by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | High School Poetry
In Southeast Alaska, Water is everything, Is around everything, Is part of everything In Southeast Alaska In Southeast Alaska, Water Is in the rain, Is in the streams, Is in the humid Summer air In Southeast Alaska In Southeast Alaska, Drought Is a concept, Is an...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | High School Poetry
1. No land in sight. Yet the man didn’t turn back. Sailing for days on end. 2. The hot summer sun, beating down on their backs. A quick dip in the river. Now back to work. 3. 4:00 am wake up, Painfully thirsty. Reach to the nightstand, the glass is empty. 4. Years go...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
Author’s statement: This poem arrived on a brisk walk down to Rotary Beach in Ketchikan, last February. Walking at the edge of the water this morning In the company of wind whipped snow flurries Sweeping in, then out over the shore I stop – noticing moving...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
Peering down, I wonder— What waits beneath the surface? Choppy and rough, or smooth and calm Quietly curious as it laps at my palm A slow descent, then I find Extraordinary life of every kind: Red corals, pink algae, green urchins galore Anemones, moon jellies,...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
When I feel like an ermine in a hunters’ world outwitting the obstacles left in haste for me. When my tree bark flakes from one too many aphids sap-sucking my skin, and haphazard, thirsty roots stretching out from my trunk recoil; When propped up like a...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
the ocean, as the mother; the tide her rhythm, embracing us, rocking us, sometimes shaking us. The moon as the father moving with the mother, rhythmically and lovingly
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
The rain is playing a song, that maybe I am tired of hearing, yes but I think if I lived in a desert, I would miss the rain so much more than I miss the sun right now It has been 5 weeks with darkness and rain I think of Utqiaġvik, Alaska where they live in 24 hours...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
(Sung to the theme for “The Beverly Hillbillies”) [Opening theme] Come and listen to my story about a mine that wouldn’t die Dug a weeping hole while the state stood idle by Prince of Wales Island now leaks from its southeast side And will do so forever, never to...
by Emily | Mar 4, 2021 | 18 Older Poetry
I don’t crave to be the thundering drops of a west Texas cloudburst that tattoos violence on tin roofs and bounces boulders and stones down once dry gullies. Nor do I aspire to be the Georgia storm that reddens rivers with the farmer’s clay. I wish to be the rain of...
