Global Haiku Tradition • Spring 2006
Katie Steimann (MU '05) was our guest kukai judge.
Her favorites comments are purple. Student comments are orange.
| hot summer night |
resting on moss Traci Rapp This haiku made me think of my senior year of high school in AP English class. One morning, our teacher decided to surprise us by taking us outdoors to have class. It was the warmest day we had had so far that semester. The trees were starting to bloom, the temperature was perfect, and as cliché as this sounds, the birds were chirping with life. As we took in the beauty of the day, we also took in the beauty of the poetry we were focusing on. Although we weren’t reading Byron that day, this haiku reminded me of this event. As I recall, we were working on American modernism and read William Carlos Williams outside of our school. There’s something about having class outsides that frees your mind. Perhaps it’s subconsciously symbolic; without physical walls, we are able to break down our mental walls and begin to think freely. Pat Steadman |
helping the nurse Stephanie Dietrich My imagination ran wild with this haiku. All I could see was a young nursing student, trying desperately to excel in her first hands on experience, failing miserably because all she could do was laugh at this poor patient. The author also holds me in suspense with the hyphen. I kept thinking, what’s going to happen when he flips over? Will it be scary? O, it’s just his butt. Ok. Humor was a great addition to this haiku. Erin Wyant I found this haiku to be a humorous memory from three years of hardship my father endured a couple years ago. He went through two years of chemotherapy and underwent three surgeries--colon, liver and lungs. He was able, though, to maintain, his sense of humor throughout. During one of his hospital stays, wearing a dreaded hospital gown, he was embarrassed when he flashed a crowd of people when going on his daily walk. When it happened a second time, he didn't mind because he thought everyone should have the pleasure, as he said, of seeing his bare behind. Elizabeth Braden |
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sitting alone Alisha Goebel (8) I loved the feeling this one gave me – even though it gave me chills! I think that every girl, at some point, has cried in the shower! I also liked the way that this one was split up. “Sitting alone” starts the feeling of emptiness and then “I can’t tell” generalizes it; it could be anything that the person is unsure about. It turns out to be the shower and this statement specifies the haiku back down and makes it a situation everyone can relate to. Still though, there is an element that allows the reader to shape the setting to whatever they want. I just really thought this was a well written haiku. Rachel Cook At some point, everyone cries in the shower; it’s an essential life experience. On the day that my grandmother died, I awoke to the sound of my mother crying in the shower. The fact that it awoke me is impressive; our shower is rather loud, and I am a rather heavy sleeper. To this day, I don’t know why she went to the shower to cry. Perhaps it was a symbolic washing away of any feelings of guilt or regret she had that pertained to her mother. I remember that day being gray—not only in weather, but also in feeling. It was a rainy day; the kind of day when it doesn’t stop raining. It’s funny the things we notice in hindsight. I didn’t think of this until now, but that day was filled with downpours of all kinds. Pat Steadman This haiku creates a striking mental image. It also gives the reader a very strong sense of loneliness. It’s awful to feel so alone and need to cry, but to be in college (or someplace equally without privacy) and not have privacy to do so anywhere but the shower. The haiku makes the reader almost feel the hot tears combining with the shower water. Sarah Corso |
off the trail |
truck bed rendezvous Melanie McLay (5) This haiku exhibits an excellent use of the break. You are in such a different place in the first two lines than the third. I was totally into it and then there was this great “Eww” moment. I read the haiku for one of my roommates, and I knew the power of it was universal because she had the same reaction. It has wonderful shock value. Still, the haiku is subtle, not in content, but in wording. The picture is painted rather than stated. There is a sense of urgency, the heat of lust and need. You are caught up in the moment just as the people in the truck bed are. Then, you realize that in their spontaneity and reckless abandon, they have set themselves out as bait. They are being eaten alive by mosquitoes. It is a hot, humid, summer night, in more ways than one. I still picked this as a favorite even though I have a minor suggestion. It may be a typo, but should “mosquito’s” be plural, not singular? The way it is printed it says that only one mosquito was feasting, when it would surely be many, many more. Katie Steimann |
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2 a.m. pep talk |
across the Serengeti |
winter’s chill |
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the broken limb Brian Blankenship (8) This haiku was the first to strike my interest as I was reading through, and I remembered it even after reading the entirety of the kukai selections. I starred it immediately and made some sort of exclamation; an “Ah,” or “Oh” moment. Haiku for me is an expression of the complex within the simple; a whole world in a tiny moment. The combination of the broken limb and the mother crying gives this haiku a sense of heartache that would not have been translated without the inclusion of both elements. Not only is the sadness inherent, but the season is translated without blatant statement. Magnolias are most noticed in spring as they flower and then drop their petals within a very short time span. I see the tree somewhere between fully in bloom and barren. It is no longer in its full glory and is wilting, just as the mother and its broken limb are pained. There is no way to know what has happened, but the sense of loss is immense. Such wonderful imagery and intense emotion are present in these three short lines. Katie Steimann I know this is supposed to be an imagined response, but first I want to say that I think this is the best haiku of the entire kukai. It masters the ninjo-nashi by providing a well-written sense of kigo that relates to the final “thesis line.” As for an imagined response, I picture the sharp angle of the broken limb of a tree. Once a tree in my backyard was struck by lightening, so I imagine the magnolia tree to resemble that jagged bark wound. Beside the broken limb, I can see magnolia flowers floating to the earth. In the background, sobbing can be heard. Natalie Perfetti |
climbing over Allison Lingren I like the very literal imagery for such a metaphorical haiku. The choice of the word “climbing” is an interesting one which creates a very vivid image of the act and, I think, very well describes the difficulty of and the effort involved in the situation. And overall, I think the message is a very effective one. The idea of having to fight your way to hurdle over the words that some people put up as a façade to keep others from their true being I think is one the most readers could relate to in American culture, if not all over the world. I also like the identification of the words as being “empty” – holding nothing of real value or substance – their only function being used as a blockade to deter anyone from getting too close. Not much more I can really analyze about this piece, just a really nice haiku in my opinion. Brian Blankenship I liked this haiku because of it’s use of the word “climbing.” The idea of an empty mask covering the core of a person is not a new one. I don’t think it’s been around long enough to consider it cliché, but it is not an original one. The addition of the verb “climbing,” however, captures the effort one must make to get beyond a person’s mask. It’s a very visual one, and adds a lot to this haiku. I would like it even better, however, if the last word were “care,” instead of “core.” I actually thought it did at first, and liked it even better. I think that that would add another dimension to the person doing the hiding. Stephanie Dietrich |
cool breath of morning |
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truck dies at midnight |
dark, large room |
the street minstrel |
