Let’s start with the excuse that makes me look good:

 

If you’ve ever taken a creative writing class, you’ve probably been advised to put a freshly written piece in your desk drawer and leave it there for a few weeks before going back to rework it, the idea being that you’ll be a more objective critic of your own work if you’ve given the excitement of completing the first draft enough time to dissipate. Well, it kind of works the same way when you’re given the opportunity to read something—that someone else wrote—for the first time. Infatuation takes but a moment to set in; lasting love, on the other hand, takes time. So, I read your baiku as they came in, but was quickly overwhelmed with admiration for your work and decided to shut that digital desk drawer for a while and wait until I could objectively assess the submissions. Weeks passed. 32,000 people went on a bike ride together. Spring sprung. —And then the baiku beckoned. They had waited long enough. They were ready to meet the world, and I would be there to greet them in all their glory…

 

OK, now real talk: I got all busy in the lead-up to the Tour, and then the Tour happened, which was awesome, and then pretty much everyone at Bike New York spent the month of May convalescing and catching up on sleep, during which time yours truly suffered through multiple unpleasant dreams about signage and losing his walkie-talkie on Tour day. Once I emerged from the fog of Post-Tour Stress Disorder delirium, I’d quite frankly forgotten about the baiku contest. Luckily, my communications compadre, Sam Polcer, who really runs this show, was there to remind me of promises made in days of yore (i.e. before the Tour). So here we are, with a selection of our favorite baiku, some brief commentary, and the announcement of our bike haiku contest winner. Without further ado—the baiku!

---

Invented because

Volcano caused crop failure

No feed for horses

(Submitted by The Hicks Family)

 

This one made the cut because the story it references blew my mind, even if it might be apocryphal.

---

Don’t want to cycle!

But, the sounds, sensations, sights!

The pull of the bike!

(Submitted by Heidi Soliday)

 

To be incredibly reductive, I think a good poem hits you fast—not necessarily all at once, but fast. Anyone who considers themselves a cyclist will immediately recognize the sentiment described here. I often experience it in bed in the morning, when I’m running late for work or I didn’t get enough sleep, when I feel I can’t push myself to ride. But the site of my bike hanging from its hook and the foreknowledge of the riches that await me once I get rolling somehow manage to pull me out of bed and, the next thing I know, I’m five miles out and I can’t recall ever not wanting to be in the saddle.

---

Half a block too late

My bike face

Changes to a smile

(Submitted by Laurie House)

 

I love this one because it forces the reader to wonder—What made her smile? Why was she a block too late? Why can’t she turn around? Does she turn around? Is the speaker’s bike face as weird and strained as Fabio Aru’s?

---

“How many square feet

is your living space?” she asked.

By bike, it’s millions.

(Submitted by Matt Cline)

 

As a poetic form, the haiku traditionally speaks to private experience, and so dialogue seldom finds its way into the poem’s 17 syllables. Here, however, a second party intrudes into the poem with what could be construed as an intrusive question, given that we as readers know nothing of the relationship between the two individuals. Immediately, the poet responds (Note that he does so internally: there are no quotation marks around his response.) to establish his autonomy, thanks to the bicycle, of course, both in the poem and in the world. 

---

Butt sore from hard seat

Spandex creeping up, but still

Better than running

(Submitted by Lydia Devlin)

 

It’s just true. ‘Nuff said.

---

Time to saddle up

Got a helmet on my head, of course

Safety is sexy

(Submitted by Jay Epelman)

 

Also true.

---

With joy ride the path

Gazing up at the stars and

Down at the potholes

(Submitted by Blaise Barron)

 

A profound meditation on the opposites inherent to cycling. I believe, and I think many would agree, that biking is a physical means to a spiritual experience, yet these two modes of being—corporeality and spirituality—must be kept in balance: if you’ve got your head completely in the clouds, you’ll be on the ground in no time; if you only pay attention to your Garmin, you’ll miss out on the transcendence cycling offers.

---

Dad’s got a clothespin

Dangling from his right pant cuff.

He biked home again.

(Submitted by Rebecca Saunders)

 

This great domestic vignette speaks to one of my favorite things about cycling, namely how wonderfully communal it can be while simultaneously leaving plenty of space for individuality. It’s also a testament to the unifying semiotics of a community—when the daughter sees the clothespin, she knows exactly what her dad has been up to. Similarly, the tell-tale black imprint of a chainring on a calf reveals the individual thus marked, regardless of whether a bike is anywhere in sight, as one of Us.

---

Tires are made to ride

On the road and also make

Me tired as I go.

(Submitted by Ana Morales)

 

The wordplay in this one is wonderful: tires transform from a noun into a verb, the verb “ride” slips into an echo of its past simple form and becomes a “road,” agency bounces around from bike to bicyclist as the tires tire out the speaker, who in turn tires out the tires as she rides. This poem reads like the blur of a speeding cyclist. I just made myself dizzy.

---

And now for the winner of our first annual baiku contest!

 

Early morning light

Grey dawn pushing through the night

Pedaling and free

 

The sight of a bird

The quiet hum of the chain

Serene and private

(Submitted by Doyle Adamp)

 

Doyle didn’t indicate whether these were to appear in tandem, or as standalone baiku, but I can’t help but read them together. As one rotation of the cranks leads seamlessly into the next, so too do these baiku read into one another. I love the rhyming of two seemingly opposite phenomena in the first baiku (“light” and “night”), and, in the second, the juxtaposition of a symbol of freedom (bird) and a symbol of bondage (chain) that is subverted by its application to a mechanism of movement. The union of opposites is an essential aspect of the experience of riding a bike—pain and joy, effort and release, pushing down and pulling up, man and machine. Bashō would’ve appreciated this one.

---

Thanks so much to everyone who submitted a poem, or two, or ten. Keep riding and keep writing!