welcome to the haikutimes
Issue #117, Heil Ranch, Boulder, Colorado, August 28, 2005. August haiku and photographs from the dry grass-crackle of Colorado's front range open space. Haiku by Patrick Lynn, Krista Morien, Sara Benson, Jonathan Machen, David Harper and Deborah Russell. Images and layout by Jonathan Machen.
wilderness path
she stops to check
text messages
petal-less flowers
stretch above the grass, unaware
their days of glory have past
grasshoppers and sparrows
scatter into the heat
as i pass
unprepared
for equestrian onslaught
august open space
little skull with
little teeth and a little fur
coming out of one eye
frenzy of yard-sale mind
slows as soft clouds quietly
consume the moon
cacti under the trees
seemed wayward basking
in the shade
on her last birthday
each exhalation briefly
parts her lips
snapdragons-
not as loud
as my celery sticks
early fall light on
lichen illuminating
its silvery green
sweet sex in the sticky
yellow grindelia flowers -
and a lonely grasshopper
scalded mountainside
dotted by blackened spires
refusing to die
house project looming
finding carpet metaphor
in soft forest floor
horse whinny
beehive bramble pile
buckshot hot sun
bluejay cocksure feather sound
old ponderosas
twisted, bare branches bound
to a healthy trunk
leaving behind
the clamor of horses
dried grass boot-crackle
blades tickled ankles
pungent pines tickled my nose
the mountain lion watched
wandering cactus -
my shadow deepens
the green
mainly silent
except when disgruntled
horses, not people
no philosophy
to appear in this haiku
nor syllable count
just before the orange butterfly
crashes into the pine tree
i hear a child's voice
granite lichen cradle
private viewing spot of breeze
in early fall
the hillside crunches
beneath my feet, grasshoppers
explode around me
hiking path
my cellphone
changes signals
summer storm
ran the trail into the grass
nature's mind of it's own
field melted to forest
desert mixed itelf
into the fray
setting my sights
on the perfect pee spot
oops - there's patrick!
did that hole in the cloud
form to provide me a
window to the sky?
again and again
the woodpecker swings his dense head
into the pine tree
the dry trail, the dry
voices of grasshoppers
almost september
watching the clouds
and the occasional dragonfly
swollen with mosquitoes
a pony neighed
at the weight on his spine
no more donuts
slow plodding horses
meet slick quick mountain bikes
i just sit and watch
withered
even this cactus -
thirsty on dry slope
sipping sweet nectar
on top of each other
in the sticky flowers
two butterflies
on the same path
afternoon sun
hectic schedule
interrupted by aimless ramble
for exactly one hour
"hiker poems?"
he asks me over and over
"hiker poems?"
monochrome fields
with one last burst of
green before the fall
reminding me
of medieval display
spiky mullen
trying to get
meditative, yesterday's
latte still jabbering
last days of august
mint green lichen makes
an awfully thin mattress
our laughter
momentarily calls the attention
of solo biker
grasshopper symphony
who determines the pitch
and the rhythm?
i wonder if
these two bugs appreciate
patrick playing matchmaker
insect sex
on a platform of
soothing expectorant
wilderness path
she stops to check
text messages
petal-less flowers
stretch above the grass, unaware
their days of glory have past
grasshoppers and sparrows
scatter into the heat
as i pass
unprepared
for equestrian onslaught
august open space
little skull with
little teeth and a little fur
coming out of one eye
frenzy of yard-sale mind
slows as soft clouds quietly
consume the moon
cacti under the trees
seemed wayward basking
in the shade
on her last birthday
each exhalation briefly
parts her lips
snapdragons-
not as loud
as my celery sticks
early fall light on
lichen illuminating
its silvery green
sweet sex in the sticky
yellow grindelia flowers -
and a lonely grasshopper
scalded mountainside
dotted by blackened spires
refusing to die
house project looming
finding carpet metaphor
in soft forest floor
horse whinny
beehive bramble pile
buckshot hot sun
bluejay cocksure feather sound
old ponderosas
twisted, bare branches bound
to a healthy trunk
leaving behind
the clamor of horses
dried grass boot-crackle
blades tickled ankles
pungent pines tickled my nose
the mountain lion watched
wandering cactus -
my shadow deepens
the green
mainly silent
except when disgruntled
horses, not people
no philosophy
to appear in this haiku
nor syllable count
just before the orange butterfly
crashes into the pine tree
i hear a child's voice
granite lichen cradle
private viewing spot of breeze
in early fall
the hillside crunches
beneath my feet, grasshoppers
explode around me
hiking path
my cellphone
changes signals
summer storm
ran the trail into the grass
nature's mind of it's own
field melted to forest
desert mixed itelf
into the fray
setting my sights
on the perfect pee spot
oops - there's patrick!
did that hole in the cloud
form to provide me a
window to the sky?
again and again
the woodpecker swings his dense head
into the pine tree
the dry trail, the dry
voices of grasshoppers
almost september
watching the clouds
and the occasional dragonfly
swollen with mosquitoes
a pony neighed
at the weight on his spine
no more donuts
slow plodding horses
meet slick quick mountain bikes
i just sit and watch
withered
even this cactus -
thirsty on dry slope
sipping sweet nectar
on top of each other
in the sticky flowers
two butterflies
on the same path
afternoon sun
hectic schedule
interrupted by aimless ramble
for exactly one hour
"hiker poems?"
he asks me over and over
"hiker poems?"
monochrome fields
with one last burst of
green before the fall
reminding me
of medieval display
spiky mullen
trying to get
meditative, yesterday's
latte still jabbering
last days of august
mint green lichen makes
an awfully thin mattress
our laughter
momentarily calls the attention
of solo biker
grasshopper symphony
who determines the pitch
and the rhythm?
i wonder if
these two bugs appreciate
patrick playing matchmaker
insect sex
on a platform of
soothing expectorant
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen