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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
pinecone
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
sentinel
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
Packit
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
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen