THF Monthly Kukai Voting Ballot — March 2022
This month’s theme:
mud
Voting for The Haiku Foundation Monthly Kukai
Shortly after the conclusion of the submission period, an anonymous ballot comprising all submitted poems on that month’s theme will be posted to Troutswirl (The Haiku Foundation blog) on the THF site. Any reader of this ballot is eligible to vote for their favorite poems at this time. A voter may vote for up to five (5) poems per theme. A top vote will receive 5 points, a second-place vote 4 points, a third-place vote 3 points, a fourth-place vote 2 points, and a fifth-place vote 1 point.
Please use the Kukai voting form below to enter your selections, and then press Submit to cast your votes. No other votes will be recognized or honored. All votes must be signed (that is, no “anonymous” votes will be accepted, and the Submit button will not be available until both Name and Email fields are filled in), and no poet may vote for his or her own work. No commentary upon the poems will be accepted or published. Votes will be accepted from the appearance of the ballot on the 18th of that month through midnight of the 24th of that month. Readers may vote only once per ballot. Administrators of the kukai are ineligible to vote.
Note: Anonymity is an essential part of any kukai. If you know who wrote the poem then that entry is no longer anonymous. Please respect the Kukai and do not vote for that entry.
The Ballot
1 | a handful of soil I bring back the warmth of mother’s embrace | |
2 | a lily pad sinking in mud my depression | |
3 | a mud puddle reveals two pale faces . . . one is mine | |
4 | a whiff of what was . . . petrichor | |
5 | after downpours the last puddle grackle bathing | |
6 | after the flood a toy truck engulfed in toxic mud | |
7 | alzheimer . . . in every mud puddle a memory | |
8 | animals come to drink ponds once water filled — now mud trap herds i thirsty dreams | |
9 | army in the mud Katyushas pointed at the rainbow | |
10 | ash on snow . . . trudging through the sludge of war | |
11 | aspiring politician scraping all the mud off his shoe | |
12 | Belonging To the earth Mud | |
13 | blood-stained ground the sacrifice made of mud | |
14 | b l o o m s | |
15 | bringing my work home dried mud | |
16 | brushing off a remnant of mud soil from his country | |
17 | brutal sun parching a river of mud fractures, across arid ground | |
18 | buffalo shed the mud cone from many ponds | |
19 | Captured by mud Wheels of my truck Now completely stuck | |
20 | childhood bride . . . the marriage feast of mud balls on banana leaves | |
21 | childhood summer those days of high tea with mud-cakes | |
22 | chocolate bar — in a mud puddle the snack of a butterfly | |
23 | cleaning muddy shoes . . . the heaviness of darkness on my father’s lung | |
24 | colours born of mud, returning to mud in the painter’s pot | |
25 | conflict . . . how long before birches grow once more through mud? | |
26 | dinner’s ready! serving fragrant mud pies — childhood memories | |
27 | dirt beneath the snow the unicorn hunting me | |
28 | dirty mud all over our world — greedy war | |
29 | dry shoes stay home adventure is a pair of muddy boots | |
30 | dry summer — Grandpa’s boat stuck in the mud | |
31 | early spring digging the garden from between the dog’s pads | |
32 | evening breeze plum petals stuck on her muddy shoes | |
33 | everyday mud — getting harder and harder to find a lump of goodness | |
34 | far away from home I look at the endless rain over a vast swamp | |
35 | flowers mixed with mud under the feet of soldiers — spring smelling of war | |
36 | forest stroll . . . grounding my ego the mud trail | |
37 | forgiveness — he washes the hands of the mud-throwers | |
38 | fresh mud shovels scatter the stench of drought | |
39 | from the mud a water lily . . . how wonderful | |
40 | garden shed ghosts — empty sunflower hulls and dried squirrel prints | |
41 | glistening mud retreats, cracks a mosaic | |
42 | glittering eyes brighten his muddy face — cat fish | |
43 | hands in mud . . . we harvest peace | |
44 | happy hour . . . washing off the day’s mud | |
