Haiku Kukai 3

Global Haiku • Millikin University • November 2014

carpet of knockout roses
underneath garden stone—
a slug

on my way to a test
past the big M
rub it for luck

passenger seat
I'm the built in

nothing to be thankful for
a Cowboy's fan
on Thanksgiving

love letters from college—
binding us together

to-do list
all checked off
Oh no!

aliens landing
first contact
all they want is booze

one song
to first love

lost in thoughts
radio knows
just what to say

ball glove
catches dreams when
broken in

perfect mess
we have created
time to laugh

a fine wine
old friends are
better with age

feet on dashboard
mountains and streams

driving through the night
snow coming down
hope I make it home

blustery night
they honk and wave as they
parade about

studio space
listening to the beat
of my heart

keepsake photo
Mom's high school graduation

7 years old
her story tells
all of her dreams

holiday table settings—
wedding flatware

chipping paint
and cracked windshield
my first love

rust stains on the hood
dents in the doors
but it was my first

turn the key
rpm up . . . up . . .

a stranger passes
avoiding my gaze
someone I once knew

games from ages ago
blowing into the cartridge
the start-up sound hums

holiday hair do

cherry vanilla traces
uncle's pipe
fragrant in the attic

cold winter night
gas light is on
long walk home

my first thanksgiving
in my first home

senior prom tux
makes a comeback
25 year reunion

smoke everywhere
from the tailpipe
daddy's beat up truck

sunset on the beach
sand between your toes
I Do

out of the boat
on to the water
faith keeps me

rusty broken bridge
I drive across

over the horizon
I see myself
just one step closer

sad faces
no Christmas tree
dad's laid off

busy office
everyone waits for the
closing bell

How divine!
You decide.

mother's diamonds
grandma's diamonds
all in one

tire pressure
pink chiffon
in lace

old tin roof
drops of rain
scent of dirt




ripped here—patched there
fits just right
I don't care

wind chimes sing
a stormy affair
she looks away

a baby born
with two fingers

sunny day
green grass
perfect golf swing

ice cold watermelon
the children
ask for more

wings expand
into the darkness

webbed feet
they wobble
as they walk

emptiness fills the fridge
hunger lurks in
my son's stomach

the corner of the garage
36 chevy hotrod

she threads
sewing machine

Apple iPhone

jewelry box
blow the dust
what treasure

I open the lid
no music plays—
grandma's jewelry box

football game
she wipes her cheek
colors disappear

Mona Lisa

it still sits on top
of our lit Christmas tree
our tarnished Christmas star

Christmas tree
bottom half

summer kiss
lotion bottle
please one more dollop

front porch podium
momma yells
street lights blaze

a full day of shopping
ends with hot tea—
and my comfy sweats

curled hair
new dress
rip in my panty hose

hands held around
the table

Finally over!

all the mistakes
I made with you.

snow covered road
hoof prints

late November
first sight of snow

white stuffed bear
from a dying grandmother
a final gift

cool Autumn day
thin and blue
cozy warm sweatshirt

my old jeans

child's favorite movie
and parents too

a life that seems perfect
on my side of the screen

family gathered
for the first holiday

in the flicker of light
i see his smile
candlelit dinner

as we sit by the fire
the puzzle pieces
start to fit together as one

a shot of vanilla
in the ice cold coke
drugstore soda fountain

hand wash
instead of gentle cycle
old habit—

one part lemon, two parts whiskey
grandma's homemade

Christmas lights
whisky in my cup
keeping an open mind

stayed up all night
baking holiday pies
just like mommy

every year I pretend to be better but
it never gets easier
missing you

on the vintage couch
I nap where grandpa did
as a child






American muscle
the older it gets the
better its value

problems not understood
by those on the outside
my city

aged wood—outhouse
at Grandma's

cold hospital room
whisked away
see you on the other side

dressed up
ready to go
new coffee stain

broken in
fits like a glove

worn shoes
still lead me down
the correct path

early morning
dancing in the snow
the dog had to potty first

giving forgiveness
on Thanksgiving
I let him back in

chill felt
through the holes
my favorite jeans

awkward silence
small talk
we used to be best friends

Thanksgiving dinner
giving thanks
looking at an empty seat

midnight mass
singing carols

white dress
a mother's touch

a long day
cool clean sheets
calling my name

Dad's white tshirt
sleeve rolled up
Marlboro reds

hair salon
I bring
my own hairbrush

a little boy
walked through the gates

beneath the stars
first kiss
our wedding day

August afternoon
sweat dripping
fish on the line

sucking his binky
old blankly in hand

barely legible
pages worn
grandmother's cookbook

old Bible from 1874—
first family church

clean house
now and then

her recipe I follow
never turns out
quite like hers

country life
down home feel

hitting the road
to see a friend

new puppy
on black friday
a long drive

pillow talk
you and me

© 2014, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.