Gap
By Tom Titus
Shortly after entering this canyon cut deep into the heart of the Oregon Coast Range, I stopped to stare back toward the gap through which I had entered. The December sky was finally exhausted. Her gray travel-worn cloak snagged on the teeth of a conifer ridge.
Singing Back
By Carter McKenzie
from beneath the ground
roots and quartz
fragments
glinting
water carrying
all it knows
from the mountains
Our Psychic Maps
By Paul Dage
Frogs. In some very comforting way, they haunt me. Their throaty songs still croak from out of a distant yet familiar past, reminding me of youthful days when Popsicles, bubble gum and mischief were the dandy wonders that lured me, a tow-headed boy, from one carefree summer’s day to the next.
Origins
By Charlie Quinn
My mother used to dig small pits in the sand of ‘Ewa Beach while I was still in her belly – the only way she could lie on her stomach during the last few months of her pregnancy.
Love Letter to Quartzville Creek
By David Stone
Dear Quartzville Creek,
From the time I first laid eyes on you, it was love at first sight.
Your cascading waters and quiet pools sing a siren song I can’t resist.
Short Poems
By Bob Bumstead
Moon over Black Canyon:
The moon rises
over Black Canyon
softening the contours
of Hoover Dam
knowing it will not last.
Tell Me Again, of the Season
By Garrett Reagan
Tell me again of the season
When gallivants would whistle and walk, weary eyed and bushy browed
When blackberry brambles spoke in cursive, tracing hillsides in pillowy clouds
Noticing the Many Shades of Green
By Mary Sharon Moore
Sitting up high in the back of the McKenzie River-bound bus, I take in a picture-window view of morning sky to the east and north. A thin marine overcast evaporates as morning summer sun climbs in the sky.
Finn Rock 1939
By Lamar White
My parents and sister migrated from Arkansas to the McKenzie River in 1939. My father worked for Rosboro Lumber and they lived in a tent just a few yards upriver from the rock which is Finn Rock.
The Wild Raw Power of Nature
By Mary Sharon Moore
The wildfires that have ravaged my beloved McKenzie River Corridor sparked into being a month ago. The evening of Labor Day, to be exact.