welcome to the haikutimes
Issue #111, Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado, May 7-9, 2005. Great Sand Dunes National Park, formerly Great Sand Dunes National Monument, served as the location for a family gathering, photography, sketching and of course haiku. Drawings and photographs by Jonathan. Haiku contributions by Tes Phillips, Paige Wild and Judy Machen.
sand grains whipping
possibly a gale force wind
over dunes in may
youthful energy
me at 41, josh at 6
sand without the box
the wind blows strong
are we sailing or hiking?
they seem both the same
my life in a grain
of sand as it blows
lost in the grandeur
cart wheeling on sand
joshua exulting
in youthful motion
not in africa
but here in colorado
mighty dunes above
even in one spot
changing shadows
shifting moods
small mountain stream
moves big mountain dunes
over centuries
island hopping
amidst deer tracks and young grass
boot now wet
living footprint
of sand thousands of feet high
playground for snowboards
trapped inside our tent
hummingbird moth flapping
against nylon wall
giant ponderosa
surveying sandy domain
at the edge of dunes
sandy wet bottom
the river in spring time
my own derriere
never step on
an ill-anchored rock:
that is my motto
willows in wet sand
bone-white
barely budding
snow on mountains
water on dunes
life cycle goes on
all the church good for
hatching, matching, dispatching
hail to il papa
into the land of sand
family members convene
with the intent of a reunion
young and old, physicist and rock-thrower,
father-musician, artist, recycling coordinator,
special ed teacher, fourth grade teacher,
retired travelling-historian-sailors,
bird-watching and native grass aficionados,
six-and-eight-year olds
concerned with jumping off of dunes.
the campgrounds are full of
30-foot long RV's pulled by
muscular foreign trucks;
a few generators spike up in the morning
to greet the day at the dunes
with a little tv and comforts of home
and in the evening
the telephone pole rattles
and vibrates from deep inside.
we are not like the first
who ever came here, the indians
who roamed for the hunt,
nor the settlers who pitched a tent
and tended cattle. We are
weekend voyagers on a mission
to unite the random geographical threads
of a family now
dispersed into corners of
Alaska, Colorado and New Mexico.
Ravages of life, time
and disease might influence us all,
stationed as we are in outposts of
modern america, but coming to the sand dunes
brings the grains of our family
together once again.
sand grains whipping
possibly a gale force wind
over dunes in may
youthful energy
me at 41, josh at 6
sand without the box
the wind blows strong
are we sailing or hiking?
they seem both the same
my life in a grain
of sand as it blows
lost in the grandeur
cart wheeling on sand
joshua exulting
in youthful motion
not in africa
but here in colorado
mighty dunes above
even in one spot
changing shadows
shifting moods
small mountain stream
moves big mountain dunes
over centuries
island hopping
amidst deer tracks and young grass
boot now wet
living footprint
of sand thousands of feet high
playground for snowboards
trapped inside our tent
hummingbird moth flapping
against nylon wall
giant ponderosa
surveying sandy domain
at the edge of dunes
sandy wet bottom
the river in spring time
my own derriere
never step on
an ill-anchored rock:
that is my motto
willows in wet sand
bone-white
barely budding
snow on mountains
water on dunes
life cycle goes on
all the church good for
hatching, matching, dispatching
hail to il papa
into the land of sand
family members convene
with the intent of a reunion
young and old, physicist and rock-thrower,
father-musician, artist, recycling coordinator,
special ed teacher, fourth grade teacher,
retired travelling-historian-sailors,
bird-watching and native grass aficionados,
six-and-eight-year olds
concerned with jumping off of dunes.
the campgrounds are full of
30-foot long RV's pulled by
muscular foreign trucks;
a few generators spike up in the morning
to greet the day at the dunes
with a little tv and comforts of home
and in the evening
the telephone pole rattles
and vibrates from deep inside.
we are not like the first
who ever came here, the indians
who roamed for the hunt,
nor the settlers who pitched a tent
and tended cattle. We are
weekend voyagers on a mission
to unite the random geographical threads
of a family now
dispersed into corners of
Alaska, Colorado and New Mexico.
Ravages of life, time
and disease might influence us all,
stationed as we are in outposts of
modern america, but coming to the sand dunes
brings the grains of our family
together once again.
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen