Established as The Skamokawa Eagle in 1891
In December, The Eagle invited local poets to submit poems for our Fourth Poetry Corner to start the new year. Enjoy!
River Raptor Rubaiyat
Who would venture out on such a dark day,
skimming over water cold and gray,
where black rain spits sharp nails
of foul weather?
Tireless fishing marvel is the osprey.
Hover steady, willing stealth by feather,
quick to plunge and break the airborne tether,
maneuver luckless smelt in highwire test,
beating strokes aloft, hell-bent for leather.
Each adult does a shift upon the nest,
shielding eggs from squalls while catching rest,
wanting fish to break the hungry hours,
weaving mossy sticks around white breast.
Cries of strident young try parents' powers,
air awash with scent of tide and flowers.
Eagle takes a chick to sheltered bowers,
one less osprey crouching in spring showers.
© Dayle Olson 2020
Polar Bear Bites Back
Mammals have been in the newspapers lately.
Headline: Many Large Animals Are Endangered.
Not really news, except for why: Bush Meat—
people are eating them. Another article
announced
polar bears are coming ashore
in Novaya Zblemask,
Siberia, in unprecedented numbers, threatening
kindergarteners, eating garbage, terrorizing
the populace, and might soon have to be “culled.”
Overpopulation is the cause of the first condition,
global warming the second--as if
they were different things.
“Bush meat” didn’t come up
in the polar bear story.
But if they should start culling Siberians
for lunch,
could anyone really blame them?
After all, everybody’s got to eat. And with just
30,000 polar bears in the world,
and nine billion of us?
Well, fair’s fair.
© Robert Michael Pyle 2020
Dismal Nitch
“A feeling person would be distressed
by our situation.”
--William Clark, November, 1805
So fine now
big blowsy blackberries
the fat ones called "kings" making jam
on the vine.
Geese gazing lazy on the mudflat
river merely rippling, wavelets lapping,
cabbage white poking at a lotus
on the lightest breeze.
And it's hot!
Hard to reconcile this scene with the ugliest days
those lads of yore, one Lewis, one Clark,
endured along their entire route.
How could it be the same place?
But then, as we all know:
timing is everything.
© Robert Michael Pyle 2020
Shine
(A poem written to students, 1988)
HE SHINES,
SHE SHINES,
WE, TOGETHER, SHINE,
I EVEN SHINE.
MAY THE GLOW FROM YOUR TALENT
CRADLE A BEACON OF REMEMBERED WARMTH
THROUGH DREARY, DULL, LONELY FUTURE TIMES.
TO HIM,
TO HER,
TO ME,
AND MOST OF ALL,
TO YOU.
© Carolyn Azure 2020
Shine
(A poem written to language arts students, 1987)
I love to shine
and be as bright as I possibly can be.
To take a bow,
to show I know how,
to shout, "Look at me now!
"Shine . . .
It takes hard work
when you have a talent 'til it's tarnish free.
And tackle the tough,
and redo the rough,
and give the right stuff.
Shine, shine . . .
So, now please share
your writing so fine, let others to see.
T'was you I taught.
T'was struggle, yet you sought.
T'was not for naught.
Yes, your gifts shine, shine, shine.
© Carolyn Azure 2020
Poem Going Viral
A virus has no conscience and no brain.
Its very existence violates all norms.
Animals, plants and humans all know the pain
Of viral illness, which mutates and re-forms
Into new behavior and agony as yet unseen.
Trip over words like virion, bacteriophage,
The vocabulary of science behind the vaccine
That we await. Masked or not, young or aged,
Social distance or refrain,
Remember:
A virus has no conscience and no brain.
© Irene Martin 2020
Autumn: Fir and Birch
I am tallest of all -- noble and grand,
giant provisioner for bird and beast.
My limbs stretch upward
blocking the light from all others.
The sun is mine, all mine.
In the dark hours I stand vigilant,
watching for the first sliver of dawn,
the beacon that belongs to me.
Here I stand -- slender, white and golden.
I am not intimidated by the nobility
surrounding me, their towers dull
and green-black.
My own roots burrow deep in this place.
I know who I am:
I am the celebrant of the morning sun,
my golden plumage
the mirror of her radiance by day,
the welcoming lantern as twilight descends.
© Elizabeth S. Johnson 2020
Love
A powerful emotion
Never alone
Friends with worry.
The stronger the love
The stronger the worry.
Love is a rose?
Worry a thorn?
Love is a lily,
floating in an ocean
among the waves of worry.
© Kyle Rogers 2020
Single Stone From The Creek Bed
Hey little charcoal rock
Retrieved from the back creek –
Round, slightly porous, rough grade sand paper
I know your cousins well.
