HAIKU IN ENGLISH: THE FIRST HUNDRED YEARS ant ant ant ant ant

January 30, 2014 § 1 Comment

:

the cloud-edge on the horizon deer head in the freezer

:

Jon Cone

Issue Six

:

:

where the lines end and the absence begins an architecture or so

:

Chris Gordon

Issue Five

:

:

clear winter sky over the radio the first bombs

:

Dorothy Howard

Issue Four

:

:

whittling

till there’s nothing left

of the light

:

Jim Kacian

Issue Five

:

:

your hair drawn back

the sharp taste of radishes

:

M. Kettner

Issue Five

:

:

meadow speaking the language she dreams in

:

Scott Metz

Issue Nine

:

:

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

:

:

 

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

:


Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with Jon Cone at antantantantant.

%d bloggers like this: