CHRIS GORDON Haiku 21 an anthology of contemporary English-language haiku

October 16, 2013 § Leave a comment

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a love letter to the butterfly gods with strategic misspellings

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avoiding definitions we stroke the tender leaves of the maple

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later you realize it was actually a part of your own body

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

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parked ahead of us someone watches the air a syrup

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the rain drips quickly on the white pavement lowfatdeathcamp

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Anorexia plus Silicon

June gets a bruise

then it starts to rain

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twilight those children shout the names of their dogs Freeway and Tequila

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spiders settling in where my habits where away the edges

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I meet the twin she

never mentioned the mist

lit briefly by the sun

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which part of me gets which part of you suddenly it’s spring

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dusk turns gray and

hazy and breaks off into

several angry girls

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leaf shadows on

the ground sway from

the secrets of war

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all the sticks

sharpened differently the moon

has stained your gloves

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she’s reaching for the red

chicken something passes

in front of the sun

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when the rain stops

you find me in the apple

packing my bags

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things I did with my hand show up as dead skin

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CHRIS GORDON Modern Haiku Vol. 33.2

September 15, 2013 § Leave a comment

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rain drops drip around the fingerprints on the glass rough tear in the seat

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green at the close of winter a broken crate in the empty train car

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are you asking me because it’s your job or because you want to know?

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twilight those children shout the names of their dogs Freeway and Tequila

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Four seventeen syllable single-line haiku. Chosen by Robert Spiess. Lee Gurga’s first issue as Editor of Modern Haiku. I was invited to contribute the cover art. Freeway and Tequila appeared in Haiku 21 – An anthology of contemporary English-language haiku (Modern Haiku Press 2011). I contributed the cover art to this endeavor as well (Castor & Pollux – Mixed Media 2010).

ant ant ant ant ant four

July 15, 2013 § Leave a comment

“In many ways the culmination of my original vision for the journal.”

ai li, Ronald Baatz, Peter Bakowski, Michael Basinski, Guy R. Beining, Ed Bennett, John M. Bennett, Ernest J. Berry, Diane Borsenik, Jason Sanford Brown, Tom Clausen, MTC Cronin, Bill DiMichele, A. di Michele, Dennis H. Dutton, John Elsberg, Crag Hill, Gary Hotham, Dorothy Howard, Jim Kacian, W. B. Keckler, M. Kettner, Jim Leftwitch, Shawn Lindsay, Paul Long, paul m., Robert Major, Errol Miller, Sheila E. Murphy, Dan Nielsen, Jim Normington, Simon Perchik, Anthony J. Pupello, George Ralph, William Ramsey, Dennis Saleh, Hiroaki Sato, Sam Savage, Caroline Steinhoff Smith, John Stevenson, Michael Dylan Welch, Arizona Zipper.

http://en.calameo.com/read/00251154550cdc71c99db

LEE GURGA ant ant ant ant ant six

October 3, 2011 § Leave a comment

Adjust The Dimmer

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milkweed flowers as seen on national tv

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dollar not quite as green as the katydid

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an empty beach on the island spring

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tax day outside the post office wild plum scent

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leaves of grass something sticky on the cover

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93 million miles past the adult book store spring sunset

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spiderwort in bloom “i love you” note in the wrong envelope

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phone ringing in the dead of night a cloud of skippers

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white sand beach i fill my pockets then empty them

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after lovemaking rhubarb tarts

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just a piece of wing on the dusty road painted lady

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empty thong where i wonder who

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white chrysalis of salt on the kitchen table

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scent from the letter i adjust the dimmer

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after church a butterfly explodes on the windshield

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night rain putting on my good underwear

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forgotten today by the one true god autumn mosquito

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hardware store smell of gun oil and donuts

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the virgin mary floodwater up to her thighs

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motionless in the wind galvanized sheets bent by the wind

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brought an umbrella for once but didn’t need it

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one yellow dandelion one autumn butterfly

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day of the dead there goes my skirt

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a red plastic whistle in the withered grass

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drifting snow a pair of blue jays in the treetop

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winter solstice careful not to touch my sleeping wife

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farther than the amtrak whistle stubblefields

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the man who never married doesn’t watch

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powdered snow sifts across the county blacktop

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from time to time the dog catches up

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