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Issue 84, Sawhill Ponds, Boulder, March 7, 2004 Haiku poets from Sawhill Ponds: Hal and Deb Gimpleson, Krista Morien, Sanjay Rajan, Susan Peterson, Sara Benson, Patrick Lynn, Robert Power and Jonathan Machen.
from shore to shore
friends wave
floating geese - sleep
rooster calls
beyond mallard's
hidden tin shed echoes
little by little
as the dry grass brushes my hand
hurt starts to melt
hard to find the words
for depression while talking
to such a good friend
finding my way through
broken teasel and crusty milkweed
sun beating down
sunny winter day
dressed as a cathedral window
made of cotton
warm afternoon
red-tailed hawk banks
and falls away
time, as if weightless -
my body demands deep roots
i stand still and watch
once i stop looking
i immediately find
something worth seeing
us, men and women
we're tethered by poetry
as strong as the heart
grasping upward
silvery grey dead fingers
sunbleached roots
i thought it was sleeping
until it dove head first
into the water
three haiku artists
stop - their moment of presence
as quiet as the pond
stunned into silence
directly under the flight path
of gliders and planes
positioning self
for best foto angle
creates great haiku
the sound of running water
changes the landscape
enormously
like a rubber duck
in a bathtub with waves
the goose tips - backside up
parisian slide show
contrasting grey city streets
with boulder march day
with a deep sigh, i
return to the haiku mind
and pay attention
in the duck pond
separated from nature
ok to shoot
obvioius by the
purposelessness of their stride
haiku friends in the distance
odd behavior?
those people who walk, stop and write
repeatedly
ducks and geese
floating on calm pond
reflecting calm mind
walking the same path
noticing my resistance
to walk the same path
trigger happy
hal and his digital
lucky not a gun
airplanes and geese
take off at the same time
geese are louder
my attempt's thwarted
what is my will anyway
except nature's way?
a vector for weeds
human with stretchy black pants
searching for haiku
what a wacky group
they call, saying everyone's here
now we can part
from serene to silly
the duck does another headstand
white butt in the air
not writing haiku
too many beautiful things
caught in lens
muddling around in
the mud of life - i
trip and fall
tilted toward the sun
my face grows warm and blushes
remembering heat
i found a tiny boat
that i set afloat
following the trail
deer droppings to my secret
place to pee
mystic blue
a different shade
yet so blue
i send out sonar
vibrations from my heart
does he receive them?
pale sky
pale the pain and
pale the fear of pain
back from his travels
sanjay parks himself by the pond
a stone in the sun
plenty of time to
walk on the earth in this life
if we take it
stark chalky trees
reflected in murky water
gracefully
swaying and veering
just because if feels good
drunk on winter sun
wish i could twist my
neck and lay my head on my back
to take a nap
gradwalls quack, geese honk
even the power lines
crackle with spring
quiet contemplation
by lake blue
haku sara
noisy airplane buzz
mirrors mental chatter
while i chew cashew
my wife out of town
i laze around in the sun
and doodle on my jeans
in this bleached stillness
i let the winter sun empty
me of all desire
out here in nature
concerning ourselves with love
seems redundant
written haiku
floats into dark pond
from which it came
while pondering
this cloud of dark gnats
they all fly towards me
natural rhythm
coming together to part
over and over
three figures in black
my friends return from their walk
i am still rooted
two women equipped
with small binoculars
look at empty sky?
no hint of bird life
beyond tantalizing chirps
and rogue whistles
susan's here!
haiku ki party begins
deep still pond
everywhere i glance
my haiku friends have become
the stillness of trees
recently returned
from south america
belted kingfisher
tranquility
in hard times
haiku blue
Circle by Susan Peterson
I resist completing the circle
With a wide brush dipped
in rich black ink
I push and then pull,
slowly rounding the form.
The end comes
near to the beginning
And then I stop
Just short of completion
Short of touching
Short of enclosure
Short of perfection
My soul speaks
And asks for breathing space
Between the beginning and the end
Between the line and the circle
Between open and closed
Between partial and complete
For what is ever complete anyway?
When the circle closes
Illusion enters
Illusion of perfection
Illusion of fullness
Illusion of completeness
When the circle closes there becomes
Inside and outside
Here and there
Accepted and rejected
Safe and unsafe
The wagons are circled
And we are either friend or foe
Christian or Jew
Gay or straight
Man or woman
Right or wrong
My soul speaks
And asks for breathing space
Just enough room
to allow entrance to
Tolerance
Uncertainty
Curiosity
Wisdom
I, myself, have been a
million completed circles
Knowing with certainly who I am
What I believe
Which way is the right way
I have begun and completed
the circle many times
Only to feel entrapped
within its boundaries
Now, when I draw the circle
I stop short
I stop perfectly short
Allowing the breeze of my breath
Entrance and exit into
The known and unknown
Still full and whole
Yet empty and in part
The circle remains.
from shore to shore
friends wave
floating geese - sleep
rooster calls
beyond mallard's
hidden tin shed echoes
little by little
as the dry grass brushes my hand
hurt starts to melt
hard to find the words
for depression while talking
to such a good friend
finding my way through
broken teasel and crusty milkweed
sun beating down
sunny winter day
dressed as a cathedral window
made of cotton
warm afternoon
red-tailed hawk banks
and falls away
time, as if weightless -
my body demands deep roots
i stand still and watch
once i stop looking
i immediately find
something worth seeing
us, men and women
we're tethered by poetry
as strong as the heart
grasping upward
silvery grey dead fingers
sunbleached roots
i thought it was sleeping
until it dove head first
into the water
three haiku artists
stop - their moment of presence
as quiet as the pond
stunned into silence
directly under the flight path
of gliders and planes
positioning self
for best foto angle
creates great haiku
the sound of running water
changes the landscape
enormously
like a rubber duck
in a bathtub with waves
the goose tips - backside up
parisian slide show
contrasting grey city streets
with boulder march day
with a deep sigh, i
return to the haiku mind
and pay attention
in the duck pond
separated from nature
ok to shoot
obvioius by the
purposelessness of their stride
haiku friends in the distance
odd behavior?
those people who walk, stop and write
repeatedly
ducks and geese
floating on calm pond
reflecting calm mind
walking the same path
noticing my resistance
to walk the same path
trigger happy
hal and his digital
lucky not a gun
airplanes and geese
take off at the same time
geese are louder
my attempt's thwarted
what is my will anyway
except nature's way?
a vector for weeds
human with stretchy black pants
searching for haiku
what a wacky group
they call, saying everyone's here
now we can part
from serene to silly
the duck does another headstand
white butt in the air
not writing haiku
too many beautiful things
caught in lens
muddling around in
the mud of life - i
trip and fall
tilted toward the sun
my face grows warm and blushes
remembering heat
i found a tiny boat
that i set afloat
following the trail
deer droppings to my secret
place to pee
mystic blue
a different shade
yet so blue
i send out sonar
vibrations from my heart
does he receive them?
pale sky
pale the pain and
pale the fear of pain
back from his travels
sanjay parks himself by the pond
a stone in the sun
plenty of time to
walk on the earth in this life
if we take it
stark chalky trees
reflected in murky water
gracefully
swaying and veering
just because if feels good
drunk on winter sun
wish i could twist my
neck and lay my head on my back
to take a nap
gradwalls quack, geese honk
even the power lines
crackle with spring
quiet contemplation
by lake blue
haku sara
noisy airplane buzz
mirrors mental chatter
while i chew cashew
my wife out of town
i laze around in the sun
and doodle on my jeans
in this bleached stillness
i let the winter sun empty
me of all desire
out here in nature
concerning ourselves with love
seems redundant
written haiku
floats into dark pond
from which it came
while pondering
this cloud of dark gnats
they all fly towards me
natural rhythm
coming together to part
over and over
three figures in black
my friends return from their walk
i am still rooted
two women equipped
with small binoculars
look at empty sky?
no hint of bird life
beyond tantalizing chirps
and rogue whistles
susan's here!
haiku ki party begins
deep still pond
everywhere i glance
my haiku friends have become
the stillness of trees
recently returned
from south america
belted kingfisher
tranquility
in hard times
haiku blue
Circle by Susan Peterson
I resist completing the circle
With a wide brush dipped
in rich black ink
I push and then pull,
slowly rounding the form.
The end comes
near to the beginning
And then I stop
Just short of completion
Short of touching
Short of enclosure
Short of perfection
My soul speaks
And asks for breathing space
Between the beginning and the end
Between the line and the circle
Between open and closed
Between partial and complete
For what is ever complete anyway?
When the circle closes
Illusion enters
Illusion of perfection
Illusion of fullness
Illusion of completeness
When the circle closes there becomes
Inside and outside
Here and there
Accepted and rejected
Safe and unsafe
The wagons are circled
And we are either friend or foe
Christian or Jew
Gay or straight
Man or woman
Right or wrong
My soul speaks
And asks for breathing space
Just enough room
to allow entrance to
Tolerance
Uncertainty
Curiosity
Wisdom
I, myself, have been a
million completed circles
Knowing with certainly who I am
What I believe
Which way is the right way
I have begun and completed
the circle many times
Only to feel entrapped
within its boundaries
Now, when I draw the circle
I stop short
I stop perfectly short
Allowing the breeze of my breath
Entrance and exit into
The known and unknown
Still full and whole
Yet empty and in part
The circle remains.
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen