CHRIS GORDON year of the fire horse
September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Divine Craft
The Chinese Astronauts
Were all born in
The same fortuitous year
Their wives dress
Like stewardesses
The Chinese Astronauts
The President behind glass
To keep his germs from
The Chinese Astronauts
Made in foreign countries
Their suits are different
The Chinese Astronauts
When they hear
Helicopters it’ll be time
The Chinese Astronauts
Their hands fumble at
Pockets that aren’t there
The Chinese Astronauts
The moon is neither
Full or empty to
The Chinese Astronauts
The Chinese Astronauts
Remain outside for
About 13 minutes
If the clouds recede
We’ll be able to see
The Chinese Astronauts
The payload is still
A mystery to
The Chinese Astronauts
The Chinese Astronauts
Aren’t able to touch
Their own faces
Carried from the capsule
The Chinese Astronauts
Sit in blue fold-out chairs
Back at their day jobs
The Chinese Astronauts
Remember weightlessness
FUJIKI KIYOKO by HIROAKI SATO ant ant ant ant ant six
September 30, 2011 § 2 Comments
As If She Were Machinery
:
:
In deep autumn I go on traveling unenlightened
:
The scent of perfume so lively sudden loneliness
:
The quiet sound of a falling mosquito resounds in my body
:
Ears of wheat reveal the depth and shallows of the sea
:
The day my black hair’s heavy and cold we part
:
A spring evening I ride a car with an ordinary man
:
Katydids my perspective gradually narrows
:
A girl’s limbs are thin and wise air-conditioned
:
Having got used to the depth of war I love a dog
:
Summer deep I sleep the day with my own smell
:
Fingerprints of desolation everywhere clouds white
:
The trifoliate orange is sharp the lady’s elegant
:
Oppressed by the sea in twilight I await a train
:
Covered by the sounds of insects lies a brain
:
Lonely spring a wife lives as if she were machinery
:
The night I give up and sew the needle shines
:
A white moon turns to gold above the young leaves
:
Through my temples a locomotive dashes dark
:
Here’s life the fruit juice amber transparent
:
Early autumn’s good my veins transparent arteries pulse
:
Rainy season desolate I find myself with peanut shells
:
At a katydid I feel as if noon day were sinking
:
With dusk slow to fall gruel’s cooking at my feet
:
Knotweed growing thin falls into the typhoon zone
:
A spring evening is wound down toward the apple skin
:
Coming away from parting I drink hard cold water
:
White noon no white letter comes knocking
:
Only a horsefly’s voice annoying my ears I make unlined clothes
:
Having lived single-mindedly I’ve lost my goal
:
:
TOM CLAUSEN ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
After The Pleasant Part
:
:
from the soil
in the shovel
a beetle crawls
:
low cloud cover
early in the morning
her tight dress
:
in the tall stand
of evergreens
my cookie crumbs
:
reflections
under the bridge
a man fishes
:
without her friend
on the bus
her face
:
no one home
on the hard ground
a light snow
:
carried on
the flooded river
a beach ball
:
spring
removing the neighbors
from view
:
while they investigate
the accident outside
I order pizza
:
wild cherries in blossom
their land rough
with junk
:
all I know
she has a blue star
on her left breast
:
gray daybreak
her “to do” list
from yesterday
:
at 70mph
what I saw
wild turkeys
:
keeping quiet
last of the day’s light
on new grass
:
asleep
in the fallen scarecrow’s lap
a cat
:
the War
a woodchuck nibbles
beside the freeway
:
at the next urinal
he studies a tile
higher up
:
garden walk
she checks herself
in the pond
:
the crow
in me
gets a response
:
dentist chair
the sun comes and goes
from the window
:
cemetery
tracks in the snow
lead out to the road
:
the habit of looking
where it used to be
the mirror
:
on her cell phone
going into the building
“I love you too”
:
on time
the daily truck load
of pigs
:
after the pleasant part
of our walk
we hurry
:
warm spring day
a bra
in the bushes
:
the chain link fence
runs into
highwater
:
writing him
the second letter
without complaints
:
dinner over
he addresses
some crumbs
:
heavy overcast
between bench slats
a sprout
:
:
JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant seven
September 30, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yet She Tells You About Owls
:
:
I look for my ax sounds of distant trains
:
Horns swirling my ruined reeds
:
Cup your hands hold the iron water briefly
:
After the storm all morning gathering tree branches
:
Wondering about the unreadable billboard I boil an egg
:
Ropes and bags of sand even I remember the old garage
:
Plums in a plastic bag on the picnic table the fountain lights
:
On the path to the water pump sky filled with stars
:
At a loss for words using bleach to clean your infected toe
:
Laundry on the line grasses move in the ditch
:
Stirring ashes with a stick crudely drawn phallus
:
The pond is frozen hard nipples beneath your shirt
:
Three pennies in a urinal full moon tonight
:
Before the universe not even nothing to piss you off
:
Toy truck rusts in the sandbox measureless grief
:
You don’t even like her yet she tells you about owls
:
The juniper is ill with mold I need new eyeglasses
:
Sprouting through plastic grass seed left in the rain
:
The hammer feels warm I wipe my face with a rag
:
Paperbacks my glasses a change tin decorated with pin-ups
:
Near the lonely summer telescope an outhouse steams
:
Thunder approaches at my desk writing a letter
:
Scanning the phone book you find your name
:
In the barn straw dust climbs a column of light
:
Summer already I catch flies with my bare hand
:
By this time next year you won’t even remember why
:
T-shirt wet with sweat working the lower register
:
The wasp you don’t really like begins a new nest
:
On the hill of flowers your ragged mouth gives me ideas
:
Black angel in need of repair it’s just me lousy with tools
:
:
CHRIS GORDON raw nervz haiku
April 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
Misprint
:
:
in the headlights new slats on the fence your mole occluded
:
covering the freeway a truck load of pumpkins magpie is a crow
:
after plucking hairs from my ear the tea tastes different
:
sweat from the questionable meat the monster saves the day
:
apparently she decided against underwear the figs gone bad
:
an unfamiliar taste to your finger what happens to the crickets
:
the next day you remember Buzz Aldrin the pool closed for repairs
:
in the shower I make the water hotter and notice the fly
:
slow becomes owls wind a mystery with zippers
:
she’s kicked me out at the fountain they discuss local politics
:
after we’ve met my wife introduces us
:
on a seat at the bus station torn panties some old pills
:
I don’t feel the fly on my thumb sequel dubbed in English
:
a misprint in her body language tear open the air to black seeds
:
pale skin where the strap rested dishes drift in the sink
:
trying to avoid you I run into you even more
:
newspaper machines stuffed with clothing the parking lot a pond
:
it hovers then flies back at me what I spit out
:
objects fall the definition of silver wavers slightly
:
twisting in a swing she talks on the phone about her butt
:
:
Raw Nervz Haiku X:2
:
CHRIS GORDON A Guide To Haiku For The 21st Century (1997)
April 20, 2011 § Leave a comment
Everything Comes But The Bus
:
:
the countenance of the little girl muted distant televisions
:
a purple evening in the window she folds her underwear
:
snagged on the rock the water going out with the tide
:
on the edge of the paper an ant the smell of rain without the rain
:
diving into the shudder of darkness maybe this time
:
lunacy a lost poem about an acetylene torch
:
doppelganger spring a drawer of sex toys and failed medicines
:
willow leaves drag against my scalp I can’t see her eyes
:
morning thick and humid they forgot to turn off the streetlights
:
ducks break the surface in the dark blurry crescent moons
:
she’s in the shower an airplane crosses the darkness in the trees
:
wind stirs the wind chimes on the porch there’s a fire
:
clapping my hands I kill a mosquito find it was a moth
:
the drip down the back of her thigh a mourning dove calls
:
the brown dusk held by algae blooms an egret’s feather
:
he washes his feet in the lake the cormorants their wings
:
sheets soaked her hand draws away from my breath
:
brief warm spell over thumping the outside of the pane the flies
:
putting on my glasses gnats hover above my face
:
weeks later her sweet voice it’s just a machine
:
visible only in the shaft of light a fly her crumpled clothes
:
the full moon low a dead tree its seed cones
:
the dark shape of a spider wrapping a moth it starts raining
:
the smell of garbage cans she asks me to keep her ring anyway
:
imagining her with someone else behind the blinds the moon
:
my cold foot steps on her bra still warm
:
rain louder than thoughts everything comes but the bus
:
still sick the tree shadows as real as the trees
:
dressing afterwards her voice hardens
:
winter again in my coat pocket a strand of her hair
:
:
:
selected by Hiroaki Sato for A Guide to Haiku for the 21st Century (Gendai Haiku Kyokai 1997)
JORGE LUIS BORGES diecisiete haiku (1981)
March 4, 2011 § Leave a comment
:
Afternoon. The mountain.
What they told me.
Already it’s gone.
:
The broad evening.
Nothing more than
a vague fragrance.
:
The dream that faded
just before dawn.
Was it real or not?
:
The strings grow still.
