October 15, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Five ways of looking at…….Harvest

I.Stepping into the morning yard with hot mug,first outdoor breaths,I spot the fallen plumsnestled in the rascal grass.I stretch my shirt into an apronthat will hold each oneas I take them to the kitchen,close to my chest, full of aroma,little fleshy bounties at last, since the long ago days of spring.

II.When the heat and spirit-warmth of Sunchange how it arcs the day,and knowing that diminishing is the next journey-way,one hungers alreadythe absence that will comeand runs out of doorsto greet the more precious September sunin a desperation July did not know.

III.Last flower of its kind, from the bush that a moon ago was full-headwith blossoms.I pluck it with my nail, todaya valuable harvest of pink and yellowto set in a tiny vase - remembrance and presence in a single one.

IV.Tucking in the still-green tomatoes in the coming on of twilight,under a sheet, draping off the edges where the cold could come in;

covering the solitary late-flowering morning glory ~all grown up and ready to bloom, so late in August, then willing to adjust from the random weed-and-rock bed to a pot of soil I gave it, a sturdy rod to lean on.She adjusted and continued to present her daily purple show;and lastly, the petite pepper who tried so hard to bear some fruit, andcarries now ~ a large and a small ~ misshapen bells,glossy greens that hang awaiting weather’s final tale.Covered, tucked, little attentions ~surely a way to say a fortnightof evening goodbyes and I-love-you’s, to the season’s garden.

V.What abundance!the evening bird voice, no longer the cacophony of many in unison,but now a single abbreviation of one telling the listening a single secret;

the bowl of fruit and the ease with which my hand travels over thelushness to select and bite into, another

the dried slices, plump and plentifulin an aromatic cupboardawaiting the hunger that winter’s coldwill bring;

how like the other side of the fecundityof spring is this:richness, plenty, fruition,blossoms and bees and breezesthrough long hot days,evening stars, meteors,Pleiades sparkling in the nighttime black,and chilled rosy sunriseslaunching toward autumn.

Poetry by Linda Bergeron

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October 15, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Awake. Last night’s full moon

still present, in predawn’s dark.

Out I aim, to the balls of lit clouds

that fill the great sky above this valley town’s stillness,

single stars scattered in the sky beyond.

My feet bridge me to earth,

my torso pivots slow moves,

my face is given to seeing everything,

to surrender to the endless vault of it all ~

my aloneness finally altered and dissolved

by the saying-goodbye coyote clan yips,

as She, in her brilliance, descends beyond the shadowed west ridge.

The small house behind my footsteps is hardly there.

Poetry by Linda Bergeron

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October 11, 2008 by Linda Bergeron.

Untitled Poem by Linda Bergeron

Bahama cruise:

no news,

sun, sea,

take-care-of-me,

horizon blue,

endless view,

cloud-watch sky,

unseen tide,

arising moon,

autumn soon,

present care,

home out there,

friend and kin,

without, within.

Return to shore?

Aground once more.

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September 28, 2008 by Clair Button.

Poetry by Dennis Beam, of Richland, Oregon, in celebration of the 2008 Great Salt Lick Contest

Redemption of a Grain of Salt

Whoa! What happened? I guess I must have died!

Reincarnated as a grain of salt in this block of sodium chloride.

I’m stacked on the floor in this dingy room at the local Feed & Seed store

What a price to pay for all my misdeeds, I did my life before.

I was a fisherman ya see, and it wasn’t easy.  I chewed and cussed and smoked.

I told a lot of lies and drank a lot and then one day I croaked.

But all and all I was pretty good, and I thought I lived a pretty clean life.

Why, it was even rumored that I once was even nice to my wife.

I always figured just a rumor of such a thing, would surely get me a free pass.

But when I made up to the pearly gate, God shut and locked it fast.

“I’ve been watching you and your sinful past, and I’m afraid on my list you are last.

In fact,” he said, as he gave me the boot, “you were a real ass.”

Well, I guess I’m proof that all God’s laws are really pretty strict.

And that’s why I’m stuck inside this solid saline brick.

It’s lookin’ like my number’s up and my luck is about to change,

I’m getting loaded in a pick-up truck and headin’ for the range.

Now I’m being heaved aboard a horse and put into a saddle bag.

We’re climbing high above the Snake River, ten miles southwest of the sag.

I can’t believe this. I know this guy. Look at that big smile on his face.

Then he reached into the bag and dumped me in my place.

I watched him as he rode away, that big ole smiling galoot.

If only I had my fingers about me, I’d be flippin’ him the salute.

And now I can only await my fate, a solo block of salt

And, to think I did boy scouts with that guy. Thanks a lot there, Walt.

Ya know I’ve been here before. I hunted chukars here, high above the valley floor.

There’s horses that live year round and cows and deer galore.

It’s lookin’ grim and it won’t be long ’til I’m attached to some animal’s tongue,

And rifled through its digestive system, and fired out the bung.

If only I could move, I might have a chance, to stay away from a lick

and avoid being reincarnated again, as a dried up pile of shit.

But alas, a miracle has occurred. Redemption has come and I might make it yet.

Someone’s brought me here to Baker City, thanks to a guy named Whit.

Find more about the annual Great Salt Lick contest at www.saltlickcity.com, Whit Deschner’s home page.

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April 10, 2008 by Clair Button.

Winters End

Russian drudge
sullen soul of angry serf
leaden brow, dirty gray clothes
stands outside the door of the master
who has freed him, in dumb silence, unthinking
Useless fool let the garden die
In the way, just go!
I’ll tend my garden by myself

We want our members and friends to show they are active and writing. It doesn’t take much. We want you to write and contribute. With all the great poets in our group, why would you wait for someone like me to start a new category on the blog? Well, here it is, poets “A Poem for Your Thoughts” is here for you to publish.

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