Walking with my Father

James Morton with his three progeny, (left to right) Ian, Christy and David (the Happy Monk)

I love poetry because it can open spaces inside me that are so hidden I might not know they are there. A word, a line, a rhyme can cast a light on something that could make me think, why have I been so oblivious to that?… Continue reading

Out Here the Mind Would Empty

By Helena Minton
                                     Shuyak Island, Alaska
 Wind blows from the mainland across the Straits
 over nettle-covered middens where I’ve dug
 for Aleut arrowheads, unearthing
 fish bones, clam shells, human teeth.
 Tribes slept near these hills
 and in daylight told of omens dreamed
 as elk of schools of spawning salmon.
 Trout broach, eagles circle overhead
 yet never enter my sleep.
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Pleasure and Worry in the Summer Heat

The smoky haze that settles over our homes from miles or nations away (photo taken September 2020).

If it weren’t for the extreme fire hazard warning, I’d wax poetic about the summer right now. The green apples on the branches, the delicate butterflies flitting over the lavender, the breeze rustling the leaves of the birch and poplars.… Continue reading

Dreams of Bread

Bread inspiration comes from many places. I used to dream of bread, squishing dough between my fingers or tossing it into the air and catching it, feeling its weight and texture before tossing it up again, light as air.

It was common in these dreams for loaves to be rising in the background while other things were happening, looking out at the ocean, having an argument with someone, or having a kiss.… Continue reading

The Stillness of Summer

The Sourdough Mountain Lookout, a fire lookout built in 1933, North Cascades National Park, Washington. 
Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout
By Gary Snyder

Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.

I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
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