Playing is Good (In Poems