HAIKU FOR MARTIN LUCAS
May 7, 2014 § Leave a comment
a new
anthology I learn
of his passing
his brother
concerned
for days
on the page
before me in
the old anthology
went for a walk
left his keys his phone
his pills
said yes
once to one of
my poems
“Is that from your
technique or the toughness
of your mouth?”
your death
attributed to
bird-watching
a collection
of flowers that’s
all it means
his last photo
he looks younger
than me
1962-2014
M. KETTNER ant ant ant ant ant 1996-1999
April 22, 2014 § 1 Comment
#190
city limits bulrushes
#368
the cold
meat hook with your name
chess partner invisible
#478
cattle sleeping
moonlight on their backs
#524
year of the pancreas
sandwich for dessert
theatre seats upside down
#543
thief
hand on backwards
tunnel growing smaller
#654
breeze drying mooring lines fall slack
#677
stray dog window reflecting blue sky
#701
depressed echo in a stairwell
#745
a cold scream
narrowly occult
ridge draped in dusk
#752
down to roaches
piano on a railroad track
#767
boldly staccato
fissures singing along
maps set aside
#771
perineum
hallway between
bedroom & bathroom
#823
crevice dweller
meat truck parked by the curb
restroom no hand towels
CHRIS GORDON early haiku 1994-1996
March 27, 2014 § Leave a comment
my cold feet
step on her bra
still warm
fallen elm leaves
the plastic bag
remains
unlocking the door
the key she gave
back to me
I buy
another book about
non-attachment
Modern Haiku 25.2
a beautiful mouth
the postal clerk says
she likes my writing
Modern Haiku 25.3
fast-food containers
the weeds green from
the warm rain
Modern Haiku 26.1
the hot asphalt roof small white petals blow in circles
her hand covers my ear the sound blood makes
Modern Haiku 26.2
tea our silence and the hot still morning garden
light warm rain
mosquitos drift up
through wisteria and dusk
the full moon
coats the dark lake
boarding an empty bus
Frogpond 18.2
the orange glint of rush hour way up there a hawk circling
a train enters the distance empty sheets smooth and cool
imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon
weeks later her sweet voice it’s just a machine
the crosswalk whistles skimming the pavement an empty bag
Frogpond 18.3
in the dust splotches of rain half the billboard flaps in the wind
a gliding egret the clouds converge on themselves
Frogpond 19.3
JIM KACIAN ant ant ant ant ant 1995-1999
October 28, 2013 § Leave a comment
:
:
stars
whorling
drainwater
:
retained from childhood
nothing much of importance
two horse-chestnuts
:
driving into
the purple mountains
till they brown
:
hearing a car
that never comes
high pine wind
:
roar of wind
her measured breathing
in the lulls
:
burning incense at dusk
a blue haze
on the pines
:
something foul
in the smell of smoke
last year’s leaves
:
:
MARLENE MOUNTAIN ant ant ant ant ant three
October 22, 2013 § Leave a comment
:
:
:
whether weather
:
:
spring evening the poem rings in my ears unwritten
:
:
summer dusk a poem gets as far as my throat
:
:
autumn afternoon no poem to send with the letter
:
:
winter morning perhaps a poem with no content
:
:
:
now/here
:
:
now/here too much nature i go no/where
:
:
poor a career
:
:
don’t know and if i did i’ve forgotten
:
:
earth worm earthworm
:
:
:
GUY R. BEINING ant ant ant ant ant three
October 20, 2013 § Leave a comment
dangling with weeds
:
:
:
I
water as preface,
water-logged theme
STUCK to pages.
:
:
II
paint bone an EARth
shade & tie
pulley to ribcage.
:
:
III
dark clouds merge
w/ribs of mt.;
a LUNG collapses.
:
:
IV
white, WHITE
butterFLY,
bLINKing light.
:
:
V
isle led thru
pebbLED shoulders of
her 2 shores.
:
:
VI
a paper thin
sMILE passes
porcelain knobs.
:
:
VII
her flesh buds out
from rosy stockings
PULLED DOWN.
:
:
VIII
too soon
the morBID dance
takes hold.
:
:
IX
pluralness into
purpleness, twi-
light sinking.
:
:
X
a snake t h r u stake
tips
a dead leaf.
:
:
XI
go with blow-
fish & bub-
bled up sand.
:
:
XII
agent orange
over Hanoi, red
pockets under love canal.
:
:
XIII
voo-doo, 2 wooden
pegs, her legs rub-
bed f i r e.
:
:
:
SAM SAVAGE ant ant ant ant ant 1995
October 15, 2013 § Leave a comment
from Eighteen kinds of loneliness
:
:
EIGHT
:
Going after waving to someone there’s my back
:
:
:
NINE
:
Evening down a road where a car has gone
:
:
:
TWELVE
:
A small window filled with seasounds it lightens
:
:
:
SEVENTEEN
:
Rain on a sharp field of stones
:
:
:
EIGHTEEN
:
With a raincoat and umbrella I go to hear someone sing
:
:
:
:
YUGEN PRESS (McCLELLANVILLE 1995)
CHRIS GORDON Northwest Review Vol. 42 #1 (2004)
July 31, 2013 § Leave a comment
TEN HAIKU
:
by streetlight ants crawl out of the slot in the meter
:
in the blue of his eye some wires and behind them clouds
:
covered in graffiti the train car passes quickly through town
:
the faint shadows on the paper made by creases in the paper
:
all the color has settled to the bottom of the bowl
:
cold spring rain snail in its beak the crow blinks
:
a bead bounces on the linoleum she said it wouldn’t hurt
:
crushed by a tire the yellow pencil fans out from its metal end
:
briefly green from the copier two faces speaking to each other
:
rain dripping from a light bulb a car backfires
:
:
ant ant ant ant ant xiii
July 8, 2013 § Leave a comment
Facsimile of ant ant ant ant ant issue xiii featuring work by Eve Luckring. Inquiries about reprints to mrcr3w@yahoo.com.
ant5 