“When power leads man toward arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man’s concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.” — John F. Kennedy
Boris Schleinkofer, poetrywatch editor
- Subject matter is unlimited, but poetry featuring or specific to Whatcom County and issues addressed by Whatcom Watch (government, the environment and media) will likely get first preference.
- Please keep it to around 25 lines; otherwise, we might have to edit your work to fit. Don’t make yourself unprintable.
- Send poems and your short, two- or three-sentence bios as a word document attachment to poetry@whatcomwatch.org.
- The deadline is the first day of the month.
Hilary Cole
Please understand that acceptance and final appearance of pieces
are subject to space constraints and editorial requirements.
By submitting, authors give Whatcom Watch permission
for one-time publication rights in the paper and electronic editions.
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within walking distance
by Luther Allen
touch the screen. ten thousand one dimensions.
i used to be able to smell the universe.
feel shadows, know flame.
now, too often unconscious, distant,
i can view anything, remotely.
place has become everywhere.
but when it rains
i need to get wet.
cold.
touch the blackberry, the slug.
feel puncture, slime.
where what happens
is what happens.
once, not re-playable.
stepping into the unchosen,
the unexpected,
the unartifact.
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Luther Allen writes poems from his mostly unmanaged 10 acres of mountainside near Bellingham, Washington. He has published two volumes of poetry: “The View from Lummi Island” and “A Spiritual Thread” (see https://othermindpress.wordpress.com).
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Numberless blades of grass
by Marie Eaton
Eternity rolls out across meadows
in numberless blades of grass,
winter’s brown softening to verdant green
as spring spreads her lush blanket
across the hill.
Each small shoot a shout of
restoration and repair
in a wonderous cycle of rebirth.
In the swale, skunk cabbage
thrusts her yellow head up through mud,
unfurling yellow petals, to bloom
bright against a pale spring sky.
Cherry blossoms
toss pom-poms in the wind and fall.
Pink snow drifts into piles
along the lane.
All awakes
to this astonishing awareness
of continuing life —
in spite of the mess of it.
All hurt and sorrow
suspended for a moment of joy.
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Marie Eaton is professor emerita from Fairhaven College and is currently the Community Champion for the Palliative Care Institute. During this long Covid pandemic, she has found joy in a daily writing practice.
