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

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

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

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
jonathan machen