welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #126, Carbondale and Boulder, Colorado. Haikutimes reporter Jonathan Machen brings news from a visit to one of Colorado's mountain towns, while haiku correspondents David Teitler and Gene Langlois add their own reflections. Photos by Jonathan.

bursting forth
on a wet may day

in carbondale
death and memories
buttressed by the news,
the cold wind of cancer.
we come with a baby

his four-month old plumpness
occupies my every day
no time to write
or do a drawing;
only late-night bottles
and bleary-eyed
bumping into walls

in this new reality
i think: i will describe
every nuance of new growth,
every milestone,
whether insignificant or not;
every percentile change
of height;
every mournful sigh,
reflecting creative
vocal experimentation

describing also
the new direction, perhaps,
i seem to be headed -
that of mentor, parent,
one who hasn't figured out
his own path yet.

nothing to say
after so many years
of saying something
before i really had the wisdom
to say it well
now sitting bleary-eyed
with new life unfolding
in front of me
too tired to reflect
upon it.

life and death haiku
a memorial service
for someone loved
but hardly known

jules reached her 40s
just like teslin,
embraced life with
witty aphorisms,
resourceful trips
to thrift stores,
jubilance and deep appreciation
for her friends.

one day we are breathing:
the forest breaths life
one day we are dying:
the forest acts the same
the vigor we feel in our veins
the same life-blood
that flows down river valleys

orion cries
despite being cradled
by his mother

life and death surround
our innocent environs

anne and pete sibley
@steve's guitars in carbondale
a room of instruments
hanging above our heads
warming the sound
of this plaintive duet,
their delicate harmonies
dancing above our open ears.

several babies
spice the songs with cries
the light on
this local town feeling
shining above the musicians
inside a painted drum
sporting the image of mt. sopris
looming dark, outside and above,
over this small guitar store.

pudgy cheeks
awaiting nourishment
mother never comes

for those still living
comforting and reckoning
remembering her

memories and tears
time is an illusion
my cousin lives on

meryl streep
chose family -
why can't i relax
with a baby?

four months old
extra-absorbent padding
in his diaper
for the night-time explosions
along with drool, new teeth,
and growing attention spans

i strap him into
the bike trailer
take him to work along
the wide bike lanes
the springtime clouds
portending rain

clients who come to the building
give him a hug
welcome him to the world,
the bottle of formula
rejected in favor
of breast-milk elixir
pumped lovingly by mom
in her classroom during recess.

ceramic zen garden by Patrick Lynn

no longer available
to take care of this or that
this little munchkin
taking all my attention

at the solstice institute
a convergence of forces
on a moderate may evening
conspiring to create
synchronistic comedy -

the building engaging
its traditional spring rite of passage,
with a new level of
sympathetic harmonic vibration:
max the skull,
an ancient crystal relic,
taking center stage
while unbenownced
to everyone
the sewer has plugged itself up.
no amount of healing
vibration can unclog
these faulty drains - hours before
an expectant crowd
visits the building,

Jonathan Goldman toning with Max

i am reduced to
pleading with the plumber
to bring their base machinery
to help assist max with
the unclogging of the drains.
within an hour, even so,
i am pleased.
the building, and drains,
are clear.

Max the Plumber

cow-studded pasture
our boy develops new sounds
current crying fit

high alpine forests
releasing winter snowfall
river below swells

memorial day
i think of all the people
long since departed

thinking of winter
in the early heat of spring
river willows dance

white powder dusting
new-fallen snow on spring grass
its christmas again

thoughts on poetry...
silly of me...when thoughts stop
then...there it will be!

words! the use for words...
it is almost over now.
only poetry.

to write poetry
silence mind and open heart
all will be given

what is poetry
another reality
liquid light to ears

do this great poet
write to yourself with one goal
lesson plans for you!

it is depth of mind
as well as breadth of the heart
that makes a poet

euphoric babble
words release or keep hidden
poetry knows both

in youth it's bodies
but one must touch each other
now it's poetry

Boulder Thursday night bike club, spontaneous gathering/party

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen