Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 1. February 6, 1999 Denver Art Museum, Denver, Colorado
massive blocks of steel rest in a state of precise equlibrium plastic case clearly providing no protection this being’s been touched
the best work of art is patrick in his red pants wandering around queen elizabeth stares out from a gilded frame against a blue wall
murmur of voices bouncing between the white walls hung with bright colors
‘terminal breakdown’ is nothing more than a mess of random blue lines
breaking all the rules art in unusual form plastic and glass
delicate porcelainpetals never fading even shadows white
barely visible boddhisattva of wisdom takes but a moment peaceful buddha face carved in the first century still smiles knowingly
surrounded by icons once used in ceremony the smell of incense
up and down i ride exhibit to exhibit haiku moment somewhere
Haiku: Susan Peterson, Sara Benson, Hal Gimpleson, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sanjay Rajan Photos, drawing and layout: Jonathan
beyond this buddha the busy streets of denver hazy winter day at the art museum the cold, quiet stairwell is filled with winter light
plexiglass protects compassionate buddha my heart, more exposed
dim blue light comes into focus as my eyes adjust to the dark room
in this crazy wind some lingering sandalwood meets up with my nose
beyond this window the pigeons land in silence white mountains behind
the teaching buddha sits so still in the carved stone soles up and palms out
stare at reflection concave on the flush handle while i take a pee
broken tangerine on the grey cement steps en route to the fifth floor
streaks of color bleed red, yellow and pastel green even paintings cry
oddly designed chairs of every material shaped only for eyes the sky still looks blue and the parking lot empty tinted glass hides nothing the shadows are the art the shapes of the objects are not as important
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 2. Spring 2000 Denver International Airport, Colorado. here at the airport everyone has a purpose for a moment-i don't
a thousand faces reflect a thousand stories of a thousand flights
favorite pants and shirt pressed into overstuffed bags -balance on shoulders
big bolts and levers hold white tarpaulin in grace over marbelled floors
i thought i heard a bird chirp inside the walls of the denver airport
i feel like an ant crawling around in a tent looking for haiku
i drop my pastry on the ground where people walk above concourse A
beautiful burgundy woman moves close to see the words on the sign
ski tourists gather around the car rental desk like colorful ants
three women with british accents must have gone to catch their airplane
buldging suitcases circulate at baggage claim weary travelers wait
plane load of tourists hugging flourescent ski bags walk through the airport
the blast of the voice over the PA system while reading haiku
some people look at me as though they are on to what i am doing
interfaith chapel empty with big, comfy chairs -no time for prayers
while his father frowns little boy surges ahead thinking of the plane airport fast food court travelers rush through their meals snapping plastic forks
against soft white light the pink lounge chair screams polyurethane!
lady in saree solicits travelers with spiritual solace one thing is certain: this boy in striped overalls likes lots of ketchup
the people flood in and then they quickly disperse it's the airport pulse
standing in the flow of people rushing, i'm a rock in the river
winter travelers reflected in the marble floors the constant murmur
child strapped to mama stares up with bright blue eyes at white peaks in plastic
Featuring: Susan Peterson, Sara Benson, Hal Gimpleson, Sanjay Rajan, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 3. February 2, 2001 Marshall Mesa, Boulder, Colorado Featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Krista Morien
i'm sure Krista knows the name of this leafy bush on which i'm peeing
a magpie flies by in the silence created by the constant wind
grey winter day my feet sink in the soft earth of the empty stream
plastic doggie bag protecting an errant turd from the hikers' feet
on this windy mesa the mountains i know so well hold themselves in the distance
days pass and the snow turns from white to muddy brown grieving comes slowly
airbrush orange and red scoured by wind and water cliffside of color
cold teeth and dogshit today's haiku walk is off to a shaky start
boulder open space like a safety valve for dogs left inside too long
from sea to coal fields the many lives of the mesa under my feet
february thaw the muddy trails crowded with cooped-up animals
bearer of the paw places a finely shaped print on her green trousers
scattered pine needles the thousands of haiku which fell around Basho
in his colorful garb patrick lurks among the trees writing a haiku
Jonathan, Krista, and I had a wild and wooly time last weekend. We went to the Marshall Mesa trail and hung out under the bridge gnashing our teeth at pedestrians and their dogs, scaring the young children. Wish you all could have been there. Patrick
Sketches of Marshall Mesa by Jonathan Machen (the one above, done on the walk; the one below done in 1990 as a study for the mural in the Harvest Restaurant)
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 4. March 17, 2001 Walden Ponds, Boulder, Colorado mallard Pair side by side but making their own rings
imagining the mad paddling of feet beneath the seamless floating
mid-March snowfall isquint at the brightness of dead plants covered in white
goose prints in circles break my reverie in two can’t pick up again
a family of gulls reconsiders flying south on the edge of spring
march snow on its limbs dangling in the bare tree a nest awaits
all I saw at first was bright orange legs walkingthen there was a duck old winter seed pod half wrapped in a cardigan of precipitate i am now as is, without you open to air
hooded merganzers casually shift direction at the sound of my feet
magpie lifts his tail and holds court over the brambles bent by winter snow
boardwalk in the marsh covered with crunchy snow this ain’t no beach
duck with a mohawk: so bold against the black pond made blacker by snow
in the bare tree a nest swings from a string refusing to let go
march seventeenth looking for signs of life in what seems dead
my mind wanders muted, like the colors of the winter landscape
grey ducks, grey water grey day—grey great blue heron in the grey sky
bright colored jackets bent over their writing pads must be my friends
spread out on the ground the dead cottonwood and I collect snow crystals
wet paper, cold ink or both? slow writing
following trident footprints of those seven geese
squawks and wing flutters settle back to stillness after the hawk flies by various empty nests accepting the same snow that lightly salts me the absence of a crow flies across the snow-white sky seems far away
Featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Susan Peterson Sara Benson, Melinda, Anna
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 5. April 14, 2001 Rabbit Mountain, Boulder County, Co. last year’s dead stalks among this pink profiusion cycles of the heart as the wind picks up sun moves behind a cloud hat and gloves come on on the great divide a spring storm sends its greeting to the plains below on this exposed trail writing haiku and looking for a place to pee how easy it is to turn off this meadowlark with my heart’s pain spread on the earth pinecones in various shades tell of seasons passed stopping in our tracks catching sight of each other mule deer stop grazing big chance to be out wild life preserve no dogs allowed
stopping another time for tea and to watch the white-tailed mule deer the herding instinctnot so much fun when tethered to the end of a leash
haiku friends willing to scatter to be together
another spring, another afternoon spent chasing butterflies
i see a rabbit on top of rabbit mountain do i get a prize?
tonight i will pay for this wonderful spring day with more violent dreams
every five seconds i count out the syllables bright red ladybug
breath of the earth-wind sounding like the ocean its current moves me
enjoying the companionship of animal to animal walking the dog
the gift of winter evaporates on the trail in a brisk spring wind
what is a mountain when it is given the name of a small mammal?
inhaling the view from hilltop to horizon -breathless
winter grey grasses prickled with purple and yellow in time for easter
a bunch of humans each one of us with our heart constantly pumping
open field filled with meadow larking on breezes
the pungent smell of sage on my fingers releases this old lonliness fierce individuals walking through gravel writing haiku poetry
songbird warbling in counterpoint to crickets april melody
scraping the winter off the soles of my feet with sun-warmed granite stopping for tea by the spikey cactus early days of spring among this rough field of boulders and yucca the meadowlark’s song
overrated thoughts nudged out of hollows by wind scittering away breath moves in and out faster, hotter, our tongues drip -hiking with my dogs big black beetle scurries as fast as it can across the rocky trail
Featuring: Susan Peterson, Sara Benson, Hal Gimpleson, Krista Morien, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 6. May 19, 2001 Farmers’ Market, Boulder, Colorado the entertainer flutters out of a trumpet lighting on flowers
this pregnant couple surveys the farmers market in their abundance
looking for his cheese black ant on picnic table finds my hand instead
seedlings, sprouts for sale: this deep green day so new made no need to buy them
radio flyer: that red wagon so long gone full of dhalias now
dahlias and trombones serenade passersby squinting in the glare
gathered in the leaves and blossoms of the rose garden this springs rain
free mambo lesson at the farmers market my seedlings bend and wave
big round of applause extorted by the band before the next song
humdrum of market i walk among the crowd seeking my solace
deciding on herbs picking over tomatoes thinking of the meal
lonesome mandolin stereo competition with the cabaret
a street full of hats brims flipped up, pulled low, cocked left celebrating spring
old acquaintances at farmers market exhange cold smiles
hot tamales burning my tract on this cool morning
selling ostrich eggs green and smooth as new melons worth ten chicken yolks
not knowing what to do suburban mom shakes her head to the ragtime music
cottonwood fluff swirls around the pregnant woman leaning on the rail
dog tied to a post hot dogs and sticky fingers nose high going past
hoisting a shovel he drifts from indiana looking for produce
flash of yellow high in a cottonwood not quite summer yet
Featuring: Ana Bokman, Sanjay Rajan, Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 7. June 8, 2001 neighborhood night-ku, Boulder, Colorado
eyes and brain gone dim until i saw the hot pink asters under the streetlight
under the sulphur yellow glow of the streetlight a lawn is watered
two blocks away the blue computer screen glows bright as the moon
teenage men subdued by the quiet voice of summer ghosts in white t-shirts
boulevard traffic the big maples are silent protecting the sky
surprising-even in the darkness the grass and trees feel green
at night vision fades and one turns his head to hear the wind rustling leaves
a front yard zen garden the hum and gurgle of its spring louder than passing cars
melody of frogs raspy, rhythmic--like crickets only throatier
i grow big and flat my head tiny, legs are long when I move i fade
path into the woods at night it is forbidden fear blocks the entrance
for this parking lot evening releases the weight of a thousand cars sprinkler water rains into the raccoon’s gutter he doesn’t come out just me, this private summer night and all the neighborhood cats
sound of waterfall fragrance of honeysuckle heightened by darkness
the evening is spared the unforgiveable heat brought on by the day
inside their houses sillhouettes of people untouched by the night
jets, cats be silent nighttime is when the trees swoon with winds caresses
Featuring: Krista Morien, Robert Power, Susan Peterson, Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 8. July 2, 2001 Wedding-ku, Spanish Peaks Wilderness, Colorado the champagne is gone much more rapidly than the adrenaline the blush of champagne meets the sparkle of their eyes as we make a toast if i were to say ‘i love you’ on a mountain i would say it here listening to birds i can't see watching butterflies i can't hear deep in my backpack between the tent and the stove bottle of champagne
brilliant orange lichen becomes a butterfly then flies away
with this plastic ring wearing my sweaty hawaiian shirt i thee wed
this amanita yellow-speckled reminder of last nights rainstorm
forgetting her mother's maiden name buys me time to remember mine
swallowtail visits all twelve blossoms on the bush then wanders away
angle of repose how the two have come to rest not unhappilly
several busy months fall away after one day in the wilderness
third day out beginning to notice flowerless plants small wood-colored birds
married for five days drinking darjeeling tea the color of her eyes
on the ash grey fir an orange moth closes its wings and becomes ash grey
exhausted i watch a butterfly glide slowly down to the valley floor
hiking out i linger in each patch of shade partly for the cool air
exuberant songbird runs up and down the scales i blow my nose
ahead on the trail my friend of fifteen years with my wife of three days
riotous shimmer in the full strength of sunshine verdant aspen leaves
two fine pots of tea we'll probably have to pee again pretty soon as i pump water butterfly with half a wing sits quietly near
haiku: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
hot air balloon hovers quietly above jackrabbit leaps
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 9. August 27, 2001 Pearl St. Mall, Boulder, Colorado asian businessmen wait outside the sushi bar hands deep in pockets his oblong forehead quite a contrast to her own circular visage gathering a crowd, he treats his body like gum stretching for applause above this brightly lit street, the full moon holds a quieter light
walking upstream eventually i’m alone a hit of hash sensory overload pearl street mall
rockin’ live music performers like fly paper folks stuck on the mall
after the show when no one is looking contortionist slumps on the curb
now friends after mistaken identity perhaps lovers?
each year a new book on buddhist non-attachment where’s my plastic in a gallery scenes i know of victor one thousand dollars
writing in the dark invisible haiku poet visible to the trees
my sandals worn and beaten with passing summer
no one notices the night’s darkness which begins just above their heads
searching the mall between all kinds of art for a new pen
walking after dark part of me secretly joins the streetpeople
that same chick still walking the mall cell stuck to ear
the sundown saloon quiet but for the photos of endless parties
one man grabs his chin the other rocks back on his heels both of them laughing
are they outa body or maybe did they ‘walk in’ borrowing bodies
the contortionist: just another way of making his body disappear?
very inviting this summer evening her perked up breasts
outside banana republic taking his sweet time jazz takes a pee that dude in shades walking this summer night thinks he’s so cool i can smell the wax even through this pane of glass store full of candles
featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sanjay Rajan, Susan Peterson, Krista Morien, Robert Power, Hal Gimpleson photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 10. September 8, 2001 Sunshine Canyon, Colorado
out over the plains where the clouds end and a farmer squints and looks our way from my mountain home the edge of the dark clouds mark the boundary to town
in first snow my joyful heart reveals quieter moments
the icosahedron mutates to the fabulous dodecahedron
early first snow looking at a red zinnia and smelling wood smoke
counting syllables or listen to drizzling snow melt i stand and listen
first snow almost melts comes too soon for the garden leaves burned by the cold
soft thud of the melting snow then quiet again
drip, drip, thud, sprinkle i stay safely on the path while the trees weep
cold september day: a flower with friends for petals surrounding a nap
first autumn snowfall a drop collects at the tip of each pine needle
nighttime ritual without waking her i take the book from her hands
snow in september cold, wet, impermanentit is what it is
my haikus stained with every drop of melting snow
squatting among the benches bodhisattva statue
the garden hijacked by an early snow, but lookat how red the squash
goddess of mercy sitting above the starhouse jazz runs in circles
an early snowfall marks the end of summer time waits for no one
just by default my haiku is worthy of this fine paper
garden under seige sunflowers droop with the cold first snow of the year
pawing through the first snow the scent of the garden still holds summer on the ground-snow and metallic confetti that, made by man, won’t change echo in this quiet my whistle carrying far followed by jingles leaving poke marks on season’s first snow this morning’s rain
revealing the grass under the first snow his soft paw prints whistling sculpture i stand next to it and look for a power source tracing the first snow with our soft footprints our paths meet
featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sanjay Rajan, Susan Peterson, Krista Morien, Robert Power photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
like the shifting clouds all i want to write about are my emotions melting snow tracing down my neck then goose bumps a thud behind me i turn my head to see a branch free of snow the wind spirit plays the harp softly in the quiet wilderness looking for warm boots startled by a crow in the snow behind my shed a bit frightening the end of the deep gray sky -clouds, like death, move on.
