Kukai 1 - Open Topic

Global Haiku Tradition--Kukai 1, Spring 2006
(Select 8-12 favorite haiku, and write a ¶ of imagined response to 3 favorites.)

mailed in a shoebox
teardrops salt your cookies
weeks after you’ve gone

humid noon
children play in the creek
with wet clay

moonlight
lake water takes my breath
skinny dipping

stiff mittens
brittled scarf
buttery insides

frozen pond
the gash on my chin
painless

a comfort to know
candlelight vigils
for all those “Nice Guys”

I reach for her hand
she does not retreat
now what?

up the stairs
running swiftly
my cats

sleepy musicians
watch the sun rise
a yellow school bus

adjusting my dress—
hands shake and breathing shallow
I wait for my fate

after so many words
I realize
I haven’t said much

a gasp—
before the applause
after the music

green grass
spotted by stones in rows
a flower wilts

shoulders hunched
the chill fall rain beats them down
overdue books

late evening sun
covering the swimming pool
a good book

two kindred beings
the dance cut short by deceit
back to loneliness

eight am
from inside the shower
Buscemi is singing

a new beginning
writing mindless words
housemates being loud

stary night
a cricket’s lullaby
outside my tent

Florida morning
before the sunrise
bed’s warmth gone

a child’s gift
painted rock in neon paint
for Grandpa’s headstone

restless daybreak walk
the burning bush before me
calms me

What am I?
A whisper
or your shadow?

all my words
seem to fail
when she cries

the knight stops
dropping his sword
he gasps for breath

shaking finger slides
under the crisp folded edge—
who sends their love?

New Year's Day
passed out on the couch
someone I don't know

brisk wind
sitting around the campfire
harmonica's melody

a young girl
the trumpets blare
in the autumn breeze

last note shatters
against the frozen night sky
Dona nobis pacem

Grandfather
we glide across the lake
coffee and a sunrise

old car
chugs in the winter chill
its destination unknown

walking home from aerobics
stale sweat
freezes my shirt

new books new backpack
a nervous young girl waits in line
outside the school

cold hands
slip into hers
brisk summer walk

traveling Sister
seagulls call
will she come home?

three little girls
singing wildly off-key
splashing mom

the pitter patter of rain
like the steps of my children
who once lived here

twinkle, twinkle
you’ve been practicing
gold star

numbed fingers
grope at
orange rind

hiking
daddy long legs cross
the fallen tree

quiet girl
walks away from her past
in hot pink pumps

tight hands on the wheel
rain drops fall
into cupped palms

steam escapes
from underneath my blanket
rubbing my shins

silence in the theatre
teenagers chuckle
at someone's fart

newspaper boy creeps by
us in the dark
talked the night away

mist rises
from the pool as I
swim into sunrise

waffles pop up
grandma pours the
powdered sugar

rain on our faces
breathlessly laughing
soggy shoes

rhythmic breathing
wrapped in warmth and down
as I fall…asleep

celery-green curtains
made into overalls
the walls of Mom’s bathroom

little tomboy
stuck between two brothers
alone

signal tower
blinking a warning
above the green field

packing and rolling
stack them in the freezing rain
our man turns to ice

cold winter chill
gives you an excuse
to hold me closer

quiet night
your cold hands on my face
freeze my tears

the shaking ground
my shivering body
longest train ever

tears fall silent—
you turn to leave me
my favorite mistake

chill of winter
at the cemetery
wreaths are blown over

burning wind in her face
the runner takes off
across the dirt field

her best friend
the smell of laundry
in the air

abandoned house
unfit for humans
footsteps

last goodbye
waving
as the elevator closes

slurps of chocolate milk
I open an eye
viewing my personal I.V.

dad saddened
my eyes full of
alligator tears

delicious blustery wind
cools my head . . .
i chase after it

migraine’s heat
washcloth’s cooling touch
on my forehead

last year’s pants
exposing chubby ankles—
new grass tickles

beautiful sunrise
half shadowed face
yanks curtain

bundled
beside her
never too close

your lined hands
shape doughy figure eights—
and me

the sun breathes heavily
I stretch
cloaked in radiant darkness

humid night
taking the first-year campers
snipe hunting

barefoot in the snow
the dog relieves himself
I join him

cold November night
rocking back and forth
the car with fogged windows


© 2006, Randy Brooks • Millikin University • last updated: January 25, 2006
All rights returned to authors upon publication.