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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


HaikuTimes Vol 1