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 11. October 27, 2001 Pump-ku at Munson’s pumpkin patch, Boulder, Colorado
deflated pumpkin lies flat in the field hidden from shoppers above the corn stalks blue sky drops into the curved mountain silhouette
how many people have hidden in the corn maze and taken a pee? above the cornfield willow with blackbirds for leaves whirring and clucking
teenage vampire chases her labrador through the pumpkin patch
lying in the road unidentifiable furry body part
hard to tell jonathan from the scare crows watching over the pumpkin patch
only carcasses of corn stalks and old ears of corn not for eating
grandma in slippers and a large orange-green pumpkin covered with warts
each one in its varied shape and size dignity of pumpkins
having created a field full of strange, orange objects pumpkin vines wither
dark figure crouches in the field of dead corn stalks jonathan sketching
spandex - clad bikers zip past the field littered with fat dull pumpkins
i can see long’s peak over a field of pumpkins warm october day
can you believe it? she’s going for a hayride in her wedding dress
taking time to feel beauty of fall, pain of war a haiku moment
delighting ourselves with pumpkins, gourds and squashes autumn abundance
late autumn weekend SUVs head back to town loaded with pumpkins
featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sara Benson photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 12. November 3, 2001 Shanahan Ridge, Boulder, Colorado
s.b.
on the rock, different place same old feeling
s.r.
her shadow the only sound the hawk makes passing overhead
p.l.
a lone white butterfly seems to fit in among the bleached winter grasses
k.m.
distant harley roaring across the valley my mind very quiet
s.r.
warm november sun and colder wind--both find me sitting on this rock
k.m.
i should probably stay on the trail but i want to hear the crunch of the grass
it’s always a time of deep rest, knowing my friends are waiting for me
ponderosa pine burned into a totem pole with wild, flailing arms
mysterious blue among the pine trees perhaps just the sun
defiant squirrel hangs upside down and chatters at my restless pen
warmpth of summer but in the pine forest stillness of winter
no earthly eye could see the cactus spike that’s poking into my thumb
s.b.
warm november day within green pine needles a flash of blue
p.l.
pine needles crushing under my feet like this morning’s corn flakes
s.r.
s.b.
p.l.
s.r.
startled by the blue flicker of a noisy jay i lose all my thoughts
j.m.
j.m.
under the low sun the trees in the forest dissolve in shadow and light k.m.
as they fly over me i am hoping that they don’t poop on me
s.b.
nest of flattened grass inside, i still feel the warmpth of the doe’s belly
p.l.
featuring: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sara Benson, Sanjay Rajan, Krista Morien photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
k.m.
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 13. December 9, 2001. North Boulder Open Space, Boulder, Colorado yearning for the sun on the other side of the barbed wire fence
gathered in my palm yucca seeds like charred chiclets for skeleton kids
holiday season on the trails everything’s pale
struck by the contrast between the golden grasses and the steel grey sky bouncing up and down as i walk the rutted road i’m out of control
sb
tootsie roll call me says the paper maybe i should
sr
pl
after pottery deadlines, captivated by the mud swallows’ homes
km
sr
echoes of elsewhere this open space. climbing up, i forget my name
ck
jm
december yucca offering stacks of black seeds from wooden flowers
km
caught in between the sinking sun and this gold hill my indecisive shadow
km
it’s june at the zoo the prarie dog turns his thoughts to love and you sigh
ck
my laugh startles the dog whose rip-your-throat-out bark startles me
pl
relaxing - my haiku book slips from my fingers and falls to the ground
sb
the only green i see on this winter trail is some horse shit
sr
jm
crowding the yucca this housing development on the next mesa
pl
feeling the pressure of a thousand new houses yucca burst to seed
jm
there must be water, somewhere. and among the trees, your winter coat gone.
ck
sitting on the rock continuing my arrival onto this planet
sb
the sun comes out and lights up the remaining leaves hanging motionless
pl
Haiku: Patrick Lynn, Jonathan Machen, Sara Benson, Sanjay Rajan, Krista Morien, Cynthia Kolanowski. Photos and layout: Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times Volume 1, issue 14. December 20 -22, 2001. Tenth Mountain hut-ku, Colorado this winter solstice we venture into the realm above timberline
glad to be out on the shortest day of the year with my ski buddies
the promise of snow gleaned from the weather forecast has yet to arrive
an uncertain sky bathes us one moment in sun the next in shadow
happy malamute adopts us at the trailhead for a day of fun uttering a ‘woof’ he implores us to go on or, at least, keep up
blue of the morning replaced by blowing grey snow of the afternoon the wax on my skis just the right consistency for this fresh new snow
just a few inches of ice is all that keeps me from falling on through the lingering storm suspends the snowy hillside in diffuse sunlight
five sweaty skiers reach the top of homestake peak then hurry on back surrounded by snow the storm finally reaches thirteen thousand feet standing in the snow talking about the other great places to ski
Haiku and photographs: Jonathan Machen
outside, it is cold and the snow blows - but inside we read and drink tea holed up in the hut glad to be down from the peak watching the snowfall
Haiku Times December 24 - 29, 2001. Pajarito Plateau, New Mexico
before the new year and after winter solstice cold, dry powder snow standing above ‘oops’ i see a lone track below was it a mistake? because of the fire these aspen will migrate north, new roots taking hold exhileration yet no-one else is around to share these feelings another person interested in the powder joins me for a run
The Valle Grande from Pajarito Mountain
Acid Canyon, Los Alamos County what is happiness? hiking with my son and spouse what more could i ask? winter hikes i love sunlight on the cliffs; crisp air; scent of the pinon trees the views that i see far to the north, east, and south the same the ancients saw
-judy
the sign says, ‘breathless’ and that indeed is my state of respiration
-judy
hiking with machens looking at animal tracks everyone guesses
-judy
hiking with our friends the silence of the mesas shattered by laughter
-susanna
-judy
turning down Sidewinder
we stumble over coprolitic evidence dried out in the wash
the tobacconist smokes one of his choice cigars in his cigar shop
perched on a dumpster ravens break the cold silence december morning
the drama of light over ancient, weathered rock always a surprise
following the rut, i add my vibram footprints to this ancient path
this mesa, sacred to those who came before and those now living
Haiku mesa, looking east to the Sangre De Christo mountains haiku: Jonathan Machen, Judy Machen, Susanna Shankland drawings and layout: Jonathan Machen
Haiku Times October 11 - 18, 2001. Oregon Cascades and Smith Rock
Smith Rock
Smith Rock
Smith Rock
vermillion sponge colonizing every niche mossy forest floor
this salmon carcass found on the tributary of the Mackenzie
the round white cap stood hidden low beneath the ferns a mushroom quite proud - m.c.
ferns kissing my feet their affection seemingly nourished by the rain
unlike the toadstool that slowly pushes the earth this toad hops away
hunters with a mule express their disappointment to have missed a kill Three - Fingered Jack
The Three Sisters and Mt. Washington haiku and drawings: Jonathan Machen Smith Rock
Haiku Times August, 2001. Raggeds wilderness, Colorado
massive belt buckle looking like a license plate hanging from his hips
a sewing machine on the surface of water this water dipper
beaver migration temporarily halted by a waterfall
startled when she asks in the middle of the street if we have a saw
musky scent of elk lingering after he bounds away from my vision
grateful for the sweat that runs over my eyeballs late august backpack
passing a thicket of obtrusive crickets clinging to my leg
sulphuric algae discovered when we notice the creekside odor
purple climbing skin relic of a late spring ski someone left behind
anthracite ouzel tired of leading us on flies back to the falls
‘a classic schlock move’ dave exits the tent four times forgetting his shirt
rusted spool of wire how long have you been stuck here on this ancient log?
creating a wake of cricket exuberance walking down the trail
young aspens growing must be an avalanche slope not yet two years old
she cautiously asks, “you sink it iss possible?”, edging past our car
Jonathan Machen
haiku and drawings: Jonathan Machen
David Teitler