time after time
all alone in my room
chatting with my books

the sleet slows to a drizzle
i drive slowly
past five twitching bodies

Allisha Komala (3)

empty dance room
mirrors catching mirrors
ageless shoe marks

Sean Keller (4)

I used to dance. When I read this kukai it took me back to the days when my mom would drop me off at the dance studio. Often, I was the first one to enter the ballet studio. I would walk over to the barre and stretch silently before the other girls would begin to trickle in. There is almost nothing more serene, yet still overflowing with character than an empty dance room. It is a form of sacred. —Jenna

gentle snow,
smells like that day we . . .

purple flower bedspread
I sleep on
only half

Jenny Schultz (1)

thundering
a young girl
hurrying home

Alicia Scott (1)

I like "thundering." I have a lot of female friends who have told me some stories of what can happen when they walk home alone at night. I picture her feet are thundering on the pavement as she runs home from maybe not an attacker or assailant but someone that freaked her out. I suppose this could be about a girl running home before the rain hits, but I don't want to see it like that because that is too ordinary for me. I like the idea of someone thundering home either out of fright or joy to meet someone who just got home. —Travis

red flickering light
one last time
to hear your voice

Travis Mesienheimer (3)

drunken shadows outside
my hotel window
they’re Italian

talking until two
was nothing for us
then . . .

alone on the beach . . .
her footprints
still remain

Aaron H. Bynum (3)

rush hour
snow covers
the unmoving cars

hazy Autumn—
blooming flowers
her dress

silence
in a circle of hands
a candle burns

Alicia Scott (2)

forgotten flower—
the time of day
never seems to matter

dull flourescence
musk cologne
still hanging in the air

       looking in her eyes
a mural
       an infinite variety of blue

Michael Worth (1)

morning rain
your skin
warm on mine

through red eyes
      I see the end
      but cannot reach it

Jim Hartnett (4)

This is my favorite kukai on this page. However, it brought back very strong, very recent memories. One of my good friends died this summer. He called me two days before his accident just to call and catch up. When I called him back he was not home. I did not know that would be the last time I would hear his voice, his words. Both were gone with one touch of the delete button. —Jenna

This takes me to when I hit a really low point in my battle against depression. My eyes are red from crying, but I can not see a way out of the darkness that surrounds me. I find one only to have it out of reach. —Alicia

This haiku, written by one of my classmates caught my attention because of its personal voice. The haiku reads much like an individual is thinking to him or herself, timidly yet cautiously. Whether the "red eyes" were a result of no sleep or of drugs or of alcohol, this person may perhaps have found hope at the end of their journey. After all of the trouble and misfortune he or she has gone through, the end is near. However, not all is well; because this person still cannot obtain their supposed enlightenment. This symbolism can be reference to an individual wanting to leave a place, a person, or their life, but now cannot because their work/effort in their individual lifestyle is not finished. —Aaron

"through red eyes" is an interesting haiku. I like the image it conveys. Obviously someone is upset at something and they know what they need to do but they don't see a way to do it. It's like they are struggling with some problem, they know they would be better off if they would do what they needed to do but they can't do it. I can see picture a girl knowing she would be better off without the guy she has, but she can't get rid of him for some reason. —Travis