PACE Global Haiku • Spring 2008
Dr. Randy Brooks

Aubrie Cox is an English major through and through, and somewhere along the course of the year became a poet. Next year she will be one of the co-editor-in-chiefs for Collage, Millikin's student-run literary magazine. She intends to pursue the career of an English professor. Oh yeah, and when she grows up, she wants to live out in the middle of nowhere in a hut with a banana tree.

wilted lilacs

by
Aubrie Cox

Introduction

When I first entered Dr. Brooks Global Haiku Honors Seminar, I knew very little about haiku. I had been under the impression that 5-7-5 was law until someone informed me that that was a lie; I decided I had to learn more. It took some time for me to grasp the concepts, and the complexity within the simplicity of three lines.

I became comfortable writing in a group, or even pairs; the art of haiku really is a social event and I've come to appreciate that. I anticipate trying to write haiku links or rengay over the summer with a handful of friends from and outside of class.

Over the course of this collection, I tended to write about the season or weather that was dominate, but as I became more comfortable with the form, I was able to write things that struck me at any given time. During walks or drives to and from school is when I pieced together most of my haiku that did not come from memory response activities.

The title of this collection comes from one of my particular favorite haiku, as well as what I found to be the most popular. The others are ones that struck a cord within me after I had written them and/or they truly seemed enjoyable to my peers, as well as those that were not as familiar with the art of haiku.

raging rain
soft kiss
on my cheek

new butterfly
together we watch
it blossom

laced fingers
the sun can wait
five more minutes

soft snow . . .
on a clean gravestone
I set a yellow rose

on the brink
of true night
black wings pass over me

wilted lilacs . . .
your hand
slips from mine

untouched snow
in my backyard
I run for my hat and gloves

snow day
a snow man
completed with dog biscuits

holed up
in my room with Faulkner—
Spring Break

stood up—
the owner
offers me tea

after the dream
wanted:
missing haiku

Life under a bridge is renowned to be that of a troll, and that it is. Floods on occasion make the home a bit wet, but a little mold and algae never hurt anything. Fresh fish daily, a billy goat if lucky; however, this is not prime real-estate—it's just beneath the price of a cardboard box. Stones wedged together with natural mortar arch overhead and shade the muddy water so that one can barely see the fish going by. They come up to the surface, their fishy mouths gaping, gasping for air; their glazed eyes never see warted hands, or fishing rods coming for them. (I hate fishing rods, by the way.) Trash is littered everywhere—lost treasures from passersby. Rain matters little when every spring the neighborhood gets carried downstream.

wagon overhead
rubble plops in
the cracked teacup

Independence

sulfur and
perspirating pop cans—
smoky coloured sky

hazy sunset distant
heralds the march of ants

checkered battlefield
of the charred hot dogs
sparks fly

survival of the fittest
silently observed

lying upon dry grass
fragrant
scent of memories

roman candles
barrel into the sky

•

links 1, 3, 6 - Aubrie Cox
links 2, 4, 5 - Wayne Chou

Tomorrow

the ground beneath
swept out with the tide
full moon

sand grains of scholarship
unsteady beneath my feet

clear waters
muddled
off in the distance

reflection on the waves
force me to look down

antecedent conditions
feed and drain
dreams

out on the calm sea
the first star appears