Last Chance to Vote in the December 2025 THF Monthly Kukai
This month’s theme:
bag
Voting closes for The Haiku Foundation Monthly Kukai tonight (the 24th) at midnight (east coast time). So make those final decisions and let us know whom you think did the best work this month.
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 | spring breeze a grocery bag’s sultry dance | |
2 | “be wild” — my grocery bag attracts a few knowing smiles | |
3 | a cardboard sign a brown paper bag another Vietnam causality | |
4 | a crimson velvet pouch blushing girlfriend peeks inside her heart fluttering | |
5 | a cupboard full of new handbags . . . held captive | |
6 | a raven soars above black bag zips shut my heart trapped inside | |
7 | A red bag is dropped Carelessly, by my icy door, Memories fly out. | |
8 | a reusable bag in her cross-body bag just in case | |
9 | after an argument a small bag slams the door hard | |
10 | all she owned in black plastic trash bags clearing the house | |
11 | always a lady she puts everything in it yummy bread bag-ette | |
12 | amid the sunrise a symphonic cacophony — ragbag of bird song | |
13 | anxious hands tremble; quick relief, sealed in plastic — life lost to a bag | |
14 | Aunt’s hands clasp Handbag full of scraps. Nursing home | |
15 | autumn breeze high in the treetop a brown bag rustles | |
16 | back to school days the rickshaw puller’s load — bags of notebooks | |
17 | backpack a boy’s slow steps on the way to school | |
18 | bag for life asleep on the pavement it rolls in the road | |
19 | bag lady shopping cart to go | |
20 | bag ready . . . mom’s sweater snug over my baby bump | |
21 | bagful of seeds — chickadee foresees a snowy winter | |
22 | baggage claim holiday plans up for grabs | |
23 | bags of all colors bags of all shapes and I am just one | |
24 | bagworms . . . the carry-ons in our Christmas tree | |
25 | becoming adult — a child takes his mother’s hand going to the playground | |
26 | bitter chill another sleeping bag in another doorway | |
27 | black bag she doesn’t see race | |
28 | Black Friday a bag crosses the lot full of wind | |
29 | brown bag hobos pass ’round elegies for a fallen friend | |
30 | brown bag PB & J sandwich with bacon | |
31 | burger bag in a gull’s beak pouted lip | |
32 | Butterfly on flowers Kids enjoying A cockroach came | |
33 | Central Park bench with a bagged bottle holiday cheers | |
34 | chemotherapy ward she notices the bags under my eyes | |
35 | childhood memories a worn bag of marbles in a dusty attic | |
36 | Chill, grey, thin, red. Ice, thin, fragile, the koi sleep. Morning sun can’t stay. | |
37 | Christmas Eve — from bin to bin a bag lady | |
38 | clear night — picking shooting stars with an empty bag | |
39 | closing the distance the white bird becomes a bag | |
40 | clutching her carry-on . . . new grandson’s gifts | |
41 | colorful paper torn litter under Christmas tree lights | |
42 | comet star — a shepherd’s bag full of gifts | |
43 | coming home in the soldier’s bag forget-me-not seeds | |
44 | dad’s travel bag carrying the weight of his memories | |
45 | December chill the bag lady huddled on the mall steps | |
46 | December nightfall no stars anywhere in sight thank you, home fireplace | |
47 | detention center shadows beneath the stares | |
48 | discharged home the silence of the baby rattle in her hospital bag | |
49 | displayed the contents of her handbag — blue moon | |
50 | Embrace wife and son Body Bags come draped in flags Blue and Yellow home | |
51 | every night I harvest the stars in her pouches | |
52 | family reunion my medicine bag is heavier again | |
53 | festivity bag all of the jingle taken from pine | |
54 | finally out of the bag schrödinger’s cat | |
55 | finding my smartphone in the shopping bag a love message | |
56 | first day of school — hugging the new bag to his chest | |
57 | first lantern in a plastic bag a firefly | |
58 | first light . . . the drowned insect in my nightcap | |
59 | flee war the child’s only baggage his puppy | |
60 | frosty morning — at an old lady’s porch groceries delivered | |
61 | full bag she buys another for the old woman outside | |
62 | full bag of raked leaves for you sweet garden dreaming of spring | |
63 | full grocery bag — Thanksgiving again | |
64 | full of wind a plastic bag snagged on razor wire | |
65 | grandma’s knitting bag hangs in the attic . . . unfinished business | |
66 | grandma’s shopping bag sewn from kitchen curtains I remember, still | |
67 | grandpa packs in the old bag the dreams of a child | |
68 | Gravity stamps It’s signature Under her eyes | |
69 | grocery bag — holding the warmth of Christmas | |
70 | grocery shopping I lose more energy than I gain | |
71 | half-empty bag : the weight of being a pensioner | |
72 | hidden moon I ruffle through my tote bag | |
73 | his few possessions in brown burlap bag, begins total detachment | |
74 | his small hospice room a large bag with dad’s sweater and old fairy tales | |
75 | holiday party with old friends all our baggage tied with red ribbons | |
76 | home for Christmas his bag in the hall . . . a mother’s tears | |
77 | home for the holidays the baggage we all bring with us | |
78 | home from the toy store bag opens wide in my child’s eye | |
79 | homeless paper bag holds his worldly treasures | |
80 | Hungry and thirsty two men miles from the border — how much can a bag hold? | |
81 | I steal a grape from her shopping bag — grandma’s wheelchair | |
82 | in the airport an abundance of under eye bags | |
83 | inside of the bag your long-ago letters still make me cry | |
84 | inside the bag the little puppy peeks out good morning Australia. | |
85 | intermittent night deluge of inspiration bags under his eyes | |
86 | joy of beggar kids keeping tradition alive St Martin’s bag | |
87 | junks from moon — her overnight bag she forgets | |
88 | just when we were about to zip it up — a matching liver | |
89 | kids with lunchboxes their mother behind with the schoolbags | |
90 | kitten peeking out a forgotten grocery bag family secrets | |
91 | late autumn a paper sack catches the wind | |
92 | Let me carry all your sorrows and dreams that I may never decay and be called trash | |
93 | Listen closely now — let that suspicious bag lie tell authorities | |
94 | lodge night a ski bag unzipped to the stars | |
95 | long night . . . keeping it going self-standing tea bag | |
96 | long pilgrimage I carry the (bag)gage of my past karma | |
97 | look, listen, feel haiku waiting to be found one deep breath away | |
98 | mademoiselle with net bag through the deep woods shopping wild herbs | |
99 | misty morning that one rose still in my bag | |
100 | mom’s handbag the quarters we never returned | |
101 | money bags of groceries | |
102 | my mother’s worn bag hides her secrets from dark light her hands touch softly. | |
103 | my only baggage this urge for going | |
104 | My shopping bag — heavier today though there’s less in it . . . | |
105 | my sister and i watching cagney and lacey — ‘bags i’m the blond one!’ | |
106 | negotiating table — a butterfly on the nuclear briefcase | |
107 | newspaper bag — the flavour of war in fresh berries | |
108 | night sky its dark bag of brightness | |
109 | no penny container on counter in store round up | |
110 | off I go packing my empty suitcase | |
111 | off to see a wizard leave a message Bilbo | |
112 | Old man carries life in bag | |
113 | one-way ticket — weighing the travel bag of my memories | |
114 | orange vest . . . bagging a ten-point buck | |
115 | packed overnight bag it’s been years since he left | |
116 | Physical therapy — I set down my old bags one by one | |
117 | polar vortex . . . the linden tea bag scatters summer’s warmth | |
118 | Preserval banner Soaring on the laundry line Reusable bag | |
119 | rainy day a paper bag becomes Baby Yoda | |
120 | Route 66 cartwheels of tumbleweeds with plastic bags | |
121 | rumbling sky the body bag maker builds a pile | |
122 | rummage sale the clerk tucks an extra book in the bag | |
123 | sack of rice the weight on his shoulders feeding us | |
124 | sagging apple trees an old lady carries two full bags | |
125 | school lunch hyperventilating in a brown paper bag | |
126 | Scylla overtakes my purse like Messina’s strait and my keys, her teeth | |
127 | second frost drinking moonlight from a brown paper bag | |
128 | shepherd’s purse my bag heavier upon return | |
129 | shiny chrysalis a bag of hope beauty emerges | |
130 | shopping bags galore — poor winter only asks for a bundle of snow | |
131 | side-lined grocery cart garbage bags piled high his santa hat | |
132 | simple brown bag leftovers from dinner surprise | |
133 | simple brown bag secreting precious treasure tossed, crumpled, forgotten | |
134 | single-use bag in a parking lot dumpster abuelo zip-tied | |
135 | sleeping bag — in a cardboard box my home | |
136 | snow collects upon the satchel’s single leather strap; winter poet | |
137 | sotsukon — holding up the security check your lighter in my bag (Sotsukon derives from the Japanese words for “graduation” and “marriage.” Author Yumiko Sugiyama popularized the concept of couples opting to live largely independent lives without formally divorcing.) | |
138 | split in two heart’s life force revealed shepherd’s purse | |
139 | squeaky wheels through the alley at dawn old woman and her cart | |
140 | stagnant river glimmerlicks of sky in a plastic bag | |
141 | still warm in my carry bag the chicken | |
142 | sweet summer sun rise a lonely paper bag lies next to mighty tree | |
143 | Teddy in his bag, check, parent swap day | |
144 | the cat inspecting the shopping — spring twilight | |
145 | the contents of a black handbag wild conjecture | |
146 | the preschooler pulls his backpack with pride . . . | |
147 | the weight of an endless wait — eye bags | |
148 | There is mainly light, Breath ceases as the soil hits Then there is Darkness. | |
149 | third month in remission a grocery bag of tulip bulbs | |
150 | torched beehive — first-aid kits pass from hand to hand | |
151 | tote bag weight of leaving mother in the old-age home | |
152 | traveling light one bag and a ticket home | |
153 | true crime junkie more body bags than he can remember | |
154 | two eyes too on the run kangaroo pouch | |
155 | unzipping my schoolbag — memories align like the alphabet | |
156 | Urostomy bag. Every day reality of cancer survival. | |
157 | Valley Forge Park — bagpipers should be seen not heard | |
158 | waning moon a warm tea bag on her bruise | |
159 | Water bottle, chips, stocking hat, pen and paper. Bag beneath the bridge. | |
160 | what’s in Santa’s Bag? regrets | |
161 | wheelchair bound her dilly bag within arms reach | |
162 | winter field the rice sack stiffening along its crease | |
163 | winter holidays — a postman’s bag crammed with war letters | |
164 | winter snow on her bed bag lady | |
165 | winter wind — in the found backpack bread still lukewarm | |
166 | you visit, we drink, and the cat gets out | |
167 | your bag but someone else’s name agnès b | |
168 | ziplock bag keeping Baby Jesus dry homeless Christmas |
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!