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Every year the age-group State swimming competition was held at the natatorium at IUPUI. This aquatic center is one of the best pools in the nation. In fact, the Olympic Time Trials have been held there in years past. I liken this pool to the medieval town of George Swede’s haiku. In this place something extraordinary, something historical occurred. I swam down the lane as the author walked over those aged steps; conscious of their import and grandeur. The author realizes his/her insignificance as a mere tourist. Likewise, I felt dwarfed by the majesty of a pool swam in by Olympians. With each stroke, I could imagine the kick and pull of a professional athlete. I could note the disciplined gaze with which they regarded the pool as they crouched over the blocks. small waves
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This woman is far away for a longer time span than a couple days or even a week. She is frustrated with traveling, packing, moving, and unpacking. She has been away from her lover for so long she doesn't even care about packing all of her things nicely and neatly. She doesn't even worry about how big of an odeal this situation is to her. She packs all of her things quickly, not caring that her bags are heavy and awkward. She is running down th stairs toward her unlocked, fully loaded down car. She throws her last bags in so she can get to her lover as quickly as possible. This lover of her's is not a new found treasure. This is an old, favorite type of love, a love that is so deep being away from that person makes one's heart ache. laughing as Alisha Goebel (9) Technically, this would be considered a senryu for its humor, but I couldn’t pass it up because it is so clever. Haiku is also a venue for looking at old things in a new way. This haiku most certainly exhibits that quality. As soon as you read the first two lines you begin to laugh at the thought; at the place it brings you too. Again, like the second haiku, there is a wonderful use of the break, which gives you a second to build a picture and then adds to it. “Dishes” makes you laugh at how you were tricked previously, and also gives you a clear picture of the kitchen and a couple at the sink washing and drying dishes. Though some would argue that this isn’t a true haiku because it lacks some sort of nature or seasonal element, I am not of that belief. As long as you are able to inspire a reaction, a feeling and a vivid picture, your haiku is complete. Katie Steimann Again, my imagination ran wild. As in the other haiku I enjoyed, the author sets up their reader for suspense. What exactly is going on? What will happen? O wait, we’re just talking about dishes. I felt let down a little bit, and at the same time felt stupid for not realizing what the haiku was going to talk about. Erin Wyant |
The summer air had been crackling with anticipation for hours. Storms always made Kat anxious. Not because she was afraid of them, but because they always seemed to remind her that she was incomplete. The electricity in the air seemed to fill the empty spaces of her heart, until she felt so alive that she knew she would burst. But she never did. The rain always came, and washed away the anticipation, until she was empty again. And all that remained was dissatisfaction and a longing to find the person who could fill the holes. Still, Kat loved thunderstorms. Storms reminded her that she has an incredible bond with a person she hasn’t yet met. Otherwise, how could the reminder of his existence be so agonizingly glorious? wide awake again Allison Lingren This haiku is all about dreaming. All girls dream about being in love and being “rescued” by their knight in shining armor. It’s just how we are. Here I can imagine a girl waking up in the middle of the night. It’s one of those dreams that you can’t quite remember, and you lay there for a few moments in silence just thinking and desperately trying to remember your dream. She can remember the feeling that encompassed the dream: feelings of fulfillment and happiness, but cannot remember why. It comes to her suddenly and unexpectedly: she remembers dreaming about her knight in shining armor and cannot wait to meet him now. Faith J. Martin |
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Mercury awoke with a jolt! An alarm was growing louder and louder as
she struggled to regain consciousness. Recognizing that her face bondage
was merely her entangled bed sheets, and that her bomb scare was quickly
sounding like Bon Jovi’s latest tune from her alarm clock radio,
she took in a deep breath. Bad choice. Mercury let out a loud “gwaff”
reflecting the smells from last night’s tantrum. She recounted how
at three in the morning she had come home to stubbornly throw her body,
black boots and all, onto her bed and wail. After two hours of a snot
filled, mascara dripping, bullhorn cry she begrudgingly fixed two cheese
and broccoli “Hot Pockets” which she consumed in her cave
of sheets. The stench not only reeked of circus aroma, but more over,
of self-pity. late night cry Traci Rapp I really like this haibun because I felt that it was very truthful and realistic. It didn’t try to romanticize the scene, it just told it like it was. I loved the phrase “circus aroma,” too. I think that everyone would have their own take on what that would smell like -- depending on the circuses they’ve been to, of course. Allison Lingren |
Ah, one of the best philosophical conversations I’ve ever had. My friends and I end up in at Denny’s after large-scale events like homecoming games, big dances, late-night movies, play practices, scholastic bowl tournaments and choir concerts. The amount of people can range from just two or three to dozens of people filling up an entire section of the restaurant! Aside from making lots of fun memories (like the time my friend Thane sent his tea back twice because it wasn’t prepared in the proper English fashion) and driving all the waitresses crazy, we usually end up in those late-night philosophical discussions that tend to pop up when people are tired or sleep-deprived. Sometimes we’ll sit in the restaurant long after we’ve finished eating (hours even), with just scraps left on the plate, talking for hours about religion, politics, and the meaning of life. The waitresses come around to refill our coffees and sodas, and occasionally ask if we want any pie. Eventually we’ll leave, but often it’s to go to someone’s house or to drive around so we can finish our conversation. pancakes and pie full hair steaming cups of coffee Sarah Corso (5) I really like this Haiku because it brings me back to the days of 2am Ihop with my friends. We would be out all night driving, visiting other friends, listenig to music and at the end of the night we would head over to the IHOP which was open 24 hours on the weekends. That is where the talk of music and friends turned to the nature of man in the world. You see me and a few of my best friends were hugh philosophy junkies and we would sit in that IHOP after eating our breakfast samplers and speak of why man acted in the way he did, the nature of phycology and how it affected politics (and why it was the weak suseptable mind of the average man that was actually holding him back and not us persecuted socialist quasi-intelectuals) and Existesialism. We would drink countless cups of coffee and sit there for at least 2 or three hours before retiring to our homes to sleep until 2;30. This poem just realy brought me back to those days. Andrew Barnick |
My grandma keeps a picture of my late grandpa and uncle. She talks to them sometimes and looks to them always, as she struggles to adjust to a new life. Anymore, she’s unable to clean the house by herself, so occasionally family members go in to help her. We always make an extra effort on days that would be harder for her, birthdays and anniversaries. From this image, I am reminded of when she used to work in nursing homes and my brother and I would visit the patients with her. They would have pictures of husbands and wives who had died. Some were from their wedding day years ago, while others were more recent. It was a terribly lonely feeling, seeing them left behind and losing their identities. This haiku reminds me of them, every day being stuck in the nursing home and missing the people they loved most. lost last couple Ryne Inman I imagined an old couple in a nursing home together. Usually there is only one person per room in the nursing home, but after sharing a bed together so long there was no way he could sleep in their bed at home alone. So with a little and a heartfelt request the nursing home allowed him to stay in the home even though he wasn’t a resident. They had even brought in an extra bed and placed them side-by-side so it was the same size as their king size bed back home. It was there that he lay holding his wife’s hand and stroking her silver hair as she took her last breaths. In the morning they both lay silent and still. Without her, he couldn’t live. Corinne Frankenstein Ryne Inman (3) I like this one because it doesn't really say who "Frankenstein" is. I can only assume that the author did not mean the monster or the doctor from the book of the same title. I imagine that the author woke up someone on their floor in the dorm who wasn't quite ready to be woken up. It really creates a vivid image of how angry and haggard the person yelling must have been. I also like how the haiku creates two separate feelings: it invokes terror and laughter at the same time. The terror comes from the yelling, while the humor comes from the choice of the word Frankenstein. Brian Rohde I liked this haiku for one reason, and one only; the word Frankenstein. That is such a wonderful way to describe how ugly a person looks when they’re angry. Very nice choice of words. The funny this about this haiku is that due to the fact that I can be kind-of irritating sometimes, I have been kick out of friends’ rooms in anger before. In fact, there was an occasion of this just a few days ago, leading many of my friends to think that I was the author of this haiku. They were very surprised to hear that I hadn’t, especially since it sounds very much like something I myself would write. I’m actually a little surprised myself that I didn’t’ write it first! Stephanie Dietrich |
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his breath |
the burning sun Erin Wyant (9) As usual i pick a romantic haiku to talk about, sometimes i grow concerned that im getting to soft, but anyway... This haiku was awsome due to the fact that is completely sums up the unsire nature of love. This persons speaks of how they assume that it is the sun warming them, but then second guess this assumption and thinks of how it may very well be the thought of the man that they love and the memory of this persons hand on their cheek. the poem has this kind of internal conflict in i almost as if the person can not decide whether or not love is the thing that is warming them, as if they are fight their emotions. Andrew Barnick I love the imagery in this haiku. I can picture two teens “in love” walking to the park during the summer midday sun. As they walk, he decides to take her hand. She becomes shy for an instant and begins to blush. She realizes that she’s blushing and hopes that he doesn’t notice. I love the adorable innocence of this haiku. I also love how the author deceives the reader with the first two lines, and then brings in the third line with the three periods, giving it a feel of dreaminess. Faith J. Martin |
on my knees Faith Martin (4) I imagine this haiku to be in the silence of twilight. A cold, pale beam of moonlight illuminates the tears trickling slowly down an ashen face. I cannot picture a whole person; instead I see wetness on cheeks and teardrops slipping from them onto bare knees. Light from the brightened moon catches the fallen tears and they glisten against pale skin. Stars shine like tears in the night sky. Natalie Perfetti |
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she held me |
humid night Brian Rohde (5) This is a really great haiku. It has that surprise ending element that I also like. At first you’re reading it and thinking, “Oh it’s just a young couple out getting together on a summer night,” but then after the last line it’s like, “Oooh, denied.” It also has that teenage feeling to it. I can almost see a couple of kids in Jr. High at one of those ridiculous bonfire parties that Jr. High age kids love to have. Even kind of gives me one of those “back in the good old days” nostalgic type feelings. Rick Bearce |
Monday morning test Rick Bearce (7) I love the overall annoying feel of this haiku. Not only is it Monday morning, but the kid behind me is making noise and it's just really unpleasant. Although it isn't said, I also imagine that the kid clicking the pen is eating something rather loudly, or talking on his cell phone, or doing any number of other horribly annoying things that can be done before taking a test. The opening line is a very good set up for the res of the haiku. "Monday morning test" is already annoying, the kid clicking his pen is what kicks the annoyance into a truly abnoxious situation. Brian Rohde |
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I turn to the moon |
I fall down, |
winter solstice— Ryne Inman (9) The main element I liked in this haiku is the contrast of winter solstice and the use of the unbalanced feeling. Winter solstice is even number of hours of day and night and therefore, is actually, perfectly balanced. The winter solstice happens to fall at the same time this couple’s love is unbalanced. It is such an interesting and original contrast, feeling and thought. I really liked it. Rachel Cook First of all, the image of the winter solstice is such a powerful one on its own; I honestly think the mere mention of it in the first line of this haiku really sets the tone for the rest of the piece. The love falling out of balance really matches the line of images that precede it. With solstice, I begin to think about its meaning – the longest night of the year, it’s cold, it’s dark, it’s possibly the longest, coldest, darkest night of the year, every year. And as I analyze deeper, I begin to realize that the only reason we have a solstice and an equinox is because the earth’s axis is on a slant – it has been “thrown off balance”, if you will. I find that to be very fitting parallel of images, the tilt of both the earth and this love in question forces a long, cold, dark night to overshadow each. Brian Blankenship I like this haiku because it is very real. It seems that at any given time of the year, couples will generally have some falling out. The winter seems like an appropriate time for this to happen because everyone is cooped up inside to stay out of the cold weather, and people have a tendency to become irritable when they’re kept in a confined space for a decent period of time. It’s almost implying that, like the rotation of the Earth, love between two people is also constantly going through cycles, which I believe is very true. Rick Bearce |
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I remember the feeling I got when I hit somebody in football, it was evil and ruthless, but there were no strings attached. The harder I hit someone, the more praise I received from either coaches or teammates. In football, at least on the defensive side of the ball anyway, there this thing that my coaches referred to as pursuit. Basically, the course of pursuit was the way in which a defensive player moved from a stationary position to the ball carrier to make a tackle. We had pursuit drills in practice, like angle tackling, for example, in which we were trained to estimate the amount of time it would take the ball carrier to get from point A to point B, and how long it would take us, the tackler, to go from point C to point B; the idea being that if we timed things just right, a tackle could reach point B at top speed and make a brutal tackle, thus causing the offence to gain the least amount of forward progress as possible. I had an uncanny knack for pursuit. I mauled ball carriers in the open field. When running backs tried to juke or made other attempts at meaningless fancy footwork as a way of eluding me, it just made things worse for them; I always managed to catch them in mid-stride, blowing them yards from the point in which we left the ground and crashing back to earth with a crunch of helmet on helmet. But regardless of how massive the hit was I laid on a guy, I always, always helped him back up to his feet. I was often times yelled at by referees as the though my genuinely apologetic gestures were a skewed and subtle form of gloating and further disgracing my opponent. And despite my efforts clear up my true persona for my teammates, they failed to realize at the end of the day that, it’s just a job. Though I performed in the high school plays and joined the symphony, I was still referred to as that beast and animal that everyone seemed to see on the football field. I was secretary of the National Honor Society and a peer mediator, but I received more congratulatory pats on the back for the big game against Ridgewood. My coach said in his speech as he presented me with the Defensive MVP award, that the other teams knew “… to look out for big number 68.” Why? Did they thing big number 68 went home at the end of the day to yoke himself to buses and take an uphill jog? It’s more likely I was vacuuming my room or playing piano. Who was honestly afraid? My girlfriend certainly didn’t fear big