2026 Selections

We want to thank all participants for taking the time to observe, consider, and write about the arthropods in your lives. Every year we are thrilled to run the Hexapod Haiku Challenge, knowing we get to read all the wonderful poems from people across the world who have drawn inspiration from insects. As always, we hope that the process encouraged you to spend a little extra time observing and learning about these extraordinary animals.

Our sincerest thanks go out to Anne Elise Burgevin for her guidance, expertise, and support in running this haiku challenge year after year.

Below are this year's selections, which will be on exhibit at the Frost Entomological Museum beginning in September. The haiku are organized by age category and the author's last name, alongside notes from the judges. The selections from this year's special category honoring Arthropod Recyclers, follow the selections from the general submissions. 

The selection process is blind. Judges look for well crafted haiku that highlight interesting observations of, and interactions with, the insect world. Our commentary touches on both the biology and the literary value of the hexapod haiku, and we expect in it that there is something for everyone to learn — whether you're new to entomology and haiku, a seasoned entomologist, or an accomplished haiku poet. Enjoy the selections!

General Category

12 & Under Laureates

a field of sage
the yellow bees' legs
gaining weight

- Rita Blazic
  Croatia

Bees are characterized, in part, by their reliance on pollen as a food source for their larvae. (The name entomologists use to refer to all bees, Anthophila, means "flower lover".) As such, bees evolved many traits that facilitate pollen collection, including plumose hairs on their bodies, comb-like structures that allow pollen to be gathered from these hairs, elaborate grooming behaviors, and special structures called scopae (patches of hairs) and corbiculae (pollen baskets on the legs of some bees) for temporary pollen storage.The pollen is removed upon returning to their nests.

In this haiku the reader witnesses the ongoing collection of pollen, even though the bees' progress is not directly stated. Legs get heavier as their foraging session moves along. Only yellow is mentioned, but the haiku overflows with color: the minty green of sage leaves, the reddish purple of sage flowers (and of the pollen itself), and, given the industriousness of the bees at this moment, the deep blue of sunny skies. Our other senses are also stimulated by these lines. One can almost smell the sage, hear the buzzing, and feel the summer warmth. The double l's and double e's in close proximity mirrors the bees' movement vertically and horizontally, as they gather their provisions. Bees visiting flowers is commonly observed and a popular theme in haiku. However, this poem uses creative diction to describe pollination in a new and refreshing way. Well done!

summer breeze
on the dragonfly's back
a dandelion seed

- Claire Zhao
  New Zealand

Most people have probably experienced the joy of plucking a dandelion "head", making a wish, and blowing the "seeds" into the wind to watch them scatter and drift. The fluffy hairs allow the seed to passively disperse, wherever the wind takes it. In this haiku, a dandelion seed carried by the summer breeze has found its way onto the back of a dragonfly. There is an interesting range of movement brought to mind with this haiku: the absolute stillness of the dragonfly, the slow summer breeze, the drifting dandelion seed, and the anticipation of the dragonfly taking off lightning-quick. There is a juxtaposition between the delicate nature of the soft, parasol shaped seed that floats along at the whims of a summer breeze and the dragonfly, one of the strongest and most agile fliers in the animal kingdom (some dragonflies even migrate for thousands of miles!). This haiku provides a sketch of nature and a sense of wonder and delight at seeing something so unpredictable. In fact, delight and wonder may be the heart of 'summer breeze,' and thereby capture the mood of summer as we know it. Such a novel haiku! 

showers of rain
a grasshopper
in the fold of a leaf

- Claire Zhao
  New Zealand

This haiku paints a quaint image using plain language. The pluralized first word, showers, denotes a passage of time … perhaps even endless waves of rain. Repeated wellness checks find the grasshopper still there, sheltering in place.

Like many animals, insects can sense changes in barometric pressure – like pressure dips that occur before a rain – and alter their behavior accordingly. During active storms, insects often hide under leaves, squeeze into covered cracks, or perch under overhangs. In this haiku, a grasshopper finds respite in the fold of a leaf. We relate to the familiarity of this moment, as we ourselves curl up in blankets during such storms. The s sounds of line 1, "showers", remind us of raindrops. The last words, "fold of a leaf", composed of multiple f's, almost look like a leaf with the edge curled over. 

This haiku is a great example of a shasei, which translates to 'sketching from life.' Masaoka Shiki, a Japanese haiku master from the past, popularized this core aesthetic concept. "Showers of rain" gives readers a lovely sketch of a hexapod sheltering during showers of rain. Beautiful! 

12 & Under Honorable Mentions

schoolyard
butterflies coloring
the dry tree

- Stefy Ghileschi
  Romania

This author writes a compelling haiku, cloaked in sufficient ambiguity. Why is the tree dry? Is there a drought, or is it just a hot summer? Why do butterflies aggregate on a tree? Perhaps it is oozing sap, which the butterflies find irresistible in the dry weather, or maybe a class has put a butterfly feeder out for observations. Alternatively, the butterflies perhaps exist merely as aesthetic ornaments, in an installation from the school's art class. Regardless, the butterflies bring color to an otherwise dry, brown tree in the middle of a schoolyard. They are "coloring" the tree the same way one might color in a coloring book. The next time we see a butterfly we will surely notice its colors in a whole new way thanks to this haiku!  

A caterpillar
Dances to the song
Of the owl

- Xinrui Xu (Sophia)
  New Zealand

"Dance" is a poetic word not often used in haiku, but it does not feel like much of a stretch when imagining the rhythmic movements of a caterpillar. What is the caterpillar in this haiku doing? Does it hang from a silken thread, relocating to a new leaf, or finding a safe site to pupate? Caterpillars often engage in violent, thrashing movements when engaged by potential predators. Is this behavior a type of dance? Its movement is concurrent with the call of an owl, evoking a sense of night, as both caterpillars and owls are more active after dusk. 

Notably, this haiku is a complete sentence. In a haiku which forms a complete sentence, the third line needs to be very unexpected for it to work well, such that the juxtaposition is one the reader would have been unable to anticipate because it offers quite a fresh take on a moment. Instead of calling this a break, we can think of it as an 'anticipatory pause.' This finesse is accomplished here primarily because we do not think of an owl's song as a song to be danced to. Is the owl really calling at the time, or is the author imagining a time she heard an owl and combining it with the observation of the caterpillar. Maybe the caterpillar sighting was close to where she heard an owl calling. Whether the author intended it, the haiku alludes to Edward Lear's iconic poem, "The Owl and Pussycat." In this way, the haiku becomes even more expansive than if it was simply written as an interpretation of a moment. Subtly alluding to a major contribution to the arts conjures a reverence not otherwise attainable in a haiku. If haiku had titles, perhaps this haiku would be called, ‘The Owl and the Caterpillar!'

13 - 17 Laureates

yellowstone river
mayflies o'er cerulean
drifting downstream

- Angelica M. Dallinas
Biñan, Philippines

Mayflies (Ephemeroptera) are perhaps best known, especially in literary circles, for their strikingly brief (ephemeral) lives. Some species, for example, exist as adults (imagos) for a mere 30 minutes — just enough time to mate, lay eggs, and die. But this fleeting existence is only part of the story. Before emerging, mayflies experience long, rich lives underwater as naiads (their immature stage); only imagos are so short-lived. Because of this life history, mayflies must time their emergence with great precision.

Entomologists also know mayflies, in part, for their primitive-looking wing anatomy, which inspires much speculation about the origins of wings and flight in insects. What did the earliest winged insects look like? How did prototype wings function, before they could lift the insect into the air? One hypothesis, studied by Professor (emeritus) Jim Marden here at Penn State, is that proto-wings served to facilitate skimming across the water, while the insects drifted downstream. Does the reader witness such behavior in this haiku?

The contrast between the ephemeral nature of mayfly imagos and the enduring Yellowstone River, which has flowed through its current course for tens of thousands of years, is stark. However, both are drifting downstream, sharing a fleeting moment together. The choice of the word "o'er" is curious. The old-fashioned term honors the age of the Yellowstone River, in a way, while also serving as a quadruple homophone (o'er, or, oar, ore). Maybe the intention is to lead the reader to other visualizations – e.g., mayflies oaring cerulean, as if they are steering their way across the flowing water. Colors abound in this haiku: yellow, stone, cerulean … even drifting (the reader might envision drifting white clouds) adds richness to this painterly haiku. Buson, an early master of haiku, was a painter as well as a writer. His haiku have been referred to as painterly as well, because they captured moments and scenes in strongly visual ways. Do colors affect our emotions? What is your emotional response to "yellowstone river"? We felt relaxed and appreciative of the vast natural world of which we are all a part of. Nice work! 

gnat on my page
lighter than
an apostrophe

- Éa Stilson
  State College, Pennsylvania

What are gnats? Like many common names, the term has been applied homonymously to myriad unrelated species. "Gnat" mostly refers to a kind of fly that is tiny and which engages in swarming behavior. Some of these species bite (Ceratopogonidae), while others merely annoy us with their presence. They bump against our faces, land in our eyes (some Chloropidae), or emerge en masse from our potted plants (Sciaridae, Mycetophilidae). Some species can even manipulate plants, coercing them into producing a shelter (gall) for the flies to live in and feed (Cecidomyiidae).

In this haiku, the reader notices a really (really!) small insect, one usually overlooked, especially on a printed page. Is it merely an apostrophe? "Lighter than" provides sufficient ambiguity for the reader to run wild with interpretation. Lighter in color? Lighter in mass? An apostrophe on a page is essentially weightless; how minuscule is this gnat? The haiku invokes visions of different apostrophes, in printed books, penned letters, scribbled journals ... each one similar in shape but maybe not intent. The length of the word "apostrophe" sits in contrast to the diminutive fly and further extends the juxtaposition. We commend the light touch!

leaving the car
dad opens the door
for the fly

- Danish Yumnam
  United Arab Emirates

Lots of fly species exhibit behaviors that ultimately lead them to trouble. A tendency towards positive thigmotaxis (a fancy phrase that refers to attraction to solid objects, like walls), combined with positive phototaxis (attraction to light) and negative geotaxis (movement upward, against gravity) lures them into enclosures, like houses, tents, and cars. Unable to resist these urges, the flies find it difficult to escape the resulting captivity. Entomologists exploit these behaviors when studying arthropods by designing traps that have large surfaces, flaps, folds, and cups, which attract and capture insects of interest. Examples include Malaise traps, fly bottles, and biting fly traps.

This haiku opens with a familiar, if a bit old-fashioned, occurrence: dad removing himself from the vehicle in order to open the door for someone. It's a courteous gesture and a good example for the children. Similar courtesies are seen during red carpet arrivals. Perhaps dad ferried an important person to an important event. The contrast between who the reader expects dad is opening the door for, and what dad is actually opening the door for adds light-hearted humor to this moment. The last line reveals a surprise, and until this line the reader does not even know it is a hexapod haiku. We fully join the poet in this moment, when we realize what dad is doing and watch the insect fly away. The plain language reinforces the routine nature of simple moments, like driving with one's parents. The successfully understated nature of this haiku cannot be overstated! 

13 - 17 Honorable Mention

storm warning
a May beetle knocking
at my window

- Antonia Chersan
  Romania

Scarab beetles (also called May beetles, June bugs, or July beetles) are known for being somewhat clumsy in flight or in their landing. They fly directly into walls, doors, humans, etc. In this haiku, a May beetle bumps into a window repeatedly, probably attracted to the light. It sounds like knocking, almost as if the beetle is attempting to get the attention of people inside. The a-m-y pattern in line two (a May beetle) and also in line three (at my window) are near repetition. This repetition of letters reinforces the knocking sounds. The haiku carries itself with a sense of urgency, as a storm approaches on the horizon. The air is heavy with anticipation. Storms change how animals behave and feel, including us. What portends change – a storm, a beetle striking our window – and how do we feel about impending change? Questions like these come into focus in "storm warning." This haiku reminded us of another Hexapod Haiku Challenge honorable mention (12 & under) from 2024:

first guest
knocking at my window
a cockchafer 
-Seby Ciobica

These lines describe a similar insect encounter, albeit with an incredibly different mood. "Storm warning" leaves us wondering what is on the horizon!

18 & Older Laureates

the taste 
of my first kiss . . . 
glasswing butterfly 

- Nicholas Klacsanzky
  Seattle, Washington

Glasswing butterflies, known in science as Greta oto, live in the neotropics. Like other species of Greta, their wings are nearly completely transparent – they don't even shine when in sunlight. This effect is facilitated by specialized nanostructures shaped like tiny hairs on their wings that inhibit the reflection of light. Biologists hypothesize that this transparency helps the butterflies evade predators by rendering them nearly invisible. 

But these butterflies possess another potent defense; like their close relatives, the monarchs, glasswings are toxic. As caterpillars, they feed on nightshade plants, apparently sequestering the plant's poisons during digestion. Then, as adults, they seek out nectar that is rich in pyrrolizidine alkaloids, another toxin that doubles as a potent perfume for finding mates and just so happens to be noxious to humans. (Given their invisibility cloaks, it might be hard to use vision alone to find each other.) Males go a step further, incorporating these very toxins as a nuptial gift into the spermatophore (sperm packet) they offer to females. 

To put it succinctly, glasswing butterflies are delicate but toxic creatures that flutter slowly by, almost invisible to our eyes - but not our noses. They are rank. Given this biology, what is the reader to make of this haiku? That first kiss is often a special moment, flooding one's brain with dopamine and their stomach with … butterflies. Was this first kiss toxic? Did the kissers need to brush their teeth? First kisses can be fleeting, fragile moments, there for an instant, before dissolving into the ether, similar to a butterfly floating by (up and down, erratically). The poet crafts this moment using euphonious words - taste, kiss, glass - that align with the butterfly's physical beauty, even as they clash against what is experienced with our other senses.

March mizzle
a line of deer tracks
crawls with springtails

- Kristen Lindquist
  Camden, Maine

Springtails (Collembola) exist in abundance, roaming the soil surface, skittering across the surface of ponds, crawling through leaf litter, and living just about everywhere else in the terrestrial biosphere. Some studies suggest that these hexapods comprise almost a third of all terrestrial arthropods. Although they're individually quite small, usually less than 3 millimeters long, one typically finds them in groups. And these aggregations often make them easy to observe.

In this haiku, the reader encounters such a gathering of Collembola. A deer has passed through, leaving hoofprints in the mud. Springtails now fill these depressions, leaving footprints of their own. Perhaps they are smooth springtails (family Isotomidae), whose white bodies contrast against the rich, almost black earth. The opening line resonates with alliteration and euphony, setting the reader into a chilly, wet habitat. One can feel the misty drizzle against our faces, a sensation perhaps not too different from that of tiny springtail feet against humus. The amorphous nature of mizzle and the cloud of crawling (and jumping too?) springtails contrasts against the linearity of deer tracks and the sharp lines and acute angles of the footprints themselves. Collembolans hop about seemingly randomly and frantically, using a fork-like structure called a "furculum" on their tail ends. Deer, however, amble forward deliberately yet cautiously. Through these lines, a microcosm of the world around us is captured.

The arrangement of this haiku – short, long, longer – resembles a path of deer tracks. When the form of the poem enhances its interpretation, the author creates another layer of intrigue and meaning. Another notable feature of "March mizzle" is the way the focal point begins with a wide lens, narrows, and then narrows again. The reader's attention is gently guided from big to small. At times, the power of a haiku lies in what it does not say. For instance, "March mizzle" does not mention rain and yet it can be deduced the footprints have water in them. "Mizzle" may well suggest the tail end of a rainy day, or the precursor to one. 

 gentle autumn rain
— slanting sunlight discovers a spider web

- Clodagh O Connor
  Ireland

For more than 300 million years, spiders have been refining the art of silk spinning, combining proteins secreted from multiple glands in their abdomens to weave all kinds of specialized silken products. For example, dry silken sacs shield their eggs from desiccation, while delicate gossamer threads carry spiderlings in the wind off to new adventures. The underground tunnels of some spiders receive a silken mesh support that prevents cave-ins. Sticky silk strands stretched between sturdy guylines, spun from a different kind of silk, snare flying prey mid-air. Some spiders even spin a sheer sleeping bag to shelter in while they molt. Many of these silken forms blend into the background, while we focus on the seemingly ubiquitous and classic orb webs. Occasionally, though, we catch sight of delicate webs, when dusted with debris or droplets of water.

This haiku beautifully illustrates this type of discovery. While the gentle rain subsides, the sun begins peaking from behind the clouds and shines a ray of sunlight directly onto this delicate web. For just a moment, it can be seen and appreciated. The words chosen for this haiku are smooth sounding and can be read with a slow and gentle calmness that mirrors the weather. The slanting shape of this haiku also mirrors the slanting sunlight, which draws the reader's eye to the spider web. When the conditions are right and we are paying close attention, imagine the sights we can see and learn from. 

hazy sky . . . 
mealybugs clouding 
the hollyhocks

- Paula Sears 
  Exeter, New Hampshire

The insect family Pseudococcidae, commonly referred to as mealybugs, includes more than 2,000 species, many of which are common pests of plants that we care about. These insects are easy to observe, as they remain stationary on leaves and stems, while their long proboscides imbibe the sweet sap within the phloem (the "pipes" that run through most plants and which transport sap). Their bodies also stand out against the plant's green hues, as mealybugs coat themselves in a waxy, white powder (hence the term mealy) for protection against their sticky honeydew waste and pesky predators. And yet these compelling bugs are rarely referenced in haiku.

In this haiku the reader finds a moment during which mealybugs merge with the hollyhocks and clouds in the hazy sky, and create a comforting bokeh that reminds us of the slow passage of time. This effect is enhanced by the ellipsis in line 1 and the reference to hollyhocks, a "vintage" flower with its own mealy bits (i.e., the central column of stamens, covered in pollen). Sears' haiku has a particular rhythm which lends itself to being repeated out of a sense of delight for the sounds of the words and the way the poem unfolds. The stems of the y's conjure an image of the long and tall hollyhock stalks; on a more subtle level, the repetition of this letter poses the question 'why?' Why is this insect clouding the flowers? Why is the sky hazy? Why does summer feel so long? and so on. As is true with well written haiku, there is an element of openness in "hazy sky" which allows readers to wonder and imagine their own conclusion or ending. 

18 & Older Honorable Mentions

worker wasps
their last linger
by an empty nest

- Joanna Ashwell
  United Kingdom

Insects that are "eusocial" exhibit the following traits: (1) there is reproductive division of labor, where only the queen lays eggs; (2) the other colony members care for the queen's brood cooperatively; and (3) there are multiple generations present at any one time. In such a large, complex family, social harmony is vital for success. To that end, the queen typically emits a pheromone that signals to the rest of the colony that she is present and all is well. If the queen dies, entropy ensues. 

Perhaps in this haiku, the season has ended and only a few worker wasps remain after their nest mates have died from cold temperatures and lack of food. The middle line, "last linger", is a fantastic alliterative phrase that introduces ambiguity into the poem. What is meant by "last"? How long have they been lingering? And how does one know it is their last linger? This haiku exposes the passing of time while revealing beauty in the impermanence of this failing wasp nest. Wabi sabi at its best. 

morning sunshine
mining bees emerge
from their nest holes

- John Barlow
  United Kingdom

Most bee species are solitary, with females making nests in various substrates - twigs, logs, grasses, soil, etc., depending on the species - and provisioning them with pollen harvested from local flowers. There are seven families of bees, and one, Andrenidae, is commonly referred to as the "mining bees". Some bee species in other families share this life history, especially Colletidae, and sometimes are also called mining bees. In Pennsylvania they are among the first bees seen in the spring, emerging from often vast aggregations of holes in the ground.

This haiku has a light, expectant feel to it. Does the reader greet the bees as they emerge from their nest holes — "good morning, sunshine!" — or do the first words describe the morning sun of a bright, new day? The haiku provides a satisfying juxtaposition between the dark, underground burrows, where the bees developed, and the brightness of the sun as these industrious insects emerge for the day.

scent of grass
a ladybug launches
from my finger

- Mary Beth Defer
  Rocklin, California

More than 6,000 kinds of ladybird beetles, also known as ladybugs, have been discovered by scientists so far, and nearly all of them are predators. Some species are even deployed to control certain plant-eating pests, like aphids and scale insects. When disturbed by a potential predator, ladybird beetles exude toxic hemolymph (blood) from strategic locations on their bodies. This phenomenon is referred to as "reflex bleeding".

Ladybird beetles may be toxic predators, but they're also some of the most recognizable and approachable insects. This haiku is simple, light, and relatable. Each line conjures many sensations — the smell of fresh cut grass, the tiny tickles of a ladybug's feet on your finger, the warmth of summer, the sound of tiny beating wings. Defer's haiku exhibits intimate observation in a way that we expect many of the Hexapod Haiku Challenge participants have done themselves, because ladybugs are amazing insects to gently pick up, observe, and appreciate. The interaction with this beetle leaves the observer in awe of the mechanics of beetle flight. The use of "launch" in this haiku suggests wonderment. When preparing for take off, beetles typically spread their elytra (their hardened fore wings) and hold them high and out of the way. Then, their hind wings unfurl and beat up and down, creating enough lift for flight. If you haven't seen this before, it is worth your time to watch. 

tail-end of summer
as dusk darkens
a glow-worm

- David J Kelly
  Tewkesbury, United Kingdom

To qualify as a "glow worm", an insect must be worm-like and able to produce light from some portion of its body. Scientists refer to this phenomenon (glowing) as bioluminescence. The ability to generate light evolved multiple times independently in Hexapoda- and for different purposes. Firefly (Lampyridae) larvae, sometimes referred to as glowworms, pulse with a greenish gleam, to warn potential predators of their toxicity. Larvae and the pedomorphic (larva-like) females of a closely related family, Phengodidae, also bioluminesce. Their common name is "glowworm beetles", and the light is likewise used to warn predators of toxic defenses and perhaps also to signal one another. If we step back and examine the diversity of hexapods more broadly, we find at least one predaceous gnat in New Zealand, Arachnocampa luminosa (Keroplatidae), whose larvae are also called "glowworms". They live in groups inside caves and collectively generate blueish lights that mimic the starry sky. Night flying insects, who often navigate by stars, are lured by the glowworms into their sticky strands. Once immobilized, the glowworms feed on their catch.

The phrase "tail-end" at the front-end of this haiku is very intentional. It leads the reader's perception of all the things observed: summer ending, the fading dusk, and the glow worm's tail-end glowing (although not explicitly mentioned). The hyphenated phrases "tail-end" and "glow-worm" bookend the haiku in a way that is gratifying to look at on a page. The reader may also appreciate the juxtaposition of light and dark, and the vastness of a darkening sky and the smallness of a single glow-worm. Indeed, "dusk darkens" feels heavy to say, and further enhances the mood in this haiku. 

stop sharing fruit flies

- Biswajit Mishra
  Calgary, Canada

One problem with common names, like "fruit fly" (or "Andy"), is that they are shared by many, often unrelated organisms. Numerous species in the family Tephritidae are called "fruit flies", because they lay eggs in developing and ripening fruit. Some of these insects, like the Mediterranean fruit fly, Ceratitis capitata, are considered major agricultural pests. Others, like species in the genus Rhagoletis, serve as models in foundational scientific research that helps us understand the process of speciation. If we look at another dipteran family, Drosophilidae, we'll also find species referred to as "fruit flies". These tiny insects can be found circling the bowl of browning bananas in your kitchen, looking for fermenting microhabitats in which to lay their eggs. This family also includes the famous Drosophila of genetic research, a model organism that has revealed innumerous discoveries and led researchers to at least nine Nobel prizes.

This haiku references fruit flies, a rare subject in this medium, but adds only two additional words, in two alliterative phrases, to capture the moment. The reader's imagination, untethered by adjectives, punctuation, and line breaks, explores myriad interpretations. Perhaps one geneticist is restocking their mutant lines and needs to focus on the task at hand: "Stop, sharing fruit flies!" Or someone keeps bringing their old fruit into their neighbor's house: "Stop sharing your [drosophilid] flies!" Or a state agricultural inspector in California tells visitors to dispose of any fruit they brought into the state: "Stop sharing your [tephritid] flies!" Or groups of flies are moving between fruit in a bowl or berries on a bush: "Stop sharing, fruit flies!" Or someone issues a warning about contaminated fruit: "Stop sharing fruit! Flies!" This haiku is universally relatable, and leaves ample ambiguity for the reader to contemplate how it should be interpreted. There is also a lightness in the haiku. It leaves readers thinking…and smiling. The Japanese aesthetic of karumi, or lightness, reminded us of the near weightlessness of a fruit fly.

Special Category – Arthropod Recyclers

12 & Under Laureate

termite's end
glistening string of sap
in the oak

- Claire Zhao
  New Zealand

The first two lines of this haiku offer a mystery. Do they refer to the termite's abdomen (tail end) … or its death (end of life)? Is the string of sap truly the fluid that carries sugars and minerals throughout the tree's vascular system — i.e., its life force? Or does the reader witness the dripping defensive secretions of some trees, sometimes called "sap" or "resin"? Perhaps we are all witnessing the first stage of an amber fossil, which begins when an insect gets trapped, meeting its end in the sticky resin. The second line provides euphony through a series of s sounds. When spoken slowly the line feels almost sticky, like the sap that traps our termite.

The author writes not of the action of recycling, but of termites more generally. These insects are considered recyclers because they break down wood, aided by a complex community of microbes in their hind guts, who provide the requisite enzymes. Some species even recycle parts of their own bodies by eating their own exuviae (the exoskeleton shed after an insect molts). Their old skin is rich in nitrogen, an element critical to survival but which is rare in diets composed primarily of wood. The contrast between the viscous sap, the termite's soft body, and the hardness of the oak feels symphonic, a pleasing blending of sounds, textures, and colors!  

13 - 17 Laureate

rotting log-
a millipede stitching
the forest back together

- Alizetta Dawson
  Newcastle, Australia 

Nearly 15,000 species of millipedes are known worldwide, and they are understood to be vital components of forest nutrient-cycling systems. These arthropods break down dead vegetation, for example leaf litter and rotting fruit, into smaller, semidigested nuggets of sustenance for other forest organisms to reclaim. Although the name "millipede" means "thousand legs", only one species in Australia has been documented as reaching that level of polypedism.

A long, leggy millipede body almost conjures visions of a sutured wound. In this moment the reader observes a millipede recycling vital nutrients, previously locked in a matrix of cellulose and lignin (wood). As bits of rotting log break down in the millipede's gut and are deposited from its back end, the resulting nitrogen and other substances refresh the soil. Perhaps a storm brought this log to the forest floor. The millipede stitches up this wound in the canopy, allowing the forest to heal. The three lines reveal one log, one millipede, and one forest. The singularity of this haiku is quite captivating, because of what is unstated: the process of decay takes many years and involves many players, yet here is just one millipede doing its part. The use of a hyphen denotes a break in scene as our attention is moved from the log to the insect.  

Given ongoing disruptions to the balance of nature, this compelling haiku reassures the reader that the cycle of life, decay and regeneration, is ongoing … and healing! 

Adult Laureates

kelp flies swarm
the sea wrack
spring tide

- Farah Ali
  United Kingdom

Flies are extraordinarily diverse, with more than 150,000 species worldwide, classified into upwards of 150 families. One reason for this success is their adaptability; no matter how exotic the food or hostile the habitat, there seems to be a fly that can exploit it. The family Coelopidae, for example, survives by feeding on rotting seaweed, in the beach wrack - a nutrient-rich, if unpleasant (to us) resource, baked by sun and soaked in salt. These insects are commonly referred to as seaweed or kelp flies, and they exist in large numbers when conditions are ripe. They are an important part of the process to break down dead seaweed and return those nutrients to the system.

Despite their abundance in environments where humans relax, we know of no other haiku that offers the reader a moment to share with kelp flies. Yet this novelty was not the only element that stood out. Engaging the senses, these three lines manage to produce a rich palette of smells (an ocean, the sharp earthy scent of kelp, sunscreen), textures (shifting sand, the rough edges of dried seaweed), and sounds (waves, swarming flies) to accompany the visual scene. This haiku is also composed of mellifluous words - kelp, swarm, wrack - that made reading aloud pleasant. In haiku, a poet may select a word which suggests a related word due to its spelling or pronunciation, and thereby establishes the dynamic of a shadow word. "Wreck," closely aligned with "wrack," deftly adds weight and meaning to the decay facilitated by kelp flies swarming the sea wrack. 

compost heap -
earwigs threading
apple cores

- David Anson Lee
  Bellaire, Texas

Thousands of insect species feed on decomposing organic materials, a life history trait referred to as "saprophagy". Most earwigs (Dermaptera) feed this way, and some common species are easily found in compost heaps. By eating our leftovers, these insects break down large material into smaller, digested chunks, changing the physical and chemical composition such that the former food becomes food again, but for plants, fungi, and microbes. 

In this haiku, the kigo or season word "apple" signifies autumn, a time of transition and change, which compliments the turnover and change the arthropods are imparting on the compost. One can imagine the earwigs chewing down the apple cores, with small grooves left behind, almost like the threads on a screw. "Threading" is the key word in this haiku, and is somewhat ambiguous. It may describe the insects' movements through the compost, along the apple core, or even the act of bringing order to the heap. The poem is concise, totalling a mere six words, and in this regard each and every word advances the haiku in an effective way.

split oak—
beetles hollowing
into old summers

- Zsolt L. Rakusz
  Budapest, Hungary

Wood is an abundant but difficult food source to digest, yet hundreds to thousands of woodboring beetle species have evolved to feed on it. Entomologists hypothesize that woodboring is one of the earliest life strategies in Coleoptera evolution, dating back at least 270 million years. Some borers, such as bark beetles in the family Curculionidae, feed in the cambium, the living tissue just beneath a tree's bark, while others have specialized mandibles and digestive systems that let them tunnel deep into the dry, lignified wood itself (Ptinidae, Bostrichidae, some Cerambycidae, and many others).

In seven simple words, this haiku conveys a beautiful illustration of this life history. "Beetles hollowing into old summers" is such a unique way to describe the observation of wood boring beetles feeding deep into a tree's heartwood. The beetles are chewing out deep hollow tunnels through the growth rings of a tree, with every ring representing another summer past that the oak has lived. "Beetles hollowing into" is a unique expression of an action. "Hollowing out" is the more conventional term when describing a process of boring; readers will appreciate this variation. This haiku touches upon the recycling nature of the beetles, whose lives are sustained by the tree's dead wood. The em dash serves as a visual representation of the split in the oak tree, which allows us this remarkable view. There is a contrast of scale as well, in the quick life of a beetle compared against the oak, which might have lived for hundreds (or thousands!) of years.

Adult Honorable Mentions

the cool underbelly
of a plucked turnip
teeming pillbugs

- Jeremy Haworth
  Ireland

When arthropods moved onto land more than 400 million years ago, multiple times after radiating extensively in the oceans, they had to adapt to a radically different environment. Every life function — locomotion, respiration, digestion, reproduction, etc. — required new strategies, in a hostile world of heat and air. With bodies no longer supported by the density of water, for example, they evolved stronger limbs. Surrounded by oxygen dissolved in gas, instead of liquid, arthropods needed to change gills into lungs (or breathing tubes). The constant threat of desiccation also drove the evolution of new traits and behaviors. Some arthropods evolved a wax-coated cuticle, while others sought moist comfort under stones and soil, emerging only at night to walk about. 

Pillbugs (Isopoda), which are more closely related to crabs and crayfish than they are to insects, fall into the latter category. One finds them hiding in leaf litter and feeding on rotting plant material. In this haiku, the readers stumble upon pillbugs in such a place … and catch a glimpse of their evolutionary history. The "cool underbelly"  of the turnip offers sanctuary from the harsh surface environment - a temporary sanctuary, as it turns out. Their home (and food?) is plucked from the earth.

With no verb in this haiku, only a suggestion of one, the adjective-noun pattern in each of the three lines creates a satisfying rhythm in total. Haworth's haiku reminds us of Kobayashi Issa, a master haiku poet who wrote haiku which were attentive to small things, such as insects.

all the children
squirm for a look
maggot apple

- John Ward Hocter
  Columbus, Ohio

This haiku highlights our natural fascination with the bizarre – in this case, maggots, and our occasional resemblance to them. The words are also fun to say: squirm, maggot, apple. "Squirm" here describes the children's behavior, but it also alludes to the object of their fascination: maggots. Young and writhing children watch young and writhing larvae. The last line, with its double g's and double p's - "maggot apple" - provides a lighthearted and humorous surprise. The second apple haiku selected by the panel of judges, this one denotes autumn and decay as well but during a more playful and child-centered moment.

Thank you everyone for participating in the 2026 Hexapod Haiku Challenge. We invite you to share the contest with friends, family, and fellow writers, and we hope to see you again next year!