welcome to the haikutimes

Issue #138, Boulder's Community Gardens, August 19, 2007. Haiku by Krista Morien, Patrick Lynn, Robert Power, David Harper, Gene Langlois, Sara Benson and Jonathan Machen. Photos by Jonathan. Check out other previous haikuimes issues from the Community Gardens: 9/14/03 and 4/13/02

upon arriving
i look through the sunflowers
for four hats on heads

in one location
amidst waves of green and yellow
a clump of dense red

leathery beans
looking forward to
an early spring rain

graceful pose of the
giant sunflower--reverently
bowing to earth

a withered vine
heavy with fruit
near summer's end

where are we "going"?
the community gardens!
don't we live in one?

the clucking of Hmong
women gathering nourishment from
the garden and each other

a lonely lady
amid the garden flowers
all want to blossom

some garden plots hint
at joys of new beginnings
and then abandoned

outside the gardens
a struggling weed
with no community

fuzzy edamames
bursting at the seams
in occasional shade

a few people work
defined by garden fences
seven ku'sts wander
defined by pen and ink

the gourd's
late-summer spurt
took over the plot

empty garden chair,
dreams to come..
dreams that passed?
gardens grow dreams too!

the pizza garden
jalapenos and tomatoes
pepper the plot

a gardener with
dirt under her nails
and a bend in her back

each sunflower stands up
eagerly as if to say
"pick me, pick me!"

slight breeze
appears to be hurricane-like
to the butterfly

krista and packit
in their blue beach hats converse
briefly and part ways

body slowly settles
and then i can feel and
hear and see things

destined for a
fire-roasted salsa

in the shade with our
feet up and a friendly breeze
blowing through us

for just an instant
in the midst of the garden
my mind stood still

rutabaga ru
tabaga rutabaga
rutabaga ru

bright flowers
enlivening drab vegetables
in earthy eden

each plot
like the individual
who cares for it

bee buzz the peppermint--
fresh breath
for the queen

one tiny flower
winked at me as i walked by.
sweet way to say "hi"

how time just goes by:
30 years growing gardens
still..beginner's mind

feeling like a bug
in forest
of sunflowers

another garden
is blossoming in my mind
and..there are no "bugs"

the clouds too
slowly evolving and drifting
through existence

miracle of the
tiny seed with bright bursting
fruit hiding inside

buzzing of man-made machines
does not override
the peace in the garden

if that don't beet all
basil next to butternut
generous abundance

the smell of basil
on my finger distracts me
from picking my nose

Hmong woman pauses
from hoeing to chew on her
cucumber and smile

morning glories
defy the afternoon sun
with a white bloom

community garden stroll
inspires images of
mom's zucchini bread

loses himself into one blossom
after another

the original hummer:
zipping, sipping, and zipping

new belgium jug
good watering tool
for hops

hay bales
in the shade of an apple tree--
a comfy chair

gardens are symbols
for man's desire to bloom
one fragrant bouquet

dill gone wild
will be bigger and better
next year

gnarly or pristine
either way the paths invite
more exploration

a corn silk fortress:
he creates veritable
garden refuge

children's peace garden
brimming with pink hollyhocks,
sunflowers, and seesaws

every so often
a little face peeks out
from the giant leaves

if you wait too long
this juicy round gift will unfurl
to the august sky

green cabbage heads
opened like giant flowers
while the gardener slept

burlap bags
atop piles of shredded plants--
soil in the making

each leaf of red chard
capable of feeding
at least three people

i imagine
this gardener eating nothing
but pesto and kale

too much manure
and the gardens might overtake
the entire city

bluish-purple head
pushing it's way out
through spreading leaves

bugs and stink
evict a group of poets
without force

last night's rainstorm
pours out of the meadow
re-gifted to clouds

walking through the fields
some plants acquaintances
others, dear old friends

lone unicycler
pedaling down Cottonwood Pass
gaze fixed beyond us

"It's otherworldly,"
he said. No, I stand here now
in wildflower heaven

deep silent monkshood
draws me through the veils
into purple silk robes

in the stealth of night
cherry tomatoes
by the mouthful

hands searching for skin
among sleeping bags and silk
morning mountain air

soft layer of goosebumps
fire rises higher
under sweet birdsong

coyotes wake me--
laugh, play, be fully alive!
for yourself and this world

It's said, "plain asters"
I say, come see this hillside
luscious color

steep trail to creek view
down rushing water, bird calls
and insect songs

solo/group kukai
jonathan machen