welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #124, Boulder Open Space, March 4, 2006. Group haiku by Krista Morien, Sara Benson, Sanjay Rajan, Jonathan Machen and Robert Power on a decidedly summer-like day in the middle of early spring, producing great confusion over the proper season-word. Also, a poem from Hal Gimpleson graces the end of this issue.

clump of turds like grapes
resting under yucca
with great simplicity

at the beginning of walk
macro at the end

walking this old path
remembering sadness and confusion
i step right through it

sittin zazen
stranger unmindful
of dog slobber

did not forget my
two minute sacred haiku nap
wonderful rest

glad for the warmth of
the sun with cool winds blowing
winter into spring

the weeds of winter
startled by springtime sunshine
old forms persevere

my face
glazed deep
soakin' march sun

snow nowhere
hour later
among these plains

beads of sweat
among new wrinkles
my hand wide open

feeling everything
that old emotional pain
also the cactus

held in the cradle
of my friends - the lens opens
to reveal the truth

tranquil afternoon
crunching these pebbles
same old chacos

against sky blue
just a dog head

spandex or funky
spring heat exposes styles
for dog walkers

shiny glisten
of this ancient rock
just jazz's pee

march's first -
haiku temporary
as this post-it note

from this dusty hillside
i long for the other side
a cloak of deep green

overhearing his
phone conversation while perched
on a canyon rock

out-of-place treasure
calvin and hobbes frisbee
discovered in gully

subtle restraint from
the cheese and crackers I look
toward the fluffy hills

one thought
pushing the other aside
giving them space

at how surprised i am
by this simple hill

spring heat, winter hues
as if the sun browns the land
while we wait for green

far and wild
these chacos gather
worldly dust

long string of guano
insult to injury
on forgotten stump

chasing me like an arrow
straight up the hillside

taking time to let
the edge of the sun
work it's magic

she just peed on herself
shame on ku!

things that used to seem mundane
with three-week old son

and just as suddenly

chill temperatures
on the outside - on the inside
beating infant heart

encountering deer
i gingerly step aside
holding child near chest

heart opening wide
so deep i have to breathe in
before spilling over

haiku baby
jiggling in rhythm
singing his full name

after telling gene
of seven-syllabled name
reading his own ku

noisy traffic
layered on peaceful snow
sound and sight combine

walking in the sun
people brewing coffee
behind silent doors

lone bicyclist
enters the canyon below
last rays of the sun

deer in front yard
i walk with protective stance
holding baby

snorts and grunting
sounding brand new, familiar
the newborn stage

people say it's gone
before you can catch up to it
the child grows with a frenzy
of feedings and
nighttime nursings

waking up again
from a deep sleep
only hours after you've put him down

orion's mobile
having perverse effect on dad
now singing mozart

falling everywhere
snow crystals cover the ground
deep winter embrace

orion had
such a big day
of sleeping while hiking

coming into the world
armed with a new religion
that of the nipple

this new religion
the almighty nipple
bow to the milk queen

cherubic newborn
proselytizing the nipple
as the font of life

i suck espresso
while he sucks mothers' milk
two needy humans

wandering about
warehouses and vacant lots
playful morning walk

the rest of the world
busy with work but me just
busy with walking

in building's shadow
ice remains
parking lot shimmers

public art
behind liquor store

if the noise of industry
harms newborn's ears

not holding on
to this moment with my son
just watching him breathe

avoiding noisy
birds, dogs, delivery-trucks
on my morning walk

orion crying
the universe expanding
neither seems to stop

strange city noises
formerly innocuous
now disturbing sleep

his teeth whistling
on chair lift above brown snow
spring ski conditions

ice in reservoir
sinking slowly
thirsty town below

spring winds blowing
melting ice in shadows
boulder creek turns brown

She Likes Her Coffee With a Poem
by Hal Gimpleson, Colorado Springs, January 27, 2006

Nearly bitter
so dark brown
it’s nearly black
brewed just for her
in her favorite
‘a short black’
‘a doppio’
whatever it’s called
and next to it
a sweet roll
of his words
then rhymed
especially baked for
not too syrupy
though loaded with
cinnamon and
just nostalgic enough
so she would
to reread
through the blur of nearly
a tear
just sweet enough
before beginning
her day.

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen