welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #107, March 3-5, 2005: A visit to the Polar Star Hut in the Colorado back country. Additional haiku by Tom Hopson, Mary Putman and David Teitler.

back into silence
leaving the city behind
the woods call my name

bear claw on aspen
wet gray scat on white snow
animals precede us

hydrologist tom
plays on water following
his thesis defense

pulling himself out
of yesterday's thesis talk
tom admires the snow

walt whitman haiku
on astronomers door
expressing the stars

the seasons changing
my body also changing
we move together

minute to minute
and season to season
my body follows

quacking like a duck
in aspen tree corridor
rubber skins flapping

breaking the groove
socializing on ski trail
photos, frequent stops

sinking deeper
into nature and powder
polar star canyon

thought she heard music
in the full sunshine
under adam's rib

three layers of clouds
wispy cirrus clouds
high convective clouds
then higher cirrus

thin water layer
what keeps us gliding on:
the science of wax

haiku toodle-oo
romping in the snow -oh ho!
what a day, a day

gaggle of aspen
lovely thing carved in the bark
wind blows over peaks

discussing fine art
on aspen tree bark
beauty lies within

quackity quack
creakity creak
the rhythm of the trail

hey- sing me a song
to boost me up the mountain
row, row, row your boat

tall stark naked trees
watching over as we ski
tom, jon and mary

a pant a wheeze
a pant a wheeze
the dogs they are a barking
are we there? no, not there

bodily angst
mixed with cold, stark beauty
aesthetics knife edge

carrying garlic
on outstretched knife
dave cooks our dinner

lukewarm hot chocolate
tastes good at 11,000 feet
as does just sitting

ice cream made of snow
hut aficionados
dispense leftovers

generous hut mates
give us leftover salad
with all the toppings

icicle creeping
from rooftop to snowbank
wood smoke curls above

roof ice collapses
in small avalanche on stairs
in the dark of night

steadily uphill
this time without a large pack
much to my liking

two guys
named mark and dan
leave ego in snow

fun to talk about
the past
more fun to live in
the present

gaining altitude
skinning up protected slope
away from gentle
relentless warmth of the sun

eleven thousand
feet above the ocean, yet
we play on water

skiing sunset slope
warm colors, afternoon smog
left by contrails

the main events
in the sky above are distant
immediate trees
have nothing to say

good morning:
the hut clatter,
the silverware clinking,
the fire burning,
the hot water boiling,
the blue sky and sunshine awaiting

this frozen silence
the magic play of sunlight
on new-fallen snow

the track to the peak
laid before as a promise
for nature's delight

at every movement
snow crystals dancing in light
universe unfolds

like the nighttime sky
snow crystals twinkle back at me
in broad daylight

so many contrails
tells me the world is shrinking
jets fly above

only two to three miles away
from the contrails
yet as tom says
our reality is completely different

coyote track
ventures out to the cornice
while we just look

meanwhile jet setters
pass overhead
oblivious to the beauty

defying grandma
dave cuts bagel the wrong way
on new york mountain

contrail cloud cover
accounts for global cooling
from this vantage point

about my missing gloves
until i need them

now that we have died
and gone to heaven
we can ski more powder

seven hours later
we skin up the same steep ridge
to ski it again

hidden treasure yurt
like a jewel at sunset
white canvas glowing

the day so young
my wide-brimmed hat cannot mask
the morning sunshine

trying to sum up
with differential equations
our entire trip

bent, but not broken
shouldering a heavy load
sapling waits for spring

not strong, but supple
the trunk of a young sapling
gives no resistance

standing still
yet gliding
the magic of skis

not loved by the losing man
who feels he can't draw

not scared of saddam
not scared of donald rumsfeld
here on the mountain

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen