Local Poetry of the Mat-Su!

Poetic Motion

Contributed by Yvonne Moss

My sun streamed highlights upon my mountains from the East
To their Western edge.
Then back, my brush returned,
To wash earthy hues
Over the watercolor paper.
Yellow-gold and burnt sienna merged
In triumphant splendor.
This use of paint and brush,
To kickstart the equation of moving symmetry,
Also swept a purple arc o’re my mountain tops.
Poetic movement
On an infinite backdrop.


Contributed by V.M. Tackett

With walking stick in hand, I make my way along the rock-strewn trail, pushing myself closer and closer to the top of the mountain, my destination. As fatigue sets in, my legs begin to feel the strain of the climb. It has always amazed me how hard we work for something so insignificant in the whole scheme of life. Yet, we push on as if it is our last act on earth. I need to rest for only a moment, to recover the precious energy needed to finish my drive to the top. As I sat under the shade of a beautiful birch tree, with my back pressed against its smooth trunk, a million thoughts began to race through my mind, most of which were irrelevant to the moment. I stare up at the tree tops swaying in the wind, one solitary leaf began its journey, floating softly to earth. As I watched its gentle twisting and swaying to the currents of the wind, its flight seemed to last forever. A leaf’s fall should not last more than a moment in time, but as I enjoy its elegance in flight, time seems to stand still. Eventually, its journey comes to an end, I come to realize that this beautiful and gentle moment is so much like life itself. We must enjoy every moment, delight in every sight and sound. Enjoy it now, for our journey will soon be over. As I get to my feet once again to finish my trek, I realize that the prize is not to get to the top, but the journey itself.


Contributed by Robert Lyons

Jester for you I guess, it's the best I can do
Seriously, I hang the cliff perilously
Timing the punch to leave you delirious
Merrily twisting ends, dispensing grins
It all depends on observations
Life's aggravations or mundane situations
I pen them into innuendo with gleeful keystrokes
Just jokes? Are you kidding me!
Gotta make people happy
Use a metaphor like a 2 x 4 till it hurts more than a funny bone fracture
Galactic humorist, using the practical to make actual people doubt what seems factual
My minstrel show planned tactically without tact as I perform my act
What was that? An encore performance?
So close to dormant, switch, I floor it
And free-form it for five more chances to glance at the participants satisfied glows
Their eyes glinting for more, if I had it to give, I’d try to pour out the laughs from their bellies
But my legs are jellied and as I retract into my lines, I'm sure I forget why
I'm even trying to entertain
Off stage is mundane! Hoarse throat
But locked here in this room
With both hands on the door
I have no words, miming now
A silent clown
Until I move on to the next town

To Opine (Or Not)

Contributed by Nan Potts

“Where there is much desire to learn, there of necessity will be much arguing, much writing, many opinions; for opinion in good men is but knowledge in the making.” – Milton, Aeropagitica

Let me not omit the facts
and subscribe to omitted truths.
Lies are those
Which alter minds and warp the hearts of men
Or, bending truth by those who wish
Destruction heaped upon their foes.

Where is thy information sought,
For a thorough story make?
Thy voluble opinion claimed as truth,
Without full substantiation,
Harvests swaths and wreckage make.

What basis speaks to thou to judge collectively,
If opinion holds the truth for only thee?
However real, it may prove false. Be certain
Thy prudence rests on sufficient grounds
And yields evidence of complete certainty.

Yet, thou art shielded from muzzling censors
And are freely to opine. Pray, winnow fact from fable
And from vile gossip untangle candor.
Yet, with Milton I concur, “Opinion in good men
Is but knowledge in the making.”

What drives this animus of social view or attitude?
Perchance, to save a wounded heart from injury?
Or, is to disrupt thy purpose be –
To conjure slurs, to libel and to slander?
If thou solely seeks to sight the bad, ye shall find it surely.

Loof Lirpa

Contributed by Wendy Brooker

Mother Nature sitting sideways at her vanity
toys with thoughts of how to mess with mere humanity
smiles at how much fun she has with those in northern climes
being fickle in the spring, she chuckles, “Man! Good Times!”

Civilization Millennia 3

Contributed by Robert Lyons -

Where do we put our excrement?
text, text, text
Sewage backing up! What’s next, intra-web?
Plumbed feces into our homes
Something smells, what’s wrong?
Aww the enlightened ones...
Staring at phones, you hear me?
Phony glares at home alone
Clearly in need of a pair of boots
Or maybe a neck length rubber suit
The poop has piled to the roof
But folks walk aloof and pretend to goof
Razors pulled in fist behind hip
Glib the way our social life is
Communication barely used
Abused our sensibilities too
Thousands of years ago people would plumb
Their crud through sewers second to none
And just a few decades past
People's business was represented with class
Not posted lessons that nobody passes
Irritable bowels of social tension
Grandma used to say after collecting her pension
"Don't sleep where you go, it'll lock you in prison"
Maybe we should dump this technology
Return to architecture, art, theology, and science
Spend our time cleaning ourselves
Instead of wallowing in filth we store on appliances
Hollow data we dread, addicts with no true alliances
Septic line direct into our minds
Maybe it's time to rewind
A reset button against the techno elite,
Let's pull the lever
And flush the toilet