in the house
nothing but shouting
no one is listening

Anthony Holeyfield

the rocking chair rocks
next to the cradle
. . . no crying

Carrie Seymour

late to work
reaching up to knot
the missing tie

Deidre Fields

4 a.m.
eating a Snicker's
first day of duck season

Rick Bearce

the rocking chair rocks
next to the cradle
. . . no crying

top quarter champion

the rocking chair rocks
next to the cradle
. . . no crying

top half champion

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

bottom quarter champion

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

bedroom light
our secrets
kept in darkness

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

This one gets the "Josh cringed for a whole minute" award. There may even have been some cowering involved. Josh

moonlight glance
moving closer
we lose our tongues

Mark Beanblossom

bedroom light
our secrets
kept in darkness

Joanne Weise

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

Rick Bearce

cold cement
the only call allowed
to your parents

Deidre Fields

Wow. These go together so well. It seems so romantic. I imagine the couple had told each other “I love you” for the first time. This is really sweet and I could imagine some beautiful painting could be inspired by this match. Carrie

Ooh! This pair together makes me think what put the poor guy (I assume it's a guy) in jail. Since I've been watching Law and Order for years and years, my first thought is some sort of statutory rape charge against the guy, and he has to call his parents in order to bail him out. I don't know which part would mortify me more: telling my parents that I was in jail, or what I did to get there. (Then again, I could be reading these totally wrong.) Joanne

top half champion

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

champion

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

bottom half champion

roommate gone
for the weekend
I sleep naked

quietly
I creep down the hallway
to see the first snow

Carrie Seymour

watching leaves fall
i hope my friend
doesn't see me

Josh Wild

turn the key
open the door . . .
ah, empty dorm room

Raquel Burns

roommate gone
for the weekend
I sleep naked

Mark Beanblossom

I really like this "quietly" haiku. I love the cold and winter and reading it really reminds me of winter and being at home and going downtown Chicago, seeing all the Christmas decorations. Alicia K

I enjoyed the pair of haiku about the empty dorm room and rooommate being gone for the weekend because it's always nice to have the room to yourself for the weekend. When roommates don't see eye to eye about something in the room, they both will probably wish they wouldve gotten separate rooms instead so they can do whatever they want. Anthony

When I lived in the dorms, there was always this hope of my roommate not being there. Not because I didn't like them or anything, but because I had grown accustomed to having my own room since I was 9. I didn't realize how geeky I actually was until I turned off the "Sunday Night Sex Show" (a show with an elderly lady taking callers with questions) when my roommate freshman year came in. (What, it's a funny show.) Anyway, there's always this sort of freedom when you've got the place to yourself, and I think everybody tends to bend or break some unspoken rules that always exist between living mates, like sleeping naked. Joanne

quietly
I creep down the hallway
to see the first snow

roommate gone
for the weekend
I sleep naked

top quarter champion

roommate gone
for the weekend
I sleep naked

bottom half champion

roommate gone
for the weekend
I sleep naked

bottom quarter champion

christmas eve
watching infomercials
with the volume turned down

cold wind blowing
through the empty playground
no child's voice heard

christmas eve
watching infomercials
with the volume turned down

I like how these both seem to be about loneliness. The Christmas one uses the contrast of the joyous holiday with the desperation of watching an infomercial alone to create a dark, depressive state. The other uses the cold wind and the lack of voices (a powerful image) to make everything seem gone and lost. They say it differently, but end up with the same message. Mark

the wind through my hair
as I walk away
to “my place” by the tracks

Carrie Seymour

cold wind blowing
through the empty playground
no child's voice heard

Alicia Kelly

christmas eve
watching infomercials
with the volume turned down

Josh Wild

coffee table
milk and cookies gone
Christmas morning

Raquel Burns

I really enjoyed this match. I imagine either a young twenty something or thirty something, possibly a parent, or maybe just a student, sitting there until the morning for the children in the house to wake up. The kids might be getting up soon to open presents or maybe they have to wait until later in the morning. Either way, this person cannot sleep and really is not that excited by Christmas anymore. Carrie

the rocking chair rocks
next to the cradle
. . . no crying

quietly
I creep down the hallway
to see the first snow

moonlight glance
moving closer
we lose our tongues

Saturday morning
waking up next to her
crumpled panties

I see similarities with these haiku because they both capture the gentle quiet, or trying to maintain the gentle quiet. In the first haiku, the gentle silence comes from the baby finally crying itself to sleep. In the second one, the subject of the haiku is trying to preserve the quiet in the house. Conversely, the first haiku has a sort of sighing satisfaction to it, while the second haiku has more of a warm playfullness to it. I like the visuals of the old cherry wood rocking chair and the open window to see the season's first snow. Raquel

This almost seems like a before and after situation. The night before is filled with uncertainty and mystery, for both participants aren't sure of what they are supposed to do, but can't vocalize their feelings. Then, the next morning, after they've vocalized apparently enough, we are presented with another awkward situation, one which has those same feelings of uncertainty, but now seemingly mixed with regret. Mark