Category: Spring 2015 Poetry
Uncle Jack
by Mike Pulley You died twice, appropriately, Since you lived two lives in one, A childhood future-enfolded, a kid embedded In age-spot skin. The
Aubade
by Sandy Weisman I get up to row on the river. My scull glides to the gloomy edge of the water thick with spent lilies. A great blue heron
The Gravel Diaries
by Martin Ott The pen scratches a long-ago itch. A one-eared dog brays at a coyote invading his street. The delivery truck coughs too close for
Spring Thaw
by Mike Bove Side streets roil with rough slush, diminutive whitecaps loll at the foot of driveways, mailboxes wear melting crowns and bow low
There is a Rumor That During Construction of one of Portland’s Prominent Thoroughfares in the 1850s, Some Workers Died in a Freak Accident and the Road was Built Atop Their Bodies
by Mike Bove The men buried beneath Commercial Street are hardly resting. They died where they worked, stayed where they fell, and rolled only
Twenty Years On
by Suzanne Osborne Is dead acute — the first gasp of loss and relief when your jagged presence was torn from my life? Or is it chronic — the long
Call Me Ish . . . kabibble
by Suzanne Osborne Yeah, never really did the whale hunt thing. Mind you, I have had some strange bedfellows, and I know a shipwreck when I swim
El Rio del Oso
by Larry Schug What is the name of rain when it fails to fall from a cloud What do you call a river no water flowing within its banks having
Escarpment Trail
by Gerard Grealish Escarpment Trail for Brenna Had I not forgotten exactly what it meant we would have hiked a different course back the same we
Play Under Review
by Gerard Grealish With the clock running down the guard drove to the basket. Before the ref ’s whistle stopped shrieking Foul! my brother