long summer day
two little girls looking up
through the leaves
Published by
Randy Brooks
Dr. Randy Brooks directs the writing major at Millikin University, a private university in Decatur, Illinois, USA and recently served as the Midwest Coordinator for the Haiku Society of America. He and his wife, Shirley Brooks, have been co-editors and publishers of Brooks Books, (formerly High/Coo Press) and currently edit Mayfly magazine. Dr. Brooks has won many awards for his haiku and haiku publishing including 1st Place in the prestigious Harold G. Henderson Award in 1998 from the Haiku Society of America. A collection of his selected haiku, School's Out, was published in 1999 by Press Here (Foster City, California). School's Out, received 3rd Place in the national Merit Book Awards for the Best Haiku Books published in 1999, an award sponsored by the Haiku Society of America. More information about Dr. Brooks. More information about Brooks Books. email: brooksbooks at q-com.com or rbrooks at mail.millikin.edu View all posts by Randy Brooks
hum, I think that I’ve read more than this about
you Dr. Brooks, aaah, very lovely haiku, and I
hope that you don’t mind if I share this with my
family.
all my best,
Gene
a new day approaches, brevity on bob’s part.
in reading a piece, “i” try to understand the author’s conception. being “summer”, first line, assuming the leaves still being on the tree.
second line, a bit wordy.
overall, my mind feels there’s something amiss, or perhaps we have a bit of “mystery” here.
possibly, their gaze stopped upon a branch, or continued on to whatever caught their fancy, on the other side…
while thinking over this piece, i pondered if i had written something akin to,
“hot sun above the sidewalk
man places one foot…
in front of the other”
in finishing my thought, what review would i have gotten…
I enjoyed following up on your haiku with your web site…very nice.
thanks, ryan
Oh, I forgot about your website. I bet, both
you and Shirley are very proud. And when I read,
Bill Collins, I carefully looked over each of the
photos … yeah never know, now do we.
blessings,
Gene
Thanks, Randy. I take little breaks and sit in a tiny garden, and look up through the leaves, too. Just a dreamy summer moment. Here in Northern Wisconsin, a few are gold.
Blessings on your new semester. I know you work hard to involve your students, and that you publish them alongside well-known poets.
Ellen
Dear Bob Richarson
Do you fell a need to comment on each hauku.
Do you wish to provike dialouge?
You overwelm a once nice site, good or bad.
Have you something else to do?
David Wood
dear david wood,
1. a need to comment on every haiku, have you looked at the total list; my work is cut out for me.
2. on my providing a dialogue, allow me to say, “it just happens that way”.
3. hmmm, i see what you mean on my being “overwhelming”, i have been told that before; i must be honest with you, i didn’t totally understand your 3rd point, might you break it down for me, or even rephrase it.
4. do i have something else to do, let me assure you, i do. david, this is my break-away from my daily routine; all-in-all, this takes up very little of my time.
david, may i propose a number 5, what do i get out of all this; i am thrilled, david, my words have prompted you, and even others, to react towards me in the manner you have. david, it has broaden my outlook, and the things i have learned.
david, please, write again.
in closing, david, things of this nature make my day.
one more thought, david, are you for real.
next…
hot day
treetops stir in the wind
Anyone want to renga?
mid summer heat
the traffic light
stuck on red
summer stilness
i watching the wind
in the spiderweb
endless
summer days …
the mockingbird sings
outside my bedroom window
–
not only is this bourgeoise, not only is this
petty bourgeoise, it’s petty petty bourgeoise.
so suburban, so bland, so unremarkable, regardless
of what the haiku elite say about it. has this
type of observation blinded you to what’s
occuring all around you?
old newspapers…
for some a nuisance
for some a bed
winter night solitude–
a look through the darkness
where the moon once was