welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #115, Indian Peaks Wilderness - Arapaho Bay Campground, July 1-4, 2005.Haiku and photography by Jonathan Machen with help from Tom Hopson

longing for silence
when with friends; longing for friends
when in silence

my heart rejoicing
for the friends i will soon see,
for this fine tundra

receding snow field
like my receding hairline -
room to walk and think

fourth of july trail
phaecelia and bistort
in cool morning air

parry's primrose
and shooting star
crowding waterfall

my friend sky pilot
polemonium viscosum
bundle of blossoms

alpine sunflower
radiant under snow field
cosmic yellow eye

those forbidden lakes
on the far side of the ridge
boulder's watershed

pregnant wife back home
i walk through brambles and snow
high above treeline

field of sky pilot
like opening treasure chest
en route to divide

delicate blossoms
thrive in granite hide-away
blue discovery

delicate; soaring
firmly rooted in granite soil
silky blue petals

moss campion
parry's clover
dogtooth violet - erythronium grandiflorum

an amazing thing
the tongue - all that saliva
with enzymes, can clean

a little adventure
the unknown upon us
where is the trail?

to find direction
we line up magnetic north
and chew small candies

snow and mosquitoes
populate this high valley
rain evaporates

mary takes off a layer
tom waits with baited breath
but the bag hides all

half-hearted thunder
before the evening's light show
proclaims distant storm

five mega-pixels
cannot capture
pastel evening light

hearty mosquito
with futile effort i swipe
at zigzag flight path

stupid mosquito
you have left your love-needle
itching in my leg

meadow now a swamp
raging stream barely contains
the winter's bounty

with two scientists
i spend a few lazy days
questioning nature

the games we choose
are all about questions -
twenty questions,
difficult questions -
tom only needs seven guesses
to know i am thinking
of jerry garcia's guitar;
mary reveals wonder woman
after 25 futile attempts,
but i wonder -
why are we here?
do we have a purpose? -
if we and the rest of the universe
are truly recycled star-stuff
perhaps there is no purpose other
than matter slowly coming to terms
with itself,
a self-awareness,
with the complexity required
to have the sort of thought
which i observe in humans
who are self-organized
to the point of self-contemplation.

the meaning of life
cannot be answered tonight
for now i must snooze

looking at the map
tom mentions that we should take
the hypotenuse

water, birdsong and a clearing sky
tom marvels at the atmosphere,
it's shifting pressure zones,
layers of complexity,
and if silicone-based intelligence
can ever reach the complexity of carbon.

though ubiquitous
this common yellow flower
absent from guide book

hopson's hollow eyes
reveal lack of food and sleep
still he runs the pass

swath of destruction
avalanche path with young trees
growing through dead wood

exceptional man
he of the long stride, quick mind
science and physique

bangladeshi man
honorary citizen
who watches the floods

skiing biking man
great observer of nature
humble physicist

with cars, bikes and tools
this friend will not hesitate
to lend assistance

sleeping bag has torn
peanut butter tube has split
reach for the duct tape

stream flows over rocks
water, waves equals whitecaps
macho trout hanging out

lunching right next to
snowy jacob's ladder
polemonium pulcherrimum

big mountain meadow
so idyllic, with thousands
of hungry insects

bistort, columbine
in mutual agreement
about where to grow

poking at mushroom
grown gnarly over water
watching how it clings

haiku, photo
photo, haiku
and yet each trip
brings something new

forest solitude
welcoming the disturbance
of distant thunder

fungal parasite
mistletoe reclaims tree,
spreading dank odor

columbine comes out
wake up and see the sunshine
show off your beauty

mosquito behold
the blood of thomas the man
muscle and bones - yum

warning thunder booms
the rain will soon fall on your head
too late, said the rain

morning light spreads warmth
on the distant bank a crow
pecks at the mud

the smell of the wind
the moss on the tree
it's dead reckoning
by a tenth of a degree

circling the lake
with several families in tow
speed of light we're not
toddler speed we go

sudden decision
to abort river crossing
leads to moose sighting

marshmallow on hat
flaming exuberance
red brim now sticky

puddle of pollen
in roadway after rainstorm
yellow bathtub ring

there are two deep impacts
we talk about here in the woods -
one is the deep impact of camping
with kids aged three to nine -
some grumpy, some screaming, some animated -
the other, the impact
of that 800 pound copper disc
soon to be hurtled into a meteor;
a tale told to us
by the ball scientist in our midst,
that such a device will meet it's target
and in exploding, reveal the make-up
of the early universe -
and so we sit at camp,
hoping for insight into
the early universe,
and of our children.

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen