Tanka Kukai 3 - Tanka Roundtable - Fall 2009

into mud puddles
after the storm
I have half a mind
to never marry


my name
above the hook
i know
right where
to hang my hat


Fire drill.
We scatter like maple leaves
in the wind,
Then, regather on the lawn
to talk about tanka.


paper lanterns
in the margins
i forget
the kanji for light


drinking hot tea
with honey
I inhale
a small piece
of heaven


calloused hand
guides the brush
what a shame
for a literary child
to be born of a farmer


my eyes
fly to the moon
and back—
they still can’t see
that old man up there

late at night
a full moon
parts the clouds
to guide me home


your hair between my fingers
as you sleep
for the first time
in arms that are not his


dry pages
between my curious fingers
I remember
a Japanese baker’s daughter
locked in her bedroom


a weed
born in the month
of rice-planting
the girl who grows
her hair long


as the candle
the room begins to
fade to


once more
before the loom
she waits for her hero
to come home from his war


bright light
I pull my hood over
my eyes
I feel like a junkie
in the cold


my brother's bad
I switch
on his porch


© 2009, Randy Brooks • Millikin University
All rights returned to authors upon publication.