Haiku Kukai 4

Global Haiku • Millikin University • January 2016

winter night
just as I warm up
you sneak back in

after my
morning coffee
said the female dog

today is the day
they keep walking
they never see me

the guacamole
with my sushi
my mouth on fire

placing my graduation cap
on the child's head
you're next

dad's crackled baseball glove
escapes from
charity every year

crescent moon
greets two love birds
a warm smile

only one set of
footprints
remain in the sand

face planted in the ground
watering the grass
with her tears

position slipping
stuck between rocks
amputated forearm

I've got plenty of
time . . .
overdue

your scent,
constantly lingering
as if you never left

miniature pots and pans
passing down
family recipes

waves in the tide pool
rippling back
to a prehistoric time

cherry pie . . .
the last desert
before you went away

stuck in traffic
noticing the satin
glimmer from skyscrapers

cold dungeons
only my thoughts
to keep me company

singing to themselves
          my girls
   in their own world

knocked to my seat
my face covered in saliva
he thinks he is a Corgi

winding road
up the mountain—
don't look down!

silent forest
breath in . . . out
she's finally free

your bedside empty
the warm blankets
I keep for myself

taking grandpa's boat
on the lake,
biggest catch all year

ready   1  2
accelerates my heartbeat
not looking down

grown man
home run ball
hand still stings

floating . . .
a Beta in the water
however, not dead yet

copy machine
out of ink,
just needed one more

jilted . . .
she goes to the beach
to be with the sun

sunny day
windows down . . .
hair in tangles

dreaming dog
twitches her paws
chasing squirrels

the clock strikes 12
ringing in a new year
the same loneliness

the painting on the wall
two tall thin trees
and their shadows

rusty iron gate
a butterfly
takes its place

hesitant to jump
here goes nothing
free f
      a
       l
      l

wet wipe
she removes
the day's war paint
sigh of relief

behind the bushes
watching my cats on the deck
a coyote

sun shinning through the window
my cat takes his place on my bed
absorbing the warmth

twin fawns
resting in the grass
the tennis court gate

a broken chair
wooden porch
lightning in the sky

the deer
I couldn't look at . . .
hanging in the garage

under the blanket
surrounded by warmth
longing

mine, mine, mine
I met . . .
the girl of my dreams

forever and ever
family gathers
when he takes a knee

the coffee cold
in the thermos
still I drink it

rain pouring down
I tilt my head back
embracing it

Sand slides
down the hourglass—
she buttons her Sunday blouse.

windows down
the cool night breeze
wraps around her

she stops the traffic . . .
mama duck
leading her babies

Daydreaming
Powerball?
High School gym teacher

rocking the canoe
stuck on a boulder
splash!

Two-year anniversary dinner
black velvet box!
. . . earrings again.

my mother's old gown
I take it on my journey
down the aisle

Sweltering summer night,
their clothes
remain on the shore.

the curse
WALKINIG in
Grandpa's sneakers

wooden dock
her toes skim the water—
the lone wolf howls.

my brother's secret
dad cries when
the phone rings

other side of the bed
her pillow lies empty
the scent of lavender

sudden pain
he told her about me
I don't know her . . .

moment of silence
before we feast—
grandpa says grace

yelling frantically
held captive to the sight
urgent medical care

crescent moon hanging high
staring back
I find myself

full dinner table—
thump, thump
the dog's tail below us.

first snowfall
a young girl with rosy cheeks
catches a snowflake on her tongue

bed hog
nudges, growls
after all I am your master

One shoe . . .
She walks to the bedroom—
Ahh, the other.

silent apartment . . .
a single candle
flickers on the table

© 2016, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.