Global Haiku Tradition • Tan-Renga Fall 2020


autumn clouds
slip and slide
on wet leaves

I stumble away
from my past

no moon
no sun
i open the curtains

a grey landscape
to match my mind

library corner
hides the best series
and me 

floating in another world
without an escape plan

sleepless night
and the howling
midnight train

breakfast in bed
at noon’o clock

a metronome
his breath
holds me tight

a fermata without a conductor—
never let go

remote control—
I ask my brother
to fetch me water

a queen, her loyal servant
feeding her grapes

playing one-sided
with a squirrel

a break from planning
world domination

I splash through the puddles
where once
an oak stood

my aging reflection
takes its place

hey, what if . . .
i write you a love letter
in crayon

PLEASE give me back
the blue one

sticky night
hay stuck
in uncomfortable places

I take my bra off
and find another bale

fog chokes my vision
as the moon
comes within reach

midnight brings
a new day

even stitches
she reaches down
for the fallen fabric

her calm
hanging by a thread

foggy room
a creature in the broken mirror
sedis htob no ylgu m'I

leave that room
the mirror is one-sided

I walk alone
how dreadful it is
to be the main character

as we walk together
imposter syndrome overwhelms me

dozens of old love letters
fall to the floor
new year's eve

you kept one
all this time

from the depths of hell
her misery
now contagious

ink blooms
across a wet suicide note

half-grown rose
the artist
sets down her brush

erratically reaching
she swallows her pills

concrete spires
a machine invisible
from the inside

a dead man’s body and
backwash wine

chipped paint
peeling off the wall
was that there before me?

my study break
provides only questions






patient poem . . .
how morning fog
clings to the grass

monarch swoops
down to the dandelion

sleepless night
and the howling
midnight train

pillow wrapped
around my ears

the men in suits
are all people humans

may I have your attention please
this is called a neuralyzer

the men in suits
are all people humans

one saturday in november
the country decided: yes

then the world fell apart
we held our breath
as we watched

numbers rise
each person a statistic

patient poem . . .
how morning fog
clings to the grass

he confesses
as the sun rises

New Year's countdown
he avoids
her longing gaze

just three words
to drop the ball

lilac blossoms . . .
on the shingles,
the pat of rain

for a little while longer
I pretend you’re still here

annoying speech
man can you just let me

midday lecture spent
passing love note

on a surfboard

the human doesn’t mind

fleeting glimpse
never enough

glass wall as
cat swats at the birdhouse


© 2020, Randy Brooks • Millikin University • All rights returned to authors upon publication.