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Issue #166 Eldorado Springs State Park April 10, 2016
Haiku: Sara Benson, Susan Evans, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen
she went to Belgium
for a spiritual retreat
and a dose of jihad
from a distance
the reassuring sound of
beak on dead wood
looking up at cliffs
while climbers climb
and trains roll past
forces so vast
yet so silent
patiently heaving
stepping over a
puddle of melted snow
cool air on my face
land mostly barren
the pinecones are ginormous
hint of sex appeal
i can feel the geological
swell of time
forming in this place
approached in this warm
meadow by my old friend and
coping mechanism - sleep
is deer poop
everywhere, or just everywhere
i choose to sit
everywhere - the new
chartreuse green against dry tan
inviting me in
an otherwise apparently dead
crabapple, covered in green buds
snow-matted grasses
pierced with dandelion
and invasive spurge
floral abundance
about to burst forth from
tiny light green nodules
tip toeing across
twisted chain of earth’s backbone
light as a feather
heel toe, heel toe
how many steps does it take to
pound out this grief?
these tiny little
purple and white flowers must
be cold in the breeze
jon appears then
disappears into the gnarl of
burnt and broken trees
how many words and
syllables does it take to
express speechlessness?
one by one
a community of nuthatches
visits this pine branch
is this new world a
place everyone else has always
already been?
the edge of winter
dissolving into spring
bluster and release
petrified sand dunes
my fingers want to trace
the sensuous curve
where nothing could grow
in rock strata inclined
pine grace fully holds
the ashram
meditatively clinging
to edge of uplift
purpose, connection
violence, separation
all on this one earth
ponderosa pine
grows straight out of sandstone rock
horizontally
times of desperation
ever-renewing nature
offers hope each spring
a tiny raindrop
delivered by the wind to
my upper lip
also comforting
the stream quietly going
about it’s business
solitary pasque
visited by lonesome bee
on forlorn hill
subdued hikers
not yet entirely comfortable
with spring
slipping on a smooth rock
i wake to the fact that
i am alone here
quiet spring day
of wind and sun
belie the aging earth
avoiding the smooth ruts
in the gravel road-each
step a nice crispy crunch
Haiku: Sara Benson, Susan Evans, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen
she went to Belgium
for a spiritual retreat
and a dose of jihad
from a distance
the reassuring sound of
beak on dead wood
looking up at cliffs
while climbers climb
and trains roll past
forces so vast
yet so silent
patiently heaving
stepping over a
puddle of melted snow
cool air on my face
land mostly barren
the pinecones are ginormous
hint of sex appeal
i can feel the geological
swell of time
forming in this place
approached in this warm
meadow by my old friend and
coping mechanism - sleep
is deer poop
everywhere, or just everywhere
i choose to sit
everywhere - the new
chartreuse green against dry tan
inviting me in
an otherwise apparently dead
crabapple, covered in green buds
snow-matted grasses
pierced with dandelion
and invasive spurge
floral abundance
about to burst forth from
tiny light green nodules
tip toeing across
twisted chain of earth’s backbone
light as a feather
heel toe, heel toe
how many steps does it take to
pound out this grief?
these tiny little
purple and white flowers must
be cold in the breeze
jon appears then
disappears into the gnarl of
burnt and broken trees
how many words and
syllables does it take to
express speechlessness?
one by one
a community of nuthatches
visits this pine branch
is this new world a
place everyone else has always
already been?
the edge of winter
dissolving into spring
bluster and release
petrified sand dunes
my fingers want to trace
the sensuous curve
where nothing could grow
in rock strata inclined
pine grace fully holds
the ashram
meditatively clinging
to edge of uplift
purpose, connection
violence, separation
all on this one earth
ponderosa pine
grows straight out of sandstone rock
horizontally
times of desperation
ever-renewing nature
offers hope each spring
a tiny raindrop
delivered by the wind to
my upper lip
also comforting
the stream quietly going
about it’s business
solitary pasque
visited by lonesome bee
on forlorn hill
subdued hikers
not yet entirely comfortable
with spring
slipping on a smooth rock
i wake to the fact that
i am alone here
quiet spring day
of wind and sun
belie the aging earth
avoiding the smooth ruts
in the gravel road-each
step a nice crispy crunch
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen