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



unlocking the door

the key she gave

back to me


I buy

another book about




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


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




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


Flashy rags or lightening?

A procession on the plain


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


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

Where Am I?

You are currently browsing entries tagged with Modern Haiku at ant5.

%d bloggers like this: