High Coup Journal - October 2011 Issue

(Photo by Ann Wright, Plymouth, IN)

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IN THIS ISSUE:

Art Bupkis (Gainesville, FL)

Courtney Davis (Freehold, NJ)

Amanda Hillenburg (Sherbrooke, QC, Canada)

Rose Kowaliw (Swanzey, NH)

Chuck Von Nordheim (Dayton, OH)

Annie Perconti (Louisville, KY)

Amelia Ritner (Hinsdale, MA)

John Tustin (New Hyde Park, NY)

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Editor's Note:

Snow, a white pillow

waits to smother leaves as red

as an infant's cheeks.

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Courtney Davis

It’s Rosh Hashana

wishing you a very sweet

and healthy new year

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John Tustin

All your dark dark hair

On my pillow. Like curtains

Smothering sorrow

  

You packed up and left

Watching me disintegrate

And now I am dust

Fill my emptiness

With your liquid compassion

Flood me with your love

Your face in the sun

Your face in the light of moon

I will take them both

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Art Bupkis

(Mr. Bupkis prefaced his submission with the following explanation: "Well, Yankees, you may be 'anal' about 5/7/5, citing 'English', but these ain't in English, they're in Cracker... Cracker is terse: 3/5/3.")

on that pine

that damn crow’s landed

cock the gun

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Rose Kowaliw

 Worst Bridesmaid Gown

 Hot pink, puffy sleeves

with matching shoes in satin.

Big pink marshmallow.

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Amanda Hillenburg

#firstworldproblems

Protests nationwide?

But a celeb did something

Report that instead.

Children are starving

Who cares? Facebook changed my feed.

brb raging

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Annie Perconti

Slipping hips into

belts hung low, laced with language 

she's ready to flow.

He's an eye-drifter--

Slipping low into places 

the world cannot know. 

Thoughts form like stitches.

The machinist of the mind

connects truth with lies.

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Amelia Ritner

The cold morning air

Tea in hand, cat at my feet

The winter begins.

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Chuck Von Nordheim

spectral fog shimmers

above lamp-lit wet blacktop--

autumn’s grey tint grows

helmeted ranks break

through butcher paper banners--

homecoming heralds

drive past corn stubble

see leaves rage yellow and red--

autumn’s last warm day

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October 2011 AWESOME SAUCE: John Tustin

Like riding lightning

I love you differently

But I love you both

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Best of luck to all

coming up with new ideas

for haiku and life.

highcoupjournal {at} gmail.com

High Coup Journal - June 2011 Issue

(Photo by Ann Wright, Plymouth, IN)

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IN THIS ISSUE:

Ian Chung (Leamington Spa, England)

Temple Cone (Annapolis, MD)

Sam Franklin (Terre Haute, IN)

Michael Morris (Royse City, Texas)

Mark Skrzypczak (Jersey City, NJ)

John Tustin (Flushing, NY)

Henry Visotski (Brooklyn, NY)

  

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Editor’s Note:

Missing the wedding,

we blasted the car speakers:

“No Woman, No Cry.”

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Mark Skrzypczak

Your entire life

Is the creative process

Open your damn eyes

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John Tustin 

Cooking up something

To fill and satisfy me

The recipe – you

   

Waiting for the words

My ideas like carrion

The buzzards circle dolefully

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Ian Chung

his belly flattens

ridges carved out for someone

other than yourself

napkin in his car

sticky with her red lipstick

and his betrayal

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Sam Franklin

Judas

Iscariot kissed 

a man for money--he was 

a prostitute, yeah?  

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Temple Cone 

  

Dualist, monist,

we’re all alike under these clothes--

lean, tired, scared shitless.

   

You mastered walking

as an infant and forgot

each step thereafter.

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Henry Visotski 

The Death of the (Other) American Dream

Faded cowboy boots

ancient Chevy, never used

covered, rusty gray

want to trust the myth

old weird America is

a gas tank away

road trip in the sun

will the waitress call me “hon”

out where cowboys ride?

so far all I see

is Starbucks and Applebee's

flanking either side

no Nelson or Cash

radio plays same old trash

Gaga, Nickelback

someone swiped away

the myth, the sweet old cliché

somewhere we lost track

inner city bound

nothing gained, we turned around

home with empty hands

mission was a bust

ancient Chevy gathers dust

think I’ll let it stand.

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June 2011 AWESOME SAUCE: Michael Morris

A white seagull floats

above the turbulent waves

of the parking lot.

