Saving Power Creek*
May 30, 2012
2012 Merit Award
By Jacob Hartsoch
Saving Power Creek
I found you here, flush with mud,
twisted over your shovel in silence,
the headwaters choked in silt.
Dig, you said, and shoulder to shoulder,
we learned about each other,
until after dusk the sound came back,
metallic whir through culverts
a sparkle in your ear.
My boys should know of this I think.
When the spawning starts we come again,
work down through the drainage,
slant light popping through alders.
You kneel down next to a discarded roe,
put a single egg in my son’s tiny hand,
pink on pink.
Further down we spot the coho,
taller than the flow, skittering upstream,
the boys dancing in rubber boots.
*Copyright 2012 by Jacob Hartsoch. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
on poetry…
May 29, 2012
“I always write a lot of drafts, and when I do this, I like to write the whole poem out each time, in order both to fix it in my head and to see where my hand catches on the paper, so to speak — which words it snags on.” Julia Copus
Like this:
Another Kind of Leaving*
May 28, 2012
2012 Walk Award
By Judy Orvik
Another Kind of Leaving
(remembering Nancy)
We read stories about the first women adventurers
to each other in your tent above the Arctic circle,
at the end of each day’s trek.
We followed ancient caribou trails
deeper into the country while
carrying the weight of our bounty on our backs.
Mornings held the retelling close
as we picked our course carefully, listening
as wolves sang old songs from memory.
We talked of leaving this country
on a day like today between migrations
without knowing you would be the first to depart.
That plane of yours is still
stuck in the tundra somewhere.
They say your wings fell off.
I imagine the moss growing over your skeleton
softening you into an otherwise hostile terrain.
*Copyright 2012 by Judy Orvik. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
My Ladder*
May 26, 2012
2012 Merit Award
By Don Cramer
My Ladder
An aluminum ladder hangs on the wall outside my shop.
Extended, it’s nearly as long as the building.
Smoke-blue paint spots adorn its upper steps,
Flakes left after painting the house three summers ago.
Remnants of needles have nestled into the treads,
Left over from the annual cleaning of the gutters.
When I tried to lower a dangling widow-maker,
It fell and bent the ladder’s bottom rung.
Credit the manufacturer, the rung did not break.
Credit my prep, the ladder stayed tied to the tree.
Annually I brace the ladder at the angle of the roof,
Then carry shingles to patch it before the rains.
I take it on junkets to help neighbors harvest apples.
Its neck sticks out and waves a big red bandana.
My stability depends on how well I plant the ladder.
I gauge my stamina by how much vertigo I experience.
I am handing this marvelous tool over to my grandson.
It can get him from down here to up there and back.
*Copyright 2012 by Don Cramer. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
An Intimate Look at a Slug*
May 22, 2012
2012 Walk Award
By Carole MacRury
An Intimate Look at a Slug
Poor slug—
like you, we secrete
but prefer to keep our moistness
hidden from the public eye;
we perspire,
slow our flow with astringents,
deodorize; stay dry.
A repugnant moist muscle,
we watch your naked gloss
pull like molasses
across the paths we walk;
your horns palpate
and you reach — retract — reach
towards a glutinous future.
With a moue of disgust,
we watch you smear
through the dust of the world,
an unshelled mollusk,
unable to hide; vulnerable
to the cling of debris,
to dryness.
Poor slug
without a shell;
you not only repel,
you remind us.
*Copyright 2012 by Carole MacRury. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
I laid out red thread on the grass*
May 21, 2012
2012 Walk Award
By Cindi Williamson
I laid out red thread on the grass
I laid out red thread on the grass
and a wad of silver hair from my brush,
and left them
where the brown birds might find them
and weave them into their April beds
to warm the pale glass eggs.
I found a nest, like an altar, in the laurel branch
and another between a flock of clothes pins
on the old rope lines. All my leftovers were there.
Remade, the way you took my broken bits
and created a feast of marriage for us.
The way my son might offer up
the pollen of his sadness
and find that it has become honey in the comb.
We watch them
until the autumn rain melts the mud
that binds them,
how the crushed blue shells and hollow bones,
on a thousand filaments for feathers,
give rise to life;
the creation of winged creatures, who,
on delicate air, trusting nothing
and everything, fall
into emptiness
and fly.
*Copyright 2012 by Cindi Williamson. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
Asperger’s*
May 19, 2012
2012 Merit Award
By Finnigan Cooper, 5th grade
Asperger’s
I have Asperger’s as you can see,
and most of you don’t get life to me,
I hate it when people yell all around,
my brain can’t compute all the sound,
all brains spark but mine gets on fire,
when you tell jokes that are not in desire,
it unlocks memories of things that are sad,
I really can’t help it if you think I’m bad,
brains are like highways and thoughts are like cars,
but they go straight like most of ours,
but my highway has stops and smaller roads attached,
so my thoughts pick up more thoughts
so more thoughts are latched,
my brain records movies, pictures, and shows,
I even record movies of my very own,
I plan things in my head when I run around,
I even watch them with real life sound,
sometimes Asperger’s can be such a pain
but my life is nowhere done and I have much to gain.
*Copyright 2012 by Finnigan Cooper. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
My Mother’s Afterlife*
May 18, 2012
From time to time, in no special order, we will post winning poems from the 2012 Sue C. Boynton Poetry Contest along with (very reduced-size) images of the placards that will be displayed inside Whatcom Transportation Authority buses. The complete list of winners from all years is available on the Winners page, with links to the individual poems on this site.
2012 Merit Award
By Elizabeth Vignali
My Mother’s Afterlife
She prepares for our arrival—
brushes pine needles off the table,
unfurls the checkered cloth
with a snap
of her wrist.
Mourning doves hush
as she stacks clacking
kindling next to the firepit
dead with ashes.
When she ceases
they cry to each other
across the shrouding mist.
She sets out canvas
camping chairs and rests
in the one nearest the pond.
She has years to wait.
A nymph lumbers from under
the verdant surface
onto a cow lily and dances
into its dragonfly shape.
New wings unfurled, it sees her
with many eyes.
It clings to the old body, its pale
new one jewelling blue-green.
*Copyright 2012 by Elizabeth Vignali. Placard design by Egress Studio.
Like this:
starts this evening!
May 17, 2012
It’s not too late to take advantage of the workshops, talks, displays and other poetic events on tap for the Skagit River Poetry Festival, in La Conner, Washington. Visit the festival website to view the schedule (and more) and buy tickets. The Skagit River Poetry Festival is also on Facebook. See you there!
—–
festival poster by Maggie Wilder
Like this:
on poetry…
May 14, 2012
“Writers are readers who go karaoke. After years of hearing the voices of masters in the poems and stories we read, we begin, at first timidly, humming along; then singing along, mimicking the tunes and lyrics we most admire. Soon enough the voice we hear sounds like our own.” Thomas Lynch
