[Home] [Bookstore] [Gallery: Art / Photos] [Guests:Poets/Artists] [Workshops] [News & Events] [Contact]

[Home]

Products
Bookstore
Art Gallery
Photo Gallery

Poetry & Humor
Poetry
Featured Poem
Essays
Humor

Guests
Poets
Visual Artists

News
Releases
Archives

Workshops
Poetry Workshops

Links
Writing Links


Contact
Email & Address Info
Bio and photo

Featured Poem of the Month

Permafrost

There are no Eskimos in Alaska.
The natives here are Aleut, Inuit, Yupit—word meaning
Real People, the rest of us are virtual,
visitors who come and go like summer wind, not real.
What is real is blue ice, glaciers shouldering
their way across the land, now retreating
an inch a month, leaving moraines, broken
bits of stone to tell their story.
And the earth applauds with green grass,
chokeberries, the poetry of spruce trees
rooting in permafrost, deceived
by the firmness of ice below topsoil.
When summer melts the ice below,
the trees reel like drunks at a party,
telling their story all askew,
holding on to intent, reaching for light.
holding on to water till the long dark
of winter comes and they can believe
again in the truth of ice.

Hilary Tham

(From the Alaska trip)