Nate Carden • Bud Goodrich's Baseball Haiku

Those Were the Days Selected Haiku by Nathan Carden In this collection, titled "Those were the days," I chose my favorite haiku that I had written throughout the semester. Most of the haiku I write come from memories and dreams. I also like to write simple haiku that gives the reader an easy picture to imagine and relate to. I feel haiku has changed the way I look at life and events. I try to write haiku that people can relate to. Childhood memories are my favorite topic to write about. Nathan Carden grew up in Antioch, Illinois. He graduated from Millikin University in May of 2003 with a Bachelor's degree in sociology.

Reader's Introduction A truthful, convincing haiku must evoke an image or feeling from it's reader. Not always must the reader empathizes with the authors work, but be able to find some connection, changing the words to colorful images in their mind. Nate Carden's haiku brings a snapshot situation to his readers. I find several of his haiku dance around childhood with fond nostalgia then grow through out his life touching on eminent memories. Reading through his haiku book is like reading Nate's autobiography from his sandbox fun to college. warm summer bike ride untied shoelace stuck in the chain I loved this haiku because it reminds me of summer and all the ritual events that take place during the long hot days. I can picture Nate, younger, riding his bike around the neighborhood. Then, suddenly his shoelace becomes tangled and down he goes! I laugh when I read it, thinking back to my own memories. —Rachel Perry • class of 2004

little big city matchbox cars buried in the sandbox

quiet warm afternoon swinging alone on the driving range

long ride home thoughts of good times replay through my head

holding hands walk on the beach footprints disappear

pitch black . . . ten Mississippi ready or not here I come

paralyzed fingertips across my back goosebumps

another break back home again with tons of laundry

Up North Grandpa cooks the eggs, hash, and bacon. Grandma sets the table, pours us juice, and makes the toast. It's a cool spring morning with the lonely lake sparkling across the yard. We eat early so we can hit the lake and go fishing while the big fish are biting. Sun rises over the lake and dew covers the grass. We fish under a willow tree, waiting impatiently for a bite. Grandpa says if we catch enough fish, he’ll fry em’ tonight for dinner. sizzling bacon wakes us quiet morning on the screen porch fog blankets the lake