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

 

CHRIS GORDON a book of matches

January 29, 2014 § Leave a comment

:

snow from Xmas still painted on the porno shop

:

thaw before New Year’s silverfish in the bathtub

:

three lentils in the beach bathroom drain

:

my son says I’m not playing I’m having fun

:

at the doctor we divide by two subtract one

:

the button I sat on falls to the bus floor

:

drawn to the lollipop ants sizzle in the sun

:

panties tossed on the melon rinds wet in spots

:

over time the little steps take us far away

:

my brother I don’t really know it’s his birthday

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hoofprints on the beach seaweed entangled with bones

:

morning the bathroom empty except for my razor

:

you write a list I let your tea steep too long

:

with a book of matches you know how many are left

:

lit by the window sawhorses covered with snow

:

the corner where the blackbird attacks a rag on fire

:

deep in the river a tiny moth leaves my head

:

:

CHRIS GORDON Modern Haiku Vol. 33.2

September 15, 2013 § Leave a comment

:

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

:

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

:

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

:

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

:

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).

OCTAVIO PAZ modern haiku 36.1

January 21, 2012 § 2 Comments

A DAY IN THE CITY OF LAKES

:

:

The white palace

white on the black lake

lingam and yoni

:

As the goddess does the god

night has encircled me

:

The cool veranda

You are boundless, boundless

but surveyable

:

The stars they’re inhuman

This hour though is ours

:

Falling I rise

Burning I grow wet

Do you have only one body?

:

Birds skimming the water

Dawn comes to my eyelids

:

Filled with thoughts

immense as death itself

the marble looms over you

:

Palaces run aground

their whiteness is adrift

:

Women and children

roam through the street

fruit scattered about

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Flashy rags or lightening?

A procession on the plain

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Cold and jingling

on their wrists and ankles

bands of silver

:

In a rented suit a guy

goes to his wedding

:

Clean and draped to dry

among the stones clothes

you watch in silence

:

On the island monkeys

with red asses are screaming

:

Sun dim in the heat

Hanging from the wall

a wasp’s nest

:

My face is also the sun

of blackened thoughts

:

Flies and blood

fill the courtyard of Kali

A young goat flits about

:

Eating from the same plate

gods and men and beasts

:

Over the pale god

the black goddess

dances headless

:

Heat and the hour splits open

These rotting mangoes

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Your face a lake

smooth, without thoughts

Out splashes a trout

:

Afternoon’s gone

Lights kindle over the water

:

A rippling in

the golden plain and a grotto

Your clothes nearby

:

Over your body in the shade

I am like a lamp

:

A scale made of

living bodies bound together

over the void

:

The water sustains us

The sky overwhelms us

:

I open my eyes

How many trees were born

just last night

:

What I’ve seen and wanted to say

the white sun blots out

:

:

El Dia en Udaipur translated by Chris Gordon

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