Haiku Kukai 1 Favorites
Fall 2006 Haiku Roundtable • Millikin University
Sunday dinner Richard Bearce (5) I like the irony in this haiku. The author elected to capitalize Sunday. After all, Sunday is supposed to be a day for Christian religious observance. The blasphemous “goddamned butter” shows someone’s impatience. I can see a cranky grandpa wanting to butter his corn, but the family members are too wrapped up in conversation. Grandpa will really explode if Billy does not pass the “goddamned butter.” Amy These two haiku from Kukai 1 were my favorites. The haiku makes me picture a crowded table at Thanksgiving or Christmas, with a little boy near the end of the table, trying to get his butter for his mashed potatos. Of course, the noise and conversation drown out his question and make him angry. Carol I like this haiku because its births an instant image and feeling of soul food and family with everybody over after church around 5: 45 pm right before sunset just having a blessed time with each other and blessed that they can have this time together. AJ |
asleep and surrounded Missy Brassie (3) This one I chose because it reminded me of a moment that happened to me not too long ago. I was getting ready for bed when I saw a spider crawling on my sheets. I tried to kill it but it disappeared somewhere in the folds of the blankets. Normally I hate spiders, but that particular night my desire to sleep beat out my fear of spiders. As far as I know, I ended up sharing the bed with the spider that night. Nate |
staring at the screen JP Moyemont (3) I selected this haiku as one of my favorites because it seemed so simple on the surface, but when looked at closer, presented a more complex meaning. Each line of the poem is open to interpretation, allowing the readers to not only enjoy the simplicity of the words, but also to work the mind a bit more in order to fully comprehend the poet’s meaning. The “screen” could either be a computer screen, a door, or, as I believed it to be, a screen panel in a Japanese home. The “young man” in the second line could be alone or in a large group; his purpose for staring could be contemplation, sadness, or even due to a daze. Finally, he could have finished writing the haiku or maybe reading it – either makes sense. I liked being able to play around with the different interpretations; it made the poem more delightful. Goli |
dishes pile Carrie Seymour (6) I enjoy this haiku because it shows an impulse to live the moment. Why do the everyday task of doing dishes when there is life to live? Carpe diem. Dishes are mundane; life offers many more interesting experiences than doing dishes. Next time, I’ll neglect the dishes. After all, life has much more to offer. Amy This haiku is like an ode to procrastinators everywhere (myself included). Beyond that, who likes to do dishes? It’s one of those feelings like “yes the dishes need to be done, but I just can’t quite bring myself to do them.” Who knows how long they’ve been piling up. Maybe a day? A week? Longer? Although dishes aren’t a major concern for me at the moment, this haiku can almost represent procrastination in any form. It captures one of those little moments in life that may otherwise go ignored. Rick The main reason I like this haiku so much is because I think it describes a feeling that every person has had at least a few times in their lives. It doesn’t even have to involve washing the dishes but merely something that has to do with the desire to put something off for just a little longer. It is human nature or at least it seems like it. Nate When I read this, I naturally relate it to my natural instinct of procrastinating. I see dishes overflowing in the sink, causing the kitchen to stink. I think of how at home my parents would make me wash the dishes and yet now, here I am with the choice. With a choice, depite the fact that I know the dishes need to be washed, I will wait until later. The dishes are not going anywhere. What is the rush? Jessica |
alone |
early morning sunrise |
Saturday night Carrie Seymour (4) I really liked this haiku because it goes much deeper than the stated fact that the person in question never called. Not only did you wait for this person and get stood up, but now, everyone else is out too and you’re just sitting in your room by yourself. This haiku gives me a total feeling of abandonment for the person experiencing thing. I then wonder what the person who never called is doing. Is it someone really important? Maybe a significant other? I then began to think “what is this person doing that’s so important that they didn’t even have time to call?” Sitting alone in your room, your mind begins to wonder, and with no one else to talk to, panic and desperation begin to set in. It’s really nice how such a small grouping of words can convey such a complex message. Rick I feel rejection from a close friend. I think it reminds us that anyone we hold dear could easily just abandon us. It's a subtle reminder that loved ones don't have to be there all the time. It also reminds us that we did at one point have them here. JP |
he has one trophy: Amy Van Rheeden (7) This is a very sentimental, well-written haiku. This “trophy” is so much more important than one you have to compete for. He may not have broken any record, but he earned his trophy in some way or another. Maybe this is the only thing he has left from his grandpa or maybe this is a right of passage and he know has his grandpa’s respect. Either way, this is a trophy represents a milestone for this guy. Carrie The haiku makes me envision a trophy case, struggling under the weight of so many sports trophies, not of which matter to the author. The one he cares about is smaller than the rest, but has a greater value to him than all the others. Carol |
water dripping Missy Brassie I envision an insomniac. When the house is silent and everyone else is asleep, this individual can hear nothing but the leaky faucet. This is a common situation for the insomniac. He is comforted by the familiar sound of the drip-drop of the faucet. He is comforted by the feeling that the faucet is also having problems resting. He knows that, eventually, daylight will come. Kirsten |
an open BOok JP Moyemont (3) This haiku is so interesting visually because it depicts what our thoughts might be doing in this instance, which is drifting. The spacing creates a mental image of our thoughts as they come in and flow out in a random, un-patterned way. The ellipses at the end are interesting too because they allow the haiku to go wherever the reader decides to take it, much like how our thoughts will go wherever we let them. Also the first line can be interpreted in a few ways, one being that our thoughts are an open book. Another is when reading a book, sometimes our imagination wanders and leads us to new heights that the book only gave a lead-in to. The mind is such a river, winding through the canyons of possibility. Missy |
I cannot see |
balloons and flowers |
sweating sunshine Jessica Wood (4) The imagery and depth of this haiku is wonderful. First of all, the beginning line of the poem establishes not only a visual image, but also the intensity of the heat as well as the season and the atmosphere. The reader gets a picture of a bright, scalding sun, and later, a group of friends who seek escape from the heat in the cold waters of Buckingham Fountain. However, one of them remains dry, but the poet leaves the reason open to interpretation: perhaps the individual did not jump in, but watched? Or maybe he never even joined the group in Chicago. Also, his motives for doing so are left for the reader to deduce. The haiku takes me to a scorching summer day as a gang of friends cool themselves off though one stays behind. Goli |
orange sunset Jessica Wood (6) |
standing in silence Nate Halteman I love this feeling that's being sent through to me. I can acutally feel myself dissappearing into the rain pouring all over me. I feel like my soul is being set free to enjoy a venture out on his own. It's makes me think of freedom in general. JP |
holding hands Carrie Seymour (7) Call me a girl, but this poem is so cute! The picture that pops into my head is one of a couple standing in an open space where only one tree is visible. As they stand there holding hands, gazing up at a star-filled night, they are admiring the constellation Leo, which they have just spotted among the blanket of diamonds in the sky. After they have been staring at it for a few seconds, a leaf from the lone tree drifts gently down, obscuring their vision, just for a moment. Here they have found a perfect opportunity for a kiss. The warmth of their hands together, the stillness of the night, and the very small push of air from the falling leaf create a scene, in just 8 simple words, of beauty and peace. Missy I first thought about, being that my Zodiac sign is Leo and the element of Leo is the sun, I thought about a autumn leaf falling from the tree I’m laying under and it blocks my vision of the sun for a split vision, but its seems like forever because I vividly remember the leaf blocking the sun entirely as if it were an eclipse. AJ |
a call from home Richard Bearce This haiku captures the essence of what it must feel like to receive life-changing news. I envision a young son (maybe 20-something) who, in his apartment, has just taken a call from his mother. His mom has let him know that his dad’s cancer, despite treatment, has spread. He places the phone on the receiver and lays his head against the wall. Hope is fading and the impending loss of his hero is too much to bear. He lies his head in his lap and sobs. Kirsten |
the playground . . . Amy Van Rheeden (7) |
glimmering |
the dinosaur’s heart will Goli Rahimi (3) I picture myself at the Field Museum in Chicago, staring at a large constructed fossil of a tyrannosaurus rex. I can almost imagine the puzzle pieces of a lost time coming to life, and yet, I know that such a large, great creature has been completely destroyed. It leads me to wonder how I could exist when something so much greater than myself is nothing but ruin. Jessica |
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© 2006, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.