45 | harvest moon — muddy puddles show him the way | |
46 | heavy rains — monsoon her mind shows signs of aging spinning in the mud | |
47 | in mud horses and troops interred hardened by time | |
48 | in mud I follow the fresh tracks of a giant stag | |
49 | in the bottom of the cereal bowl champion mud | |
50 | in the morning mud coyote prints dusty pink sunrise | |
51 | in the mud fighting swallows for mud | |
52 | independence . . . even from this bloodied mud sunflowers bloom | |
53 | jacaranda blooms float to tire tracks purple in mud. you have left. | |
54 | just under the eave tirelessly she daubs and molds baby’s coming soon | |
55 | lakebed an intricate pattern of dried mud dust to dust | |
56 | Last remnants of snow Like dollops of whipped cream On chocolate ice cream mud | |
57 | learning to walk the spring mudflats . . . lotus feet | |
58 | leaving tracks foot and tire welcome spring | |
59 | liquefaction the inevitability of faultlines | |
60 | little hands in river mud shaping the earth | |
61 | Loam stirs, breaking free — muddling nightcrawlers rise under the worm moon. | |
62 | melting snow and rain even the sparrow wants a little place to hide | |
63 | melting snow the toddler’s first footprints in the mud | |
64 | memory care all her memories clear as mud | |
65 | moonstruck since 69 poets blinding a footprint in the mud | |
66 | Mud and snow And a single yellow flower — Spring, far north | |
67 | mud bath trying to find my inner beauty | |
68 | mud between toes and up their trunks elephants at play | |
69 | mud bubbles pop poppop! | |
70 | mud doll he wipes her tears | |
71 | mud fight — the bright rosiness of her cheeks | |
72 | mud filled boots he carries his guilt back home | |
73 | mud flats the rise and fall of an empire | |
74 | mud . . . how easy to change mom’s face | |
75 | mud . . . I take a few steps back | |
76 | mud mixed with blood sunflower seeds germinate in the cold earth | |
77 | mud . . . nothing much left of my father now | |
78 | mud on my brow planting in the noonday sun | |
79 | mud on my feet walking on the muddy road to muddy freedom | |
80 | mud on the boots — childhood memories emerge in me | |
81 | mud on tiny shoes stomping in puddle face aglow with glee | |
82 | mud path . . . a cycle overtakes a sports car | |
83 | mud path your footprints begin to blur | |
84 | mud pie a taste of my toddler’s imagination | |
85 | mud pies baked in the playhouse grandma comes for tea | |
86 | mud pies the child shaping them just so | |
87 | mud season a quick sniff of my boot heel | |
88 | mud season an armored column mired sunflowers | |
89 | mud season . . . local gossip shared over the fence | |
90 | Mud smearing on the terraces of the spa drying of laundry | |
91 | mud splatters on a spotless floor . . . in the doghouse | |
92 | Mud the elixir of life and death . . . | |
93 | mud walls earthworms tickle as onions sleep | |
94 | mudbank the eye blink of a bull frog | |
95 | Muddy field Bowl of rice For supper | |
96 | muddy pond one frog after another | |
97 | Muddy shoes, I know the way you came to me | |
98 | muddy wagon trails now eroding arroyos or vague scars on grass | |
99 | muddy waters bullfrog burps g n i s i r bubbles | |
100 | mudflats shimmering — go ahead, take your shoes off you know you want to | |
101 | mud-laden hands burying the remains of a departed dream | |
102 | mudmudmudmudmud . . . r a c o o n t r a | |
103 | mudslide — our sins washed away | |
104 | mule deer our tracks merge after the rain | |
105 | Music festival Feet in the mud Dance all night | |
106 | my sister out of the muddy water lotus blossoms | |
107 | my wellies squelch through March warblers returning | |
108 | no fly zone cherry blossom petals fall on a mudflat | |
109 | No water now no mud no mud no lotus flower bloom Sun plenty of sun | |
110 | nothing thaws mud we didn’t leave in Flanders | |
111 | nuclear blues plant dumps waste to Muddy Waters beach-bathing smiles fade | |
112 | Old pond Now mud No frogs One turtle | |
113 | on its way to Kyiv a military convoy sinks deep into the mud | |
114 | on the dirt road yellow butterfly puddling mom’s fingertips skim my cheek | |
115 | opening day — home plate iced over | |
116 | paw prints on the kitchen floor mud season | |
117 | Pearl permanent shine in Mud | |
118 | post-winter puddles . . . even deeper and muddier in new leather shoes | |
119 | probably I am getting closer to river much heavier shoes | |
120 | rain over camp — in woman’s arms a baby from fresh mud | |
121 | rain puddles smiling kids covered in mud | |
122 | Rainbow arches up to wipe red mud from the Sleeping Giant’s chin. | |
123 | rainy evening more and more pigs in mom’s mud cake | |
124 | rainy season first middle and last name mud | |
125 | refugees . . . between curves of mud full moon | |
126 | second thoughts deep under the snow a muddy garden | |
127 | she clears out winter’s detritus — mud season | |
128 | skid marks in the mud — kissing gate | |
129 | sliding into home base his pants become the mud | |
130 | sloshing through spring rituals rubber rain boots | |
131 | slow current . . . mud between my toes a worm on the hook (Ekphrastic haiku after the novel Adventures of Tom Sawyer, 1876, by Mark Twain) | |
132 | soil in one globe in the other — balanced hands | |
133 | spring mud . . . back home from Kyiv in a body bag | |
134 | spring pond secrets burnt umber mud pies — golden koi garnish | |
135 | spring rain — adorning a mud puddle cherry blossoms | |
136 | spring rains . . . a raccoon’s muddy hands | |
137 | spring sparrows get mud puddles in weather report | |
138 | starry sky he bathes in the mud month | |
139 | sunlight on mud his worshipping with grouse | |
140 | Tell a story ‘til it rains again; footprints in the mud. | |
141 | thanksgiving . . . from the muddy pond a budding lotus | |
142 | the earth’s hard dryness becomes mud between my toes as clear pebbles fall | |
143 | the mud trail that leads to her bedroom . . . he kept his key | |
144 | the peat rising in heat thermals a golden eagle | |
145 | the point of this life is to get your hands dirty delicious carrots | |
146 | The right and the left Politics water and dirt Causing a mudslide | |
147 | the wet clay strand riddled with blowholes rake in hand | |
148 | through the thickest mud we can see the rainbow now earth mother balanced | |
149 | Toddler in sagging diaper mudhole | |
150 | trainer tracks cross the bird tracks — spring mud | |
151 | trapped in the hollows . . . I sat and went down the brown slope slipping | |
152 | tsunami — mud in her hair and lungs | |
153 | turbans point to the sky jigsaws of dry fields | |
154 | two ducks puddling mud the pond’s memory | |
155 | two eyes blink above the mud — two more — many more — the plague emerging | |
156 | Ukraine — a paper boat held upright muddy puddle | |
157 | Ukraine — mud trenches bleed red with the blood of martyrs | |
158 | unable to stop digging up the past two mudlarkers | |
159 | under the bridge where he used to play . . . handprints | |
160 | view of life — the mud becomes a rose in the hands of a little girl | |
161 | war — in a mud puddle a paper boat | |
162 | war refugees nothing to declare but mud and fear | |
163 | way to school at the yesterday’s puddle first lesson | |
164 | woodland walk winter clings to my boots | |
165 | worm moon the soil tilled with fresh manure |
Kukai Results
On the first day of the following month, results of the tally of the kukai will be announced. The top vote-getters as voted by readers will be posted, along with the number of points each poem tallied, and each poem’s authorship will be revealed at this time. Winners will be invited to select from a list of prizes provided by The Haiku Foundation. The theme for the new month will be announced at the same time, and the process repeated. Poems remain the copyrighted property of their authors, but The Haiku Foundation reserves the right to publish, display and archive all submitted poems for this and other purposes at its discretion.
Congratulations to all our participants!
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Tom, I know that by the rules you must throw out my vote for myself. If I may quote the late, great comedian Flip Wilson,”The devil made me do it.”