Final Kukai 9

Global Haiku • Millikin University • Spring 2017

Pick up to 10 and write about 2 for double votes.


my winter body
and my summer body
two different people

we speak the same language
but I still can't
understand you

broken old dock
the only place . . .
I find peace

telling everyone
“i'm getting my summer body ready”
   . . . But i didn't say which summer

tilted street sign
     angry officer
          straight enough

counting down
days left of college
—I'll do it next week

saving the worms
from the driveway—
drowning them

midnight run
golf course sprinklers
showering under the moonlight

countdown on the calendar
smaller and smaller
there's still finals week

silly adventures
class in the morning
oh well

selfies in public
how much better
i look with dog ears

kicking pebbles across the concrete
I pretend to
play soccer

midnight drive
my past
in the rearview mirror

nasty words said
in front of the children
just walk away

quick tug
from the fishing pole—
I sigh for the tenth time

the brightest one
sits next to me

leaping of the frog
up and over

the crickets in the tall grass
confessing our sins . . .

the softest kiss
for my forehead
he's all for me

barbeque smoke
     my father
kissing someone else

the lights come on—
I thought I was dancing
with her

laying here next to you
the world is old
and so are we

i keep promising
one more sleepover

conversations getting shorter
Yet my love grows . . .
      for someone else.

our icy backs
frozen on the asphalt
     I felt the moon

a kiss on my forehead
reminds me
you love me

flowers in the field
I pick one to save for

he wipes the tears
from her eyes
then makes her laugh

I wanna hold your hand
he reads
          the wedding vows

we were over
the moment
your fist raised

we stare at the sunset
the darkness comes
out of us both

connecting your
beauty marks—
the Big Dipper

I didn't tell Mom
about his tattoos

late night
we sneak to the train tracks
no one will see

burnt bacon—
i thought you
knew how to cook

rain streaked evening
i wish i could take back
that car ride

a field of trees
my best friend's laugh
        echoes through




he gives
his last dollar
to the homeless man

game show music
revealing the surprise
a plate of spaghetti

singing in the shower
the birds in competition with her songs.
they're winning

     eyes closed
calming wind
     quietly stirs

4th mile
the sun hides behind the trees
better turn around

peaking through the cracks
of an empty parking lot
a yellow tulip

walk-off grand slam
a proud grandpa

spring weather
deflated soccer ball
sitting in the closet

back from the funeral—
we do dishes
as a family

big eyes beg
from under the table
—the crumb collector

*crunch* I love
. . . thin mints . . . *crunch*
the whole box . . . not again!

the last shot
gym floor shakes
right through the net

in her own realm
turning pages
glancing up at him

the snow falls gracefully
the cars slide every which way
one into the semi-truck

cool breeze
blowing off of the ocean
the taste of Piña Colada

“our ice cream machine is broken.”
          okay . . .

shaggy hair
   water drips
      from my trunks

hills of Ireland
mountains of Pennsylvania
on the stationary bike

rolling the joint
on the leg of my jeans
the cops bust in

cicada creek—
after sunset
they all come out to sing

low battery
phone call from Mom
he answers

holding her for the first time
“don't drop the baby”
Mom says

reunion dinner. . .
silent pauses
     let's change the subject

old theater
the seat lowers
but sits empty

gas light dings on
he pushes harder
on the pedal

passing by
on the trail
blossoming dogwood

I can hear my grandmother's voice
telling me now
“get your shit together”

the old man
rain fills the pond

the poster hanging
from one tape roll

creaky floor board
my new home
the silence within

reaching out
     the cold water
moves through my fingers

lying in the grass
watching clouds
daises in her hair

juice drips to          the pavement below
     giggling behind a big old

shrimp Alfredo
something bad will happen
if I quit stirring

the wind may shake
the branch
but it will not shake
the Crow

© 2017, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.