Haiku Kukai 8- quiet space & meditation haiku

Global Haiku • Millikin University • Spring 2014

lunch break—
his callused hands
pluck a wildflower

from posted notes . . .
new wallpaper

the zit appears
. . . again

shaving my beard
for the first time in months
foreign reflection

perfect match
only . . .
two different worlds

friendship bracelet
leaves a tan line

sitting in the shower
no better time
to think

indian style
she thinks . . .
she thinks?

a deluge~
his tuxedo coat
preserves her hairdo

in the crosswalk
tires squeal
she drops the phone

gentle tide—
she collects her thoughts
with seashells

roller coaster ride
the seats adjusted
for all shapes and sizes

on one hand, homework
but in the other,
her hand

the swing swings gently . . .
cool breeze
across the lake

autumn leaves
blowing everywhere

watching the waves
I forget
that it's raining

he lays awake
. . . drifting slumber

a walk along the shore
my reflection
walks with me

thunder crack—
not as loud
as silent prayer

early morning
quiet time outside
Bible in my lap

summer in the Bronx;
smooth jazz
from the broken window

wooden kayak
past water lilies

meditating on the cliffs
above the Arizona valley
the wind carries my thoughts

long ceremony
sit down
only to await freedom

three in the morning
just me
      and the birds

railroad tracks
my old pickup

working on homework
in the quiet zone—
fire alarm goes off

tattered sneakers
finally worn
through the sole

walking in the heat
I find myself panting
as the dog does

she recognizes
her bracelet
on an old friend

falling from the sky
gentle drops
down her cheeks

apple tree
at grandma's house
my quiet place

that corner of the library
away from all
my paradise

alone in the dance studio
the first prayer
since the funeral

rising sun,
he puts on
a new pair of socks

the elevator
broken again . . .
burnin' buns and thighs

old oak table
back in the stacks

around a table
best friends speak
a foreign language

comic sans font
she may be a joker
business card

rings of the tree stump;
stories told
by her every wrinkle

turns to toddler;

next to my computer
sits my best friend

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