Obsidian and basalt, we have met –
Rhyolite, dacite, andesile, and scoria, on occasion.
They are like you – aphanitic, glassy,
fine grained porphyritic, pyroclastic.
But you with your phenocryst,
plasioclassic feldspar minerals
Are very special.
Nestle in the small of my hands and tell
Tell me a story
Before the mountains were Adams, St. Helens, Hood or even Loowit
DAMN! Yours is the birthright
Of a massive cosmic
Projectile vomit
Fiery liquid fluid propelled
MANA CUM LAUDE
Exhibited
Right out the backdoor.
© Jillian Ross 2020
A Christmas Thought
Thank you, Lord, for this time of life
for food and fun and sacrifice
to families gathered far and near
for children playing with bounding cheers
the smell of the sea
of the birds on the wing
a star filled night
or holding someone tight
children feeling the call of home
grandchildren learning
that they're not alone,
a time to remember Christmas past
a turkey, a roast, punkin pie er apple toast,
duck er venison, elk er beef, oysters, crab
all we want to eat
the sound of music
to sing and dance
to feel the wind
to take a chance.
Thank you, Lord, for our lot in life,
a job well done
or a heartfelt thanx
to honor those gone before
that gave us life, love, and hope
but so much more.
Now I lay me down to sleep
God is great, God is good.
Mommy, who is God?
Where does he stay?
Will I see him someday?
Does Jesus love me?
So thank you, Lord, for this wonderful home
and bless all those who are alone
for all the soldiers in harm's way
on land er sea to keep us free
our family's circle on Christmas Day
as we thank the Lord
as we bow and pray
our hands are linked
the chain, of life
I love you all, it just seems right.
Thanx fer all ya do.
Merry Christmas, and happy trails.
© Joel Fitts, 2020
The Favorite
Always there when times were hard
Full of love and full of life
Never said an unkind word
To his children or his wife
Worked long hours, overtime
Paid for everything they had
Never grudged a single dime
Tried to be the greatest dad
He apologized to her
Every night before they slept
She was just grateful he was there
And for the promises he’d kept
So many years went by so fast
So many days went by so slow
Now she’s longing for the past
The favorite one she used to know
© Sandra Kay Hilker 2020
The Ghost Of Science Past
I am the Ghost of Science Past,
that Christmas ghost’s pale cousin,
A sad, wan wraith who roams the land,
keeping tyrants’ minds a-buzzin’.
I once brought carbon to the land,
just doing what it ought’er:
Making trees grow green, and gas-o-line,
plus carbonated water.
And split the atom right in two,
to make power you could fix up
To run cities, factories, ships, and trains,
from contents of a teacup.
I arranged for man to walk the moon,
and live much longer life,
But now I’m a twisted, leftist tool,
a source of urban strife.
And where I’m bent the very worst,
battered till my shape is vague,
By pols and tyrants’ bloviated blast
while dealing with the Covid plague:
Follow the science, close the schools;
go to church and you are fools.
Close your business, drop your tools,
but riot’s okay - ignore golden rules.
Wearing masks makes lotsa sense;
like stopping flies with chain link fence.
Kids and young folks have defense,
but point that out and you’re just dense.
The virus infections seem scary & high,
‘cause PCR tests are prone to lie.
Low deaths among young folks they deny,
but among ancients, it’s quite high.
Vaccine’s here at Trump’s warp speed,
and supposed to go to those in need.
But the old and sick are paid little heed,
as science bends to political greed.
© Howard Brawn 2020
Impermanence Of An Instant
Fixed here, in exaltation,
Stands a heroic Deed
The most valiant expression
That you will ever see
The person, they were average,
Like any other soul
And for a Moment, they,
Get to play the hero
But Moments aren’t unending
And so, when it is done,
That mantle they were wearing
Is handed off to someone
Look here, Time, see it run
Towards Moments yet to spy
And when our Time does come
The Clock’s hand passes by
© Kaden Moeller 2020
Guardian Angel
If I were God, of which I’m not,
I’d wrap my arms round you
Impart protection; with my thoughts
In dreams that sail through
Were I God, should that be,
I’d hear each prayer you’d send to me
And shape the stars and moon above
With messages of my sweet love
Should I have been born a deity
In a place beyond the sky
I’d wish to grant you safety
(I say this with a sigh)
I didn’t make the world
And all that it unfurls
With all its tragedy
And little happy things
The power of my will
Makes not a mountain move
Nor brings the seas to still
Or makes the flowers bloom
If I could cup you in my hand
And keep you from the bane of man
I’d lock you in my heart of love
That is to say, if I were God
© Kaden Moeller 2020
Thank You,
Poets!
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