Gordon Anderson Poetry
TEN TRITINA STYLE POEMS
from my book: Looking Through the Knothole by Gordon Anderson:
Looking Through the Knothole
He looked through the fence knothole
he zeroed in and needed nothing more
he was frozen in a moment of bliss.
Eyeing through the knothole in complete bliss
it was just a simple plank board knothole
but it centered him and he wanted no more.
He became totally content with nothing more
he was motionless and in a state of bliss
—transfixed with his wooden fence knothole
Looking through the knothole and nothing more had him in bliss.
I walk the summer path
under warm colored broadleaf trees
into a shaded distance lost.
Into golden falling leaves now lost
I walk a sun stricken path
in this autumn’s season of barren trees.
And now stiff firs stand with cold empty trees
to face this winter in white lost
but for my snow tracks on the path.
As today, my snowshoes mark this path
among the trees now in white lost.
Man—it’s just a hamburger
something I shouldn’t worry about
it’s not that complex—not that high-end.
But that’s what I want—is high-end
when all I can afford is hamburger
and that’s what this braising is all about.
Less fat and better taste—is what it’s all about
I may be searching till my end
for the best tasting and reasonably priced hamburger.
And today’s pursuit is braised hamburger—all about high-end.
A summer night spent under moonlight
we make love on the sandy beach
—then she reads and I compose.
A poem—I write and compose
while she reads her book under moonlight
and we listen to the ocean’s roar from the beach.
Then we walk and dance along the beach
in locked arms—our love story we compose
—on our seaside beach under moonlight.
Once again—under moonlight on the beach we compose
our sweet love.
Last year I hiked the Hurricane Ridge Road
off the pavement alongside in a carrion ditch
I almost stepped on a dead Mountain Beaver.
It a rotting, stinking road kill Mountain Beaver
lying in a grave like trench beside Hurricane Ridge Road
it all covered with ants and maggots in the ditch.
A year passed and again today—I hiked by the same ditch
to find the bleached remains of the Mountain Beaver
—it now just a pile of bones beside Hurricane Ridge Road.
Today—up along the Hurricane Ridge Road in a ditch
are the still remains of a Mountain Beaver.
Nose for News
She could not keep her nose out of the news
always wanting to know—and then what
—and then all of the details.
She loved knowing the details
constantly snooping and looking for news
all the time having to know why, who and what.
She just had to know the when, where and what
and she could not live without the details
—she was year in year out on the lookout for news.
Forever a nose for news —she wanting to know
and then what —and then all the details.
My smart phone is ringless
the batteries are now dead
—I have a useless mobile phone.
In the bottom of my pack—my helpless phone
and I on this river bank with air pure ringless
—messages, texts, and voice mails are all dead.
But the Salmon River is not dead
here in this spot in wild Idaho with no use of my cell phone
I listen to mountain birds sing and the river run—I am ringless.
I am ringless and much alive on this riverbank without my dead
and silent cell phone.
Her Need for Change
Bored with the same—she wanted change
in her words she sang and pleaded
she prayed and spoke to the higher spirits.
Because she wanted help from higher spirits
she asked—with her voice for change
—with her rhythmic lyrics she pleaded.
She almost cried with desire and pleaded
—and she danced and twirled for the spirits
calling out to them for her wanted change.
It was her need for change that she begged and pleaded
to the higher spirits.
Top of the World
Little Johnny asked if I would take him to the top of the world
“It is not that far beyond far, Uncle Joe“, Johnny said to me,
“I have been two times…and it does not take that long to get there…
the mudslide damage is fixed…the road is open…we can get there…
Uncle Joe…it’s not that far beyond far… to the top of the world…
and there’s hot coco and a nature film at the lodge for you and me.”
“It sure is beautiful way up at the top of the world”, he said to me,
“and your brand new car will surely get us all the way up there…
please Uncle Joe…let’s go together and see the top of the world.”
I drove little Johnny up to the top of the world and he thanked me
maybe twenty times while we were there.
This morning—I hear port eagles call
and smell salt in sea air
—I am nearing the Sitka docks.
I sense fish canneries near the docks
where gathering eagles squawk and call
and reap salmon scraps in sea air.
Now—close to fishing boats in smelly sea air
me—with Bald Eagles on the Sitka docks
I stand in a misty rain and watch and hear them call.
This morning—I look and listen to eagles call out in fishy
sea air for more scraps along the Sitka docks.
When I found HAIKU it became a niche for me. I like it. It likes me. I like to write it and people like to read it.
MY HAIKU AND TANKA POEMS paint pictures with words. I set a scene, give an observation, raise a question, and present a thought or dream.