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Featured Poet: Duane Ackerson
The Moon:
Another View
Hive the stars leave
one by one
to fill the night.
Others remain inside,
dreaming of another
gathering
night.
The Morning After
The
garbage truck
hauls off last night's moon
and any stars
still littering the street.
The hazmet
crew comes next
to separate the neon
from the oil slicks
so the colors can be re-used
later that night.
I'm
lying here in bed
as morning ebbs into afternoon,
trying to distinguish last night's dreams
from the rest of the day before.
Not the Stream
It's always the stream.
The iridescence
of light and shadow
rippling through it,
the constantly slipping
out from under itself.
Fleeing and standing still
changelessly changing
chameleon disguised as itself.
It's always not the stream.
Poem For, and After, Harold Bowes
You stand on a jetty at Port
Townsend
as a poem comes in.
The moon's champagne flute,
tipped over by the tide,
spills the shore:
dreams turn rocky,
the rocks we thought we stood on
melt into water.
Incinerator Sunset
In the Willamette Valley,
sunbeams poke under
charred newspaper clouds,
prodding fires on fields and hillsides,
and slow puffs of sheep
blow past the car,
ashes escaping.
Untitled
Roses
growing so tall
there's a definite chance
that if we don't prune them they'll scratch
the sky
Syncopated
Cinquain
Cinquain
begins to move
in my direction, hesitates,
turns to escape and trips over
its own feet.
Mapping Haiku
Asked a haiku for
directions; all it gave me
was in-direction
Cloud Fisherman
...catch the cloud,
a funny fish from the
swirling blue wind... Cathy Ackerson
He casts toward a cloud
floating on the stream
and finds his line has snagged
on the reflection
of a tree limb.
Disturbed by this activity,
a fish is caught
in mid-air,
not sure which way
is up or down.
Both fish and fisherman
are hooked on this dilemma
long enough
for the day to get away.
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