Their sound gives way
To my thoughts.
:
No comfort from
the almonds in the orchard.
They make me think of you.
:
Dimmer, dimmer.
My books, pictures, even keys.
Just like my future.
:
Since that one day
I’ve been unable to move
the pieces on the board.
:
In the desert
dawn presents herself.
Someone will see it.
:
The indolent sword
rings with its former battles.
My dream is otherwise.
:
He’s passed on,
but his chin doesn’t realize.
Each hair still growing.
:
My hand.
At times it brought about
Your horseman’s capture.
:
Under the balcony
the mirror shows no more
than the moon.
:
Under the moon
the shadow that reaches out
finds itself alone.
:
A hint, this light
that extinguishes itself,
or a firefly?
:
The new moon.
She as well sees
by some other light.
:
Barely a trill.
The nightengale’s forgotten
how to console you.
:
My old hand.
The traditional forms
bring it a forgetfulness.
:
:
Translated by Chris Gordon
JON CONE ant ant ant ant ant six
December 3, 2010 § 1 Comment
I OFFER YOU AN EYELASH
:
building a stone fence a scattering of feathers
:
smell of incense meat scraps in a plastic bin
:
mouthful of willow rain on the shed roof rain wherever
:
lifting up your dress from behind fire-scorched land
:
basket filled with stones the graveyard we wandered in
:
dreamed we lived in a corn maze what a curious word chthonic
:
axle grease on a rag blunt ruined fingers and eucalyptus mist
:
wasps by the pump only the four elements are real
:
the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer
:
the shade of a hemlock I offer you an eyelash
:
CHRIS GORDON invisible circus
November 21, 2010 § 1 Comment
: : :
Underneath the pillow
Making your neck ache
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The Invisible Circus
Goes from town to town
Never really moves
: : :
We hear the parade
That tells us it’s coming
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Close your eyes it’s
Auditions today at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Your blind grandmother
Almost sold you to
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The girls are all
Clean and well-oiled at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Everyone speaks
Italian in whispers at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Your father got lost
One day in the crowd at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The cards are all
Blank at the tables at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Cut your thumbs on
The Bearded Lady at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The Invisible Circus
Hidden in the design
Of Buffalo Nickels
: : :
Your limp goes
Away on the grounds of
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Their tents are made
Of the skin of burnt milk
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Nine out of ten housewives
Have never heard of
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The Invisible Circus
Forbids the clowns
To remove their make-up
: : :
Your watch stopped when
You bought your ticket to
The Invisible Circus
: : :
The knife at your throat
A hand down your pants
The Invisible Circus
: : :
Take another ride
You never see it twice
The Invisible Circus
: : :
She wears a mask
With feathers she found at
The Invisible Circus
: : :
My hair fell out
Yours turned gray after
The Invisible Circus
: : :
: : :
MASKS No. One
CROW HAIKU
November 8, 2010 § 2 Comments
: : :
after the crow too many flies to count
a second glance at your wife the crow
when I crack the bones in my foot the crow
the crow
at night where is the crow
the squirrels never seem to mind the crow
used to rhyme with sow the crow
: : :
the crow calculates the seconds
three plus five that’s the crow
at the gem show he’s invisible the crow
the crow
the crow’s friends they just look like him
after you sleep the crow
call me later I’ve seen the crow
: : :
more than all you know the crow
the crow only his European suits
never on time but never late the crow
a last few tricks ask the crow
the crow
the crow has nothing to do with doors
not really black he’s purple the crow
: : :
the crow will see you after the show
dances in the rain because he can the crow
the crow wants to meet your little sister
lucky on the right but not on the left the crow
between the tweezers the crow
when you can’t make love the crow
on the wire more than you know the crow
: : :
did you say bless you to the crow
cheats at love but not at cards the crow
the crow
the crow says something says it again
on the bus everyone’s the crow
if you have a puzzle call the crow
even in empty spaces the crow
: : :
partial to reruns the crow
never been a verb the crow
hold the onions it’s the crow
the crow plays his last two cards
your mother’s umbrella used to be the crow
the crow red thread in tow
the crow
: : :
the crow sharpens his beak on the road
your plans are funny to the crow
somewhere between your commas the crow
the crow drops an acorn for the squirrels
behind the snow the crow
reap sow he don’t care the crow
doesn’t know his own name the crow
: : :
the crow takes a bite on the way to the table
at the payphone the crow without his coins
the crow
the crow forgets to mention the moon
implied by the crow numberless is the way to go
the crow gets you to pull down your pants
he picks at you when you sleep the crow
: : :
not quite a raven just a crow
ant5 