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School's out for summer;

haiku school has just begun

in each sprig of grass!

highcoupjournal {at} gmail.com

High Coup Journal - May 2011 Issue

(Photo by Ann Wright, Plymouth, IN)

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IN THIS ISSUE:

Sara Bickley (West Carrollton, OH)

Salvatore Buttaci (Princeton, WV)

Samuel Franklin (Terre Haute, IN)

Rick Hartwell (Moreno Valley, CA)

Danielle Johnson (Clemente, CA)

Lex Joy (Durham, NH)

Taylor Lampton (New Brunswick, NJ)

Lauren McBride (Houston, TX)

Stephen Miller (Stockbridge, MA)  

Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory (Jersey City, NJ)

Robert Petras (Toronto, OH)

John Tustin (Flushing, NY)

Annie Welch (Louisville, KY)

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Editor's Note:

May, I ask you this:

where do you store all the joy

winter hid away?

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Sara Bickley

Standing humming hymns

outside the confessional

with the leaky door.

Dropped my cigarette.

Is it clean enough to smoke,

or does it matter?

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John Tustin

You still live with him

And I still sleep next to her

Good thing I’m patient

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Lex Joy

Thesis proposal.

 Which work of literature

 will I learn to hate?

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Taylor Lampton

The Undergrad Thesis Shuffle 

Reading. Reading. Notes.

Hypothesis? Nope! Again!

Reading. Reading. Notes.

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Stephen Miller

You have enemies?

We can address that problem...

Nukes cure lots of things!

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Salvatore Buttaci

claustrophobia

in this tight economy

can be stifling

old man knitting brows,

lean on your question-mark cane.

Life’s a mystery.

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Danielle Johnson

Stuffed Toy Cemetery

Seams busted open

Gloomy pile of marred plush toys

Tobin chews and chews

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Robert E. Petras

from "Redneck Haiku"

Second amendment

Tree-hugging sums-a-bitches

Mullet with crosshairs.

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Annie Welch

Bourbon Haiku

The coming of fall

whispered in mid August as

corn turns to liquor

When I feel too seen

I can write in third person

as she finds shelter

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Lauren McBride

homo sapiens

are LGBT labels

so damned important?

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Samuel Franklin

3:30 a.m.

Early morning Haute 

with sleepless, stupid deskjob--

you may kiss my ass.  

This is important

My fecal matter 

matters a lot--but the smell

kills my gray matter.

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Rick Hartwell

good haiku is like

tasty tidbits offered up

inviting your dreams

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May 2011 AWESOME SAUCE: Jennifer-Leigh Oprihory 

Judy Blume

Are you there, God? It's

me, Adam-- Margaret got

knocked up.  What's cracking?

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Now that spring has sprung,

those haiku that spring to mind

should be sprung to us!

highcoupjournal {at} gmail.com

High Coup Journal - January 2011 Issue

(Photo by Ann Wright, Plymouth, IN)

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IN THIS ISSUE:

Rosemary Foster (Bloomington, IN)

Edward Jones (Stevens Point, WI)

Julie Kelsey (Germantown, MD)

Hal O'Leary (Wheeling, WV)

Mitzi Sicking (Midland, TX)

Dariel Suarez (Miami, FL)

John Tustin (Flushing, NY)

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Editor's Note:

To weight loss and to

for once in our silly lives

making new mistakes.

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Mitzi Sicking

You failed your paper?

I cannot imagine why.

Oh deer, there, their, they're.

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Hal O’Leary

THE FAILURE.

 Let no man guess that

'neath this smiling face there lies

a forsaken man

LOVE 

 Truest love, a scarf

thrown loosely about the neck

but never stifling

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Rosemary Foster

Write Haikus in math

Wonder why I got a C

No correlation…

Uh, linear algebra

Can I have some numbers please?

No! I changed my mind

My dearest Vista

Please go die now stupid whore

Facedesking for real

Asshole family

Hey! Merry fucking Christmas

Go fall off a cliff

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John Tustin

I smoked the rose down

Until it became brittle

Until it was brown

Angels in my heart

Devils inhabit my soul

One guess who wins me

Naked in the snow

Numb and breathing hard and fast

It hurts like life does

You, like a painting.

I come up close. What colors!

What composition!

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Dariel Suarez

I would rather have

the salmon’s courage than a

Taoist belief.

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Julie Kelsey

this makeshift sofa

so soft and comfortable

my fat snoring dog

finally, coffee

my mug – now cold – upended

the toddler’s cry

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Edward Jones

family photo

hangs perfectly straight, upright

right until I leave

in my rage, I toss

things indiscriminately -

yes, willy-nilly

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January 2011 AWESOME SAUCE: Dariel Suarez

Under the shade of

this tree, man will never find

enlightenment, just figs.

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A resolution:

write a haiku every day

and send them to us!

highcoupjournal {at} gmail.com