welcome to the haikutimes
Issue #163, September 2, 2015, Table Mountain, Golden. Haiku by Susan Evans, Sara Benson, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen.
i see the old man’s
face contemplating under
the rock’s surface
ribbons of rain
twist of lightning in the sky
flash of awareness
wild rhizomes and
thrumming chirpers climb
into my brain’s suitcase
everything is loud
all things are muted
watch and listen
hunkered down in
a sand plum thicket
rain drops knock blossoms
onto my head
volunteer ranger
with double-barreled knee brace
warning us of snakes
invisible chirpers
oblivious to the spring shower
mock me and my rain jacket
mind, grasping for
what this precipice is
on which I am standing
dribbling out a weak
stream of urine is merely an
excuse to smell the wild roses
noisy and quiet
movement and stillness
walking with haiku
cicadas chirping
gravel crunching underfoot
Wal-mart truck goes by
after the rain
my feet and thoughts
land silently
mullien and primrose
green and pink shades of spring
in this rough quarry
taking a walk
with a haiku mind
is like coloring a sheet
of paper before you draw on it
in the grey rain
yellow of sedum
strikes out boldly
across the meadow
new shoots wrap promiscuously
around last year’s dead stalks
bright velvety green
bursts forth from the branches
by rusted rock cliffs
wandering amid sweet
blossomy pollen clouds and
ozone, rain-steaming-off-rock-smells
in this tiny book
seventeen syllables are
enough for one page
perched among raindrops
drama of clouds unfolding
high above my head
this place is lousy
with clear-eyed robins
bending slender branches
with the weight of their
plump, red breasts
all the sounds are the
over-riding sensation
on my haiku walks
i see the old man’s
face contemplating under
the rock’s surface
ribbons of rain
twist of lightning in the sky
flash of awareness
wild rhizomes and
thrumming chirpers climb
into my brain’s suitcase
everything is loud
all things are muted
watch and listen
hunkered down in
a sand plum thicket
rain drops knock blossoms
onto my head
volunteer ranger
with double-barreled knee brace
warning us of snakes
invisible chirpers
oblivious to the spring shower
mock me and my rain jacket
mind, grasping for
what this precipice is
on which I am standing
dribbling out a weak
stream of urine is merely an
excuse to smell the wild roses
noisy and quiet
movement and stillness
walking with haiku
cicadas chirping
gravel crunching underfoot
Wal-mart truck goes by
after the rain
my feet and thoughts
land silently
mullien and primrose
green and pink shades of spring
in this rough quarry
taking a walk
with a haiku mind
is like coloring a sheet
of paper before you draw on it
in the grey rain
yellow of sedum
strikes out boldly
across the meadow
new shoots wrap promiscuously
around last year’s dead stalks
bright velvety green
bursts forth from the branches
by rusted rock cliffs
wandering amid sweet
blossomy pollen clouds and
ozone, rain-steaming-off-rock-smells
in this tiny book
seventeen syllables are
enough for one page
perched among raindrops
drama of clouds unfolding
high above my head
this place is lousy
with clear-eyed robins
bending slender branches
with the weight of their
plump, red breasts
all the sounds are the
over-riding sensation
on my haiku walks
solo/group kukai
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen
drawing/writing/photography
jonathan machen