number 68. She happened to know that big number 68 was ticklish and had a certain soft spot for pecan pie. People seem to forget the mortality of those they fear or idolize. The undertaker shouldn’t be seen as “out of context” because he enjoys a few z’s on the hammock. Undertaking is just a job, like being a mailman, or a doctor. At the end of the work day, we’re all pretty much the same: tired. these fingers Brian Blankenship (9) I enjoyed this haibun very much. On the most shallow of levels, I enjoyed it because it showed how shortsighted people can be. But beyond that, I enjoyed it very much because of how well written it was. For one, it allowed the reader to empathize with the author, even if they have never had any kind of experience like that. I also very much liked the way that the author was able to explain football without making the reader feel like an idiot. There is a delicate art to this, and the author managed wonderfully. Stephanie Dietrich This haibun is incredibly easy to relate to because it discusses a universal feeling. Everyone wants to show the world their true nature. Or, perhaps, everyone wants to discover their true nature. We yearn to show people what we do when we are alone at night. This haibun made me recall the first days of high school and college. First days can be both the worst and best days of our lives. We want to make an impression on people, to make them like us. Consequently, we put on facades that are not necessarily us. I did it; everyone did. However, as life with people progresses, they do get to know our true selves. This happened to me in high school to some extent, but definitely in college. There’s something incredibly satisfying about knowing that the people who love you love you for who your truly are. It’s liberating, almost. Their confidence in you raises your confidence in yourself, allowing you to continue to live truthfully. Pat Steadman I really liked this haibun because it seemed so heartfelt. I had a friend in high school that was in a situation very similar to this, and it really reminded me of some of the things he went through as the quarterback of the football team and the captain of the scholastic bowl team. People who take on these sort of dual lives deserve some extra respect: they often take a lot of crap for doing both. I also enjoyed the haiku at the end very much. The element of surprise in the end and the contrast between the violence of blood and the peace of a piano is fantastic! Sarah Corso I’m not going to rewrite the entire haibun; I will say that I like the first haibun on the third page of the kukai handout, the one about the unrecognized humanity of number 68. This piece was well written because the image it gave me coincided with its thesis. This haibun attempts to explain that people are not necessarily what they do. Although the first three paragraphs of prose describe a football player, my mind conjured an average guy in normal clothes. I did not see an athlete on the field, I saw a student engaged in a class discussion. I did not see the number 68 on the back of a sweating uniform, I saw a boy being tickled by his girlfriend on the couch. Natalie Perfetti |
The fog was particularly thick on the docks that night. Jimmy showed up late, drunk as usual, in his trademark black and white vertical striped it, the stains on his shirt would seem fitting of any merchant who had spent a rough afternoon working on the docks, but told more of inebriated bar room scuffles and spilt drinks. He approached me, almost translucent in the mist. “Are you ready?” Jimmy slurred boisterously, stumbling on a knot in the peer. He quickly shook it off and took a deep swig on the bottle he kept wrapped in its brown paper casing. “Yeah, but keep it the fuck down – you want every man on the harbor patrol out here?” I asked in what was intended to be a whisper, but came out as more of a loud, raspy squeal. “The god damned Navy couldn’t find us in this shit.” He smiled, whirling up a tuft of fog with his free hand. I tucked my hands back into my jacket before looking over my shoulder. Approaching Jimmy, I could smell the stink of stale whiskey and even staler whores on his breath. “So do you have it or don’t you?” I jabbed him hard with my elbow. “Easy. Easy. I’ve got it.” He crinkled his nose, now red from either the cold or the whiskey… or both. Reaching into his back pocket he removed a deposit pouch and tossed it my direction. I caught it with one hand, never taking my eyes off Jimmy. “Half expected you had spent it on booze” I said, Jimmy smiling as I balanced the bag in my hand, “Feels light.” “Half now, half later.” His head tilted back as he wiped a line of drool from the corner of his mouth. I could hear him breathing – watching the mist filter in and out of his nostrils. “That wasn’t the deal.” I slowly took a step towards Jimmy before I was halted by the removal of his revolver. “New deal.” He growled, pulling back the hammer. I stood for what seemed like hours staring down the barrel of Jimmy’s gun attempting to lift my arms in retreat but – too much in shock to lift them – left them limp at my sides, the half empty bag of money still in my hands. I could feel the lump in my throat shift as he reached for another swig on his bottle. As he brought his whiskey to full tilt, the fog horn sounded. I sprawled to the pier at the shrieking blare as my spine turned to putty. Jimmy stepped back after I disappeared into the thickness of the ocean air, firing several shots into the night. The crack of the bullets rang out through the deadness as Jimmy took one step too far and walked clear off the end of the dock. I crawled to the edged peeking over the edge. I watched him drown. I watched him for a full five minutes as he struggled, too drunk to swim, clinging to the last few moments of life. I never told Sarah about that. I never told anyone about that. Brian Blankenship (5) Wow…I can just imagine so many numerous ways the original haiku might have gone. The paragraph has so many mixing emotions in it and is very intense. I love it. The author has created a story from three simple lines that will carry into my imagination for hours. I also like how this haibun leaves the reader with questions and confusion about the origin of the story. That is why I was so entranced by the passage. Erin Wyant This was my favorite haibun, mainly because of its brazen difference from the others. It’s use of dialogue brought the senses to life (the horn, fog, alcoholic swigs, feel of the water etc.) and I appreciated that this was a fictional response as so many others seemed to be memories or everyday events. Moreover, the deceit that resonates is very captivating. The vow of marriage can be very overwhelming itself, but the personal vow to keep such a monumental secret for decades to come is much more intimidating. Even without the haibun accompanying the haiku the many interpretations of this thought provoking haiku make it an irresistible read. Traci Rapp
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When I was about four years old, I absolutely loved the movie Cinderella. One of my favorite characters was Cinderella’s dog, Bruno. He was old and a bit goofy, but he seemed like the ideal “man’s best friend”. The dog that my family had at the time was an 11 year old basset hound named Cleo. She was a bit grumpier than Cinderella’s favorite canine, but considering that she was putting up with a four year old girl with no sense of dog etiquette terrorizing her, she was of decent temperament. I remember this one scene in the movie when Bruno is napping, dreaming of chasing the stepsisters’ snooty cat. He is huffing and grunting, and his legs begin to twitch as though he is trying to run but getting nowhere. When he awakes, Cinderella asks him if he was dreaming about chasing the cat; he sheepishly nods in affirmation. She gently scolds him for thinking bad thoughts about others, but then comforts him with some hearty behind-the-ear scratches. It was one of my favorite scenes from Cinderella, and I remember playing make-believe that Cleo was Bruno and I was Cinderella. Cleo would be taking one of her many—many—afternoon naps. First, you’d hear her collar start to clink against the kitchen floor as she began to twitch. Next comes a grunt here and there, accompanied by nose twitches and lip snarls. And then the paws would twitch—first just a little but, until finally she was in full gear, running around in her little canine mind. What could a dog be dreaming about? I hoped that Cleo was dreaming about chasing a cat, just like the snooty one in Cinderella. “Catch that cat, Cleo, catch it!” I would say. And when she awoke, I would pet her just like Cinderella would pet Bruno: scratching and rubbing just behind the ears. Cleo loved being petted the way so much, it became a sort of family joke—I told everyone I was giving her “Bruno rubs”; my parents assured me that no one in the family could give Cleo these signature pets as well as I could. Even though Cleo died when I was seven, and the years since then have been filled with memories of a new dog, “Bruno rubs” and dog-dreams will always be fond reminders of one of my best childhood friends. feeding the birds . . . Melanie McLay (3) |
It was a beautiful morning with the sun shining bright, promising a gorgeous summer day to follow. Anna had been awake for an hour or so, already, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the paper to catch up on all the latest news. That day she had plans to go over to her mother’s house to visit and help with her flower garden. Anna went upstairs to the bedroom where her husband Charlie still lay in bed sleeping. She put on her gardening clothes, including a yellow hat with an extra-wide brim that her mother had given her the previous year. She whispered to Charlie that she was going to her mother’s house to help out for the day, and that she’d call before she made the trip back home that evening. Charlie opened his eyes and said goodbye, as Anna made her way outside, stopping momentarily to pick up some of her gardening tools lying outside. She made her way across town to her mother’s house to find her mother waiting outside for her on the porch. When she walked up to the house, she kissed her and gave her a hug before beginning small talk and chatting about their friends and family members. The rest of the day, they gardened and talked and caught up with each other. What a lovely summer day this was turning out to be. At the end of the day, Anna started to get ready to head back home, but forgot to call Charlie like she said she would. She remembered this as she drove home, but shrugged it off, thinking it wouldn’t be a big deal. Upon returning home, there was a car in the driveway that she did not recognize. She thought they must have company, and hurried inside to see who the visitor was. Walking into the house, she saw no one and all was quiet. She went up the stairs and opened the door to their bedroom, that wasn’t normally closed. There, she found the visitor. She gasped with hurt and rage as she saw her husband in bed with that young woman. Both of them stopped dead in their tracks when Anna walked through the door, and as Charlie opened his mouth to explain, Anna let loose. She began yelling furiously at Charlie and his “whore” and informed them that if they did not leave her house at that very minute, she would kill them both with Charlie’s hunting gun that was leaning against the wall. Startled at such a threat, the two scrambled to their feet, throwing on clothes and quickly making their way to the door. Anna watched as the young girl’s car pulled out of the driveway and down the street, with her husband in the driver’s seat. When it was out of sight, Anna sat down and wondered how something so repulsive could have happened on such a perfect summer day, when everything had seemed right. Not knowing what else to do, she put on her pajamas and settled into the guest bed down the hall from the master bedroom. That night she sobbed, alone in that house, pulling the sheets of the bed over her face as if to make it all simply disappear. She did not get a minute of sleep that night. perfect summer day— Liz Ciaccio The story behind this haibun is one of lies, cheat and deceit. The character finds her husband in bed with another woman and actually thinks to herself, “how can such a beautiful day hold such a terrible event?” I really liked that idea: of something terrible being hidden by something beautiful. It actually is sort of precautionary: you never know what to expect and even when everything seems to be going so well, it might not be at all. Again, my favorite element in haiku or haibun is contrast and that is the whole point behind this haibun. I enjoyed it. Rachel Cook |
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expected day starts |
the crowd cheers Brian Blankenship (3) Originally I pictured parade bystanders cheering as the floats and groups passed by, as a small child, ignoring the candy and noise, was behind them fixated on a ladybug. This was not just an average child due to his ability to ignore the call of sugar and the calls to come and cheer with his family. Rather this was a child intoned with nature and especially that of the beauty of nature. A ladybug reflects its bright red and purposeful black spots as captivating elements different from most insects. Perhaps the ladybug was injured and unable to fly prompting a song of healing. As I studied the word choice of “serenade” I changed my mind about the situation though. A child would not serenade something, rather it would sing to it. Serenade is a deeper, more loving musical showmanship and in the haiku the singers says “I serenade” so this is the term that is in the singers head. Perhaps it is someone in an apartment over looking the parade, satisfied to be feet above it and focusing his attention on the ladybug on the window pane than with society hooting below. Traci Rapp I really like this haiku. It is especially meaningful to me because I remember the feeling of being onstage watched by hundreds of people, but only being able to focus on one thing in the audience. Knowing just one person is there for you can make such a difference onstage. It’s different for everyone – sometimes it’s a parent or grandparent or significant other – but having that person in the audience makes you feel special. It doesn’t even have to be someone special to you; there is a local businessman who is a big patron of the arts locally where I live. He and his family have attended at least one performance of almost every show I’ve ever been in. He’s a big, jolly guy and has a laugh that can fill an auditorium. They almost always have front row seats, and when I see him in the audience, I know it’s going to be a good night because his laugh is infectious. In my senior year spring musical, he kept the audience laughing (and the cast struggling to keep straight faces) for a full five minutes after one of my lines! Sarah Corso |
at the altar |
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deafening tick Rachel Cook I really like this haiku because this is such an intense moment in time. I like how the ticking of the clock is so significant. It always bothers me when I’m waiting in an office or just at home. Just the first line gives this haiku so much. I like how the second and third lines really add context to this haiku. Alisha Goebel I enjoyed how this haiku related to the one about the helping the nurse flip him over. The haiku before it produced feelings of humor during a traumatic time in my dad's life. On the otherhand, this haiku produced feelings of panic and fright. I can feel my body tense after every time I read this haiku because I am reminded of the many times I have sat in a hospital waiting room waiting for the doctor to appear after hour's worth of surgery. Though I don't know if the same author produced both of these haiku, I like to think that is was purely coincidental that both ends of the medical spectrum were represented in this haiku. Elizabeth Braden |
falling |
your love revealed Sarah Corso (5) The last line is what makes this haiku so great, because it gives it that seasonal element. There are so many layers of meaning to it, too. First of all, the second line suggests that the winter may have been long and rough, and that is why the first signs of spring (and/or of love) have been so desperately anticipated. And what is the significance of the jonquils? Do these flowers just set the atmosphere for love to blossom? Or perhaps a man is proclaiming his love to someone for the first time by giving her a bouquet of jonquils? Melanie McLay |
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nervous smile |
I walk into the room where she once slept, it is cold and silent, looking out the window, I see the haze of winter in the air, floating, almost nonexistent and yet clear as day. As the mists was here presence in my life, it has been so long and the harsh cold of loneness had pecked away at the memories, and yet I know she was there as if it was yesterday. I feel a pressure that I know isn’t there on my arm, as if she was in my embrace. Like the mists of winter the thought of her taunts me, every time I try and focus on the memories, they become harder to see and it is the times I find myself thinking of her the least that I do the most. As I come to my senses I fell the harsh lonely sting of victory over one’s own emotions and a few words come to mind. bitter cold Andrew Barnick I like this haibun. It really shows a lot of emotions and brings out a true sense of love and caring. This haibun really shows how one feels about another. It gives honest sense of desperately trying to remember someone and feeling guilty about slowly forgetting the particulars of that person that seem so important now. Alisha Goebel |
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It always bothers me when I’m at a wake and I look at the deceased lying in the coffin. It’s the last time you’re actually going to see their face aside from in picture, and it looks nothing like the person you knew and loved. I don’t really remember much about when I saw grandfather at his wake. I do remember that he didn’t really look like himself. It looked like there was a wax mask over his face. I do remember last year when I went to a wake for the husband of a family friend. His corpse looked nothing like he did when he was living. It really made me feel even sadder because it was like a lie. Like you could say goodbye but the body that you say goodbye to looks nothing like the person you knew. thick white clouds I like this haibun because it's something that everyone can relate to. We all know that people don't really look like themselves at their wake. Beyond the obvious, though, I like that it's sort of a haunting reminder that all of us are going to die one day and that we all probably won't look our best after we've gone on. It's a way of telling us to make sure that we leave a lasting good impression on everyone before we die because the last impression we leave is not the prettiest. I'm not really sure how well the haiku fits with the anecdote, but I do like it. I guess it could be related by saying that the blue showing through is the memory of the person and not the actual current presentation of them. Whatever, relativity aside, I like both parts of this haibun. Brian Rohde The story aspect of this haibun really takes the reader to an interesting place. In my mind, I was flashing through every visitation or funeral I had ever attended. As a young child, attending my first funerals, I was often too short to see the body, and it always remained one of those pressing curiosities. Then as I grew older, I was able to see the bodies, and they didn’t really look like the person they once were. I guess I haven’t really had to attend that many funerals in my first 20 years, but seeing the embalmed body in the casket still gives me an eerie feeling. One of the best parts about this haibun for me was the ending haiku. Standing alone, I don’t believe that this haiku could ever have a negative feel to it. So the author has taken a somewhat depressing story and then ended it with a note of hope. Almost like you’re still at the funeral and it’s dreary and overcast, but all of sudden you look up and see a patch of blue amidst all the clouds, which kind of gives you hope. Rick Bearce I had two funerals within a couple months of each other this year--one for my uncle and the other for my grandmother. Knowing beforehand that both were going to be open-casket, I told myself before both funerals started that I was not going to look at them in the casket because I didn't want to look at them in that state. I didn't want to be reminded f the pain and suffering they went through before they passed away. However, I took a good, long glimpse at both of them and instantly felt comforted because they were now free of the pain and suffering and were definitely in a much better place. Knowing and feeling that put my heart at ease. Elizabeth Braden |
Just past dusk. In the field, two foolish lovers are gallivanting about. On this cool summer night, they are alone, vulnerable to the great stars and galaxies overhead. Not looking up, they are unaware of just how small they are compared to the rest of the universe. The only thing that matters to them is each other. The entire solar system exists only in each others’ eyes. Throwing down the picnic basket (outdoor meals are always better at night, she says) he picks her up and tosses her around like a ship caught in a tide pool. He sets her down, words waiting on his lips like kids at the local diving board, waiting for their turn to jump but being stopped by the nervous kid in front. That nervous kid is the thing he’s wanted to say for a while, the key to his soul that he just can’t give away. He must want to be unlocked. He sets her down, the long grass and cool night air giving her a chill up her spine. Still, she isn’t sure if it’s the night or his eyes that gives her the chill. He lays the blanket down on the ground and smoothes it out, not letting her sit on it until it’s absolutely perfect. Tonight, everything is going to be perfect, has to be perfect or everything will be ruined. She sits down as he opens the basket and offers her a gourmet dinner of cold cut sandwiches and frosty root beers. For candlelight, the fireflies dance around them. For music, the soft chirping of the crickets leads their dance. They eat silently, the food a buffer for how they really feel. For him, it’s just a way to keep the words in until he is ready to say them. For her, it is some way to keep her mind distracted while she waits—in aching anticipation. They finish eating. He lays her down next to him, their arms entwined and their eyes on the stars. “I love you,” he finally says. “I love you too,” she says, her woman’s intuition satisfied. They continue to look up, as the fireflies flicker with the stars. crickets chirp Melanie McLay This is a really cute story, and yet it makes me sad i the sense that usually things dont work out like their planned, and at the same time this reminds me of how the true meaning of life is dealing with the things that catch you off guard. The story talks of the perfectly planned night going just as it was supposed to, now part of me wants to belive it and fall into the magic of the created momnet, but i am reminded of the fickle nature of life and how things usually dont work like they do i this story, and yet it reaminds me of the fun in the randomness preseted by life and espeacilly love. This is still however, a good escape from reality. Andrew The love described here isn’t some sort of fling, but has taken a long time to build and nurture. Being away from this kind of love is very difficult because the other person is part of who you are, and being away from them is like splitting your very heart in two pieces. It is difficult to function knowing that they are so far away from you and that it will be a while- even a few weeks- before you will see them again. When you know you are going to finally see them, you don’t care about what you’re sacrificing for time with them, and you don’t care about the “things” you are leaving behind. It’s true love. This kind of love makes every girl’s heart swoon… and makes her want to find a love like this. Faith J. Martin |
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bedroom floor |
hating nature |
after school Brian Rohde (8) I really like the sense of innocent I get from reading this haiku. I picture two young kids, probably no older than junior high age. I can see the boy walking home the girl that he obviously has had a major crush on for some time now. I get the feeling that she hasn’t returned the feelings until this kiss. The last line makes me laugh because it’s as if the boy is pretending to act all tough, like it’s no big deal to him. In reality, though, he is on cloud nine kissing that girl… but that wouldn’t be cool to admit. The wording of the last line sounds exactly how a kid that age would talk, too, which adds to the effect. Liz Ciaccio I really like this haiku because I felt that it captured the essence of a schoolboy crush very well. I also like the contrast between the two short lines and the longer last line. It’s also very open-ended. You’re really not sure why he’s kissing her, or what led up to it. So the reader has a chance to imagine the scenario. Allison Lingren |
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hidden between Jamie Devitt (4) |
time to clean the windows— |
summer spawn Rick Bearce This haiku is great because it is so suggestive. The first line is about birth, and then the last line suggests death—but only through the connection given by the second line. It has that seasonal element—summer—which puts it into context and adds sensory detail. The suggestion of a baby animal dying is so sad, but this haiku seems to capture the beauty of nature despite this. I suppose it is just a phenomenon of the “circle of life.” Melanie McLay |
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My grandparents on my dad’s side have always been very active people, especially in the lives of their grandkids. They go bike riding, travel the country in their motor home, and even went to Europe last August for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Every day my grandpa walks his dog, Katie, at least one mile. This is a seventy-two year-old man, mind you. Needless to say, my grandparents are very active people. However, my grandpa is still old. As time has gone by, his hearing has slowly diminished. He now wears his hearing aids all the time. When his hearing was just starting to fade, my grandparents would constantly bicker because Grandpa couldn’t hear what my Grandma was saying. She would get angry and say to him: “Dammit Howard, you can hear everyone but me!” Of course, we would just chuckle because we knew it was not true. It was later we learned of his hearing problems when he finally got hearing aids. I have so many memories of my grandparents and this one could encompass them all. Whenever we have dinner with them (which is fairly often), we can always expect my grandma to put water on the stove for tea. Grandpa pulls out the cups and sugar to put on the table, and almost everyone has a cup whether they like it or not. After all, Grandma always says “a little taste won’t kill you,” whenever she wants you to try something new. They bicker over trivial things like where Grandpa put the dog’s leash, how soon they should schedule their next eye appointments, or why my Grandpa can’t eat after six o’clock. But despite their arguments, they still really do love each other. Every time they fight I can see that, after fifty years, they do, and they laugh as Grandma pours tea into my Grandpa’s cup after dinner. slathered in mud |
A few years ago, my parents’ relationship with each other was obviously deteriorating. Eventually, the inevitable occurred and a divorce was underway. I was the only kid living at home at this time, so I was in the middle of it all, dealing with things all on my own. While everything was going on, my mother and I were secretly getting a house on the other side of town ready to move into. It had to stay a secret because had my dad known what we were doing, he would have undoubtedly tried to stop us. Being in this new house was such an odd feeling to me. I had grown up in the same house for 17 long years, and I loved it. This new place did not feel like home, but I put up a good front for my mom. By this time, however, my real home didn’t feel like home either. Whenever I was there, my parents would just argue and yell about whatever they could. When I needed to get away from everything, but had nowhere else to turn, I would go down to a sidewalk that ran along the Kankakee River. Down there I could sit by myself and think things over with interruption. Sometimes I’d take a book or drawing pencils, or maybe some music. No matter what I did, this place down by the river became my safe haven during my parents’ divorce. I could always count on it. It was the consistency and stability I needed to feel in my life. This is the memory this haiku takes me to. I can picture myself, the daughter, driving again down to the river because I simply don’t know where else to go. harsh words and |
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impossibilities Brian Blankenship I like the image of impossible ideas buzzing around in your head like bumblebees. I also like the way the haiku makes you remember how small you are in the grand scheme of things – just one, noisy bumblebee. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that you’re just one person, and everyone around you is fighting just as hard for what they want. And we all can’t get what we want. Allison Lingren Beginning the haiku with “impossibilities” sets a dark and negative outlook on the haiku. I loved this haiku because of the scathingly brilliant use of comparing the invisible walls that seem to be everywhere, to that off a life of just another bumblebee. This insect is known for its hard work to conform with its fellow workers, gathering nectar for the queen bee, in order to make the most honey possible. Its short lived life is toiled away on road trips to foreign gardens, little interaction with its friends, and having to share its sweet spoils with others. It’s survival skills impede its ability to have meaningful relationships and take time to enjoy the sunshine without a quota to fill. Traci Rapp |
fog |
under my stuffy comforter |
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When my brother, Chris, was a freshman in high school and I a senior,
it was discovered that Chris had a pretty bad case of scholiasts. We didn’t
notice it for a long time; Chris used to slouch a lot, and he wore baggy
shirts. Even after he was diagnosed, you couldn’t tell when he sat
or stood up. It was only when he bent over that he looked like Quasimodo.
Who were we to know that under the slouch and the shirts lay a twisted
spine? Chris was admitted into an Ann Arbor hospital on January 8th, three days after his 15th birthday. The surgery took 8 hours. Basically, they went in and stretched his spine out. He instantly grew two inches as a result. They also inserted some kind of metal post in his back to keep the muscles surrounding the spine from re-curving it. Let’s just say it was some pretty intense surgery. I didn’t get to see him that day, but the next day after dance class I drove up to see him. It was one of the worst experiences of my life. He wasn’t in any pain, persay; he was doped up to his eyeballs, he couldn’t feel a thing. But he couldn’t even roll over without help. The drugs made him pretty unintelligent, and he fell into fitful sleep every few minutes. It was so frustrating to watch him lie there in so much pain and not be able to do a damn thing about it. I couldn’t even really talk to him to make him feel better, since he was barely speaking in sentences. All I could do was site there and jump up every time he needed something. It was also uncomfortable to see him so weak and helpless like that. My brother and I have a very…abrasively affectionate relationship. We like to banter and harass each other. To see my brother in such a helpless state was, well, scary. Needless to say, ht surgery went fine. Chris was in the hospital five days, and back in school in only three weeks. Six weeks after he was practicing with the soccer team. He stands up so straight, and he loves the fact that he’s now about four inches taller than me. And he has a wicked scar running form the base of his neck to the small of his back. Life is good. jealousy Stephanie Dietrich (6) I like the meaning of this haiku for me both with and without the haibun that precedes it. Upon first reading the piece, I thought it was written in a very juvenile tone, much in the way a child would envy a sibling for something that shouldn’t be considered an enviable trait – in this instance, a scar. I could see the child, be they younger or older than the sibling being jealous, not necessarily of the scar itself, but the things that come with the scar – attention and questions from people the first time they see it and the story and memories that no doubt follow each particular line of questioning. Then, after reading the haibun, I begin to think that the jealousy stems from nothing else related to the scar other than the two inches in height gained from the surgery. The second connotation still comes from a reversion to a younger voice, I think, but there is some acknowledgment of the juvenile tone and it seems that the narrator is able to look back at the situation now and smile. Brian Blankenship |
The woman sat alone on the swings in the fog of the park, twirling a flower in her hand. It was the same place where they grew up. She used to push him, and then they’d have competitions to see who could go higher. At the top of their arcs, they could see the creek flowing quickly down into the woods. Maybe the time we had together was as insignificant as that creek against a river? Her mind wondered in and out of the moment. The man she grew up with and fought with, was gone. To her it was unfair that the last thing he saw was the ceiling of a hospital and not this park, not the sunrise that came and took him away. It was unfair that he died. She could feel her passion rising, her anger becoming tears welled up
in her eyes. They reminded her of holding his hand, sobbing at him “Don’t
go on me, now.” His eyes met hers and she knew what he was thinking,
that this was a path they both must travel and that he must keep walking.
