fog curdles around
the owl's call

Debbie Strange

This one refused to let go of me. I kept returning to it so I could study how its three entities interacted. The fog and the owl’s call help to make this haiku feel dreamy and infused with yugen, quiet grace and mystery. When fog curdles, it becomes very dense, transforming into liquid water droplets. Using “curdles” as a verb also seems to imply that something is going sour, adding some menace to the scene. This haiku is essentially about transformation. The solid rafters are rotting. The fog is turning into water droplets. There is also some intriguing synesthesia at work here as the visual fog curdles around the sound of an owl. Matter, shapes, and sounds are all undergoing transformation. In addition, this haiku is full of euphony created by the alliteration of "r" sounds and the consonance of "l" sounds. Plus, there are three words, “curdle,” “owl,” and “call,” that interact in pleasing ways euphonically. And the words “curdles around” yielded a shadow word of “curls,” also adding to the movement and shape of this haiku moment.

cloud-scuttle in the children's pond paper sailboats

Jo Balistreri

“Scuttle” is the hot word here. This haiku would not shimmer without it. One definition of scuttle is to run with short, quick steps, which aptly describes excited children skirting the pond’s shore, egging on their boats. Scuttle can also mean to sink one’s own ship deliberately, interesting given that we’re talking about boats here. But scuttle is not part of the fragment of the haiku that includes the paper sailboats. It is contained in the phrase, acting as part of an invented compound noun describing the movement of clouds. That gives this poem a yin yang effect: a word that the reader might be more likely to associate with one part of the poem is deliberately used in the other part. This builds a connection between the two parts and helps to create intriguing link and shifts. Clouds are ephemeral, as are paper boats. (As are children in a more existential sense). We also see the white of the clouds with the white of the sailboats. And both the clouds and the sailboats are sharing the pond. The monoku is an effective structure for this moment—it allows the words to sail across the surface of the poem.

late hour
the drummer switches
to the brush

David Grayson

Most haiku are very dependent on visual images. Thus, I am always happy to find a great haiku that explores one of the other senses. While this poem visually describes what’s going on in the moment, it’s really all about the sound. “Late hour” is all we need to set the scene. The jazz band is winding down, the club is winding down, the night is winding down. The drummer is transitioning from the louder sticks to the softer brush. Swishing back and forth, sweeping the day away. And, appropriately for a haiku about sound, there is some very effective euphony here. The consonance of the ending “r” sounds in “hour” and “drummer” and the assonance of the “short u” sounds in “drummer” and “brush” help build cohesion. Perhaps most importantly, the hard “tch” sound in “switches” at the end of line two transforms into the much softer “sh” sound of “brush” in line three. And ending the poem with “brush” allows that soft shush to linger into the wee hours.

last frost—
the mailbox lid
comes free

Elliot Diamond

By using a traditional kigo, this poet is participating in a centuries-old haiku community conversation and exploration of the natural, cultural, and emotional meanings of “last frost.” It’s a kigo of transition, winter into spring. The poet delightfully juxtaposes that last frost with a mailbox lid coming free. They could have used “falls off.” That would imply that the mailbox has broken, leading to feelings of frustration—now it's gotta be fixed. “Comes free” is a much more exciting and hopeful way to end this haiku and even, dare I say, gives the mailbox lid some agency. The lid has chosen to free itself. This feels like an act of hope and freedom. And the mailbox in this haiku has great metaphoric potential. We no longer need to hide ourselves inside a metal box. We are free from the constraints of winter.

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