EN170 Haiku Roundtable • Fall 2002
Dr. Randy Brooks
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BrockPeoples
Brock Peoples

Salt Fork Press
1909 Oak Park
Champaign, IL 61822

MESA TOP
SELECTED HAIKU

by
Brock Peoples

This is the third and last semester that I have worked with haiku at Millikin University. I have had a great deal of fun with the haiku genre over the last year and a half. It has become a very relaxing and fulfilling writing experience for me, and I plan to write haiku for years to come after graduation this spring.

This collection is entitled MESA TOP. The title has its origins in a trip I took last May. As part of a class, we traveled to the American Southwest for a two week long adventure of camping, hiking, and photography. Not until recently have I been able to channel that experience into words. My favorite location was Cedar Mesa in southeastern Utah. It was the most remote campsite we called home and was the location of some of the most wonderful scenery. The two nights spent on the mesa top, spending the days hiking the canyons that sliced across its plane, is a time I will never forget.

The first night, I had the good fortune to witness a full moon over that marvelous landscape. Once afraid of heights, I sat on the canyon rim behind our campsite with my legs dangling over the cliff watching the sun go down. I waited as the moon rose, illuminating the canyon stretched out beneath my feet. That night I felt that I had overcome my fear of high places entirely, becoming connected fast with the earth beneath me.

The mesa top reconnected me with the earth from wince we all come, as well as the Deity which we all feel in our souls and in the living things around us. I dedicate this collection to the red sands of the mesa.


tickle fight
he wins the prize
Illini scrunchi


her hand in mine
first kiss
a leaf fall


piling the books
in a to-do pile
the chime of Instant Messenger

 

 

first trip home, a funeral
tic-toc
of the living room clock


king and queen
trade crowns of
dandelions

 

 

mesa-top
I raise my arms
to greet the moon


around the camp fire
grandpa's shoe
starts to melt

 

 

declining to give blood
she shows the scars
of her recent attempt


Sunday morning
laying in the grass
an empty beer bottle

 

 

cold night stars
her hands
in my pockets


cold November rain
talking
in the registrar's line

 

 

full moon
your upturned face
bathed in light


passing the cigar
around the fire
a train's whistle

 

©2002 Randy Brooks, Millikin University, Decatur, Illinois || all rights reserved for original authors