Death was something they knew all along was going to come; it’s
a condition of humanity. He was just condemned before her. Why him? More
tears built up. A quiver ran from her throat to her jaw and disrupted
her breath. holding the funeral flower, |
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at my computer |
grains of sand Allison Lingren (3) |
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caught without an umbrella Ryne Inman This haiku has so much in it. I like how the thought of rain not being felt anymore, such as it being evaporated. I have felt this way before when nothing matters but your feelings. When something is so important and sincere, one can ignore all of the external elements. This haiku gives me that feeling. Alisha Goebel |
between the pines |
beneath golden arches |
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She sat down hard on the parlor sofa, the ends of her black crepe mourning dress floating down beside her. It just hadn’t felt right leaving him there in the cold ground, but it had begun to rain outside and the reverend had insisted – she would catch cold if she didn’t go home. The word home didn’t even mean the same thing anymore. Nothing was the same. She remembered his face as he left for war… warm, brave, so loving. In the coffin he had looked so sober, nothing like the man she loved. The rain stopped, and when the clouds cleared, the glow of the hazy sunset filled the sky. It was dinnertime; she should have been in the kitchen, making his favorites. She remembered how, just months before, she would be waiting for him at the door in the green dress he loved so much to see her in. The smell of meatloaf would be slowly filling the house. They would have sat down together in the big soft chair next to the fireplace – he had loved it when she came and sat on his lap while he read the evening newspaper. That was all gone now. He was dead and buried and she was all alone. The house, which had seemed so small when they’d moved in after their honeymoon, seemed cavernous now that it was hers alone. There would be no dinner tonight; perhaps not for several nights. She didn’t feel like eating. Instead, she went into the bedroom – her bedroom now – and opened the dresser drawer to take out a nightgown. She ran her fingertips over the beautiful silk things he had bought for her, for his eyes only. A tear ran down her cheek as she closed the drawer decidedly, and opened the one beneath it, taking a pair of striped cotton pajamas once worn by the man she loved. She stripped naked, put them on, and felt the cotton against her skin – the most familiar, safe feeling she could think of. She could smell him on them, even though they’d not been worn since before he’d left, two months before. Wrapped in his pajamas, she laid down in their bed – her bed – and drifted slowly to sleep. the cold wind blows Sarah Corso There is an essential element included in this haiku that is not written. The environment here, to me, is a mixture of Poe and a soap opera. I imagine a woman, on her bed with the window cracked open and a breeze is blowing the curtains toward her on the bed, almost reaching across the empty side of the bed to touch her. The wind has tipped the touch, making it cold and disheartening to her so much so that it harms her emotionally. Half of the bed is a scar, and the wind blows over it, increasing the pain. Ryne Inman This haibun has a very retro feel to it—I imagine it being about a young widow who lost her husband in World War II. That subject could get a little cliché if not done well, but I think the last paragraph gives it the necessary originality. The feeling of slipping into the oversized clothing of your husband/boyfriend is so comforting, and it is something I think a lot of people can relate to. I also like the clear connection between the haibun and the haiku that follows it. The haiku compliments the prose well without simply replicating it—it adds something new. Melanie McLay |
My boyfriend during senior year, Peter, lent me the book Johnny’s Got a Gun. I remember I was trying in vain to find some common ground we could have. He listened to the heaviest metal on the face of the earth, wore Hawaiian shirts and black hoodies, and lived an hour away in a small country town. Needless to say it was an “opposites attract” scenario. I had seen him reading the same book for the past couple of weeks and asked him about it. He told me that it was about a war and a soldier’s experience that took on the viewpoint that peace is the only true answer. Well, I hated war and loved peace so when I showed how “similar” our tastes were, he excitedly let me borrow it. I remember it started out very harmless about him thinking about his family and lover, to seemingly out of nowhere depict the goriest possible image and situation in my head. In turn I could not stop reading this horribly depressing, and sadly, realistically possible literature. I was emotionally devastated and drained after reading this thick book for 2 days straight. It was one of those books that traps me in my own little world, forgetting to eat, do homework, or feed the dog. I would late awake at night, reading until my flashlight batteries whimped out. Not only did the book shock me, but the very fact that Peter did not warn me of the content or understand that I get moved very easily, also had a similar effect. I remember calling him when I finished it and asking, “How could you let me read this? It literally made me so upset that I was getting sick.” He replied, “Yeah, but there were some funny parts.” Needless to say, I now realize I was dating a weird sicko. It took me longer to get over the book, than it did him! hawaiin shirt suitor Traci Rapp There is so much going on in this haiku that it could go in any number of directions and be entertaining. The suitor at the door is either a clueless buffoon, or a foolishly confident man, and not just due to the Hawaiian shirt. He snoops up to the peephole and tries to see through it, then picks his nose when he thinks no one is looking. Even more amusing is the reaction of the poor recipient of the attention. I can imagine her bemusement and horror as he stands at her door, with a batch of bad news in his hands. The poison ivy in his hands isn’t necessarily the weed, but if she touches the flowers he has for her, she’ll feel infected, dirty and obligated to deal with all the negative side effects of receiving them. If I imagine this situation right, she’ll convince her dad to scare the dude away. Ryne Inman |
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dusty leaves |
another phone call Rachel Cook This haiku sent me to two different situations. In the first one, I picture a worried mother trying to reach her daughter, who is late for curfew, on her cell phone. The daughter either refuses to answer so she can stay out later, or is in some sort of trouble and is unable to answer. Either way, the mother is beginning to get really worried and obsessing about finding her daughter. The other scenario I thought of was that of a boyfriend and girlfriend. I picture the girl trying to get a hold of her man on his cell, but is unable after repeated tries. She doesn’t know why he wouldn’t be answering, and eventually the only rational explanation she can think of is that he is ignoring her calls because he’s with another girl. This obsession of the girlfriend trying to find her boy continues to grow, and the haiku doesn’t let us know how it ends. I like how it forces us to use our imagination to browse the possibilities of how it could end. Liz Ciaccio |
blindfolded |
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Daddy’s moon boots |
a man in rags |
old toilet |
©
2006, Randy Brooks • Millikin University • last updated:
March 1, 2006
All rights returned to authors upon publication.