welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #62, Gross Reservoir, May 24, 2003. Haiku writers Hal Gimpleson, Sanjay Rajan, Krista Morien, Susan Peterson, Patrick Lynn, Sara Benson, Tom Hopson and Jonathan Machen explore a basin of water above Boulder.

laying in pine duff
a robin's egg
faded almost to white

hum of rapid wings
green hummingbird far from somewhere
to flower, to flower, gone

classic may kukai
i lose writing impliment
but find sunglasses

the right, growl of two-stroke
ahead, kid shouts and picnic cooler
left, bird chirps and chits

totally down for the count
upon arrival at gross reservoir

a hydrologist
adds to reservoir haiku
poetic research

group hydrologist
takes time out from his research
for reservoir-ku

not quite fully alive
the reservoir quietly grabs
the forests reflection

the anasazi
left behind shards
but what beauty is there
in aluminium cans?

quiet walk in this
quiet wilderness -
the mind so quiet

stream trickles softly
before joining deep quiet
of reservoir

a stark and silent reservoir
sure ain't no
boulder creek festival

at first i wondered
what bird had lost its smooth red foot
exposed stream side roots

eldorado train
iron wheels, steel rails squeaking
metal on metal

i disturb the land
with my and my dogs' footprints
we are erosion

barren exposed walls
water far, far down below
remnants of dry years

floating across
the lake, tranquil
my quiet imagination

wide desert of crushed rock
broken beer bottles
surround reservoir

from across the lake
i hear the words five seven five
floating on the breeze

magician in the mist
patrick opens his hand
perfect blue robin's egg

i followed the path of the deer
but there was no deer
just the loud beat
of my own heart

head in rasta hat
greybraid instead of dreadlocks
hal arrives in style

staff in hand
hal walks this wilderness
looking so sage

on this may kukai
tom anxious to get back home
sara cramping

she looks for a long time
before writing in her book
then moves on

at the water's edge
slow turning train
scratches through trees

they say the water is rising
two feet a day
that's a lot of water

i sit and wonder
how long does it take
to see?

trudging only on stumps
above this odd reservoir
fisherman sips latte

breaking tranquil
of my quiet book read
magical sound of rumbling train

for the second time
meeting on a random trail
the same two people

not quite summertime
but the fish are jumping
here at gross reservoir

above the reservoir
dead stumps wiggle their short roots
attempting to leave

found a place to pee
where no-one can see me
at least so i think

so perfect
this one
just for me

engineering joke
not worth retelling
moonscape with water

the stark reservoir
ringed by such wildness
a place for everyone and no-one

like a toilet bowl
or a bathtub full of rings
exposed reservoir

completely self absorbed
humans come for the beauty
and leave their trash behind

broken glass bottle
from a party years ago
stuck in steep scree slope

over our water supply
this chipmunk so stoic

rain drops circle
on low reservoir
not enough

fox says
the modern day word for justice
is sustainability

the day his wife died
my neighbor walks to the dumpster
pushing a full wheelbarrow

broad easy smile
local sheriff on his beat
stopping rave parties

ponderosa pine
in a spiral stretch throwing off
warm flakes of bark

finding refuge
lake scum and feathers
of quiet outpost
gross reservoir

i lie back in the warmpth
while inside my pocket
watch gears whirl

yellow blossoms
tiny and perfect
well not so perfect
as orchids

waking from a deep sleep
i'm glad to see my friends
are not far away

fishermen reach in
and pull out nature's gift
leaving behind
glass bottles and aluminium cans

soon a bluebird will
bring its color for a bit
then fly off again


old friend laughter
cramping pain
spring birdsong
corruption bitterness
creek burble
a neighbor's sudden death
hummingbird whirr

once again
the whirr of
invisible hummingbirds

missed a spot
tuft of moss hanging off
the dead tree's chin

following the crazy
wandering trail of yellow
on the leaf's surface

flying through the air
perhaps to land on his head
the tick i just flicked

misty warm distant
owl hooting and train screeching
covered in cat hair

the day his wife died
my neighbor walks to the dumpster
pushing a full wheelbarrow

while i lie back and
relax in the warmth,
watch gears whirl in my pocket

without its needles
one can see just how spasticly
this pine held out its branches

t-shirt barefoot
sweaty sandal squinty
forget what i'm doing

the old familiar pain
not a concept any of us
used to have

completely enjoying
the fuscia cactus blossoms
and the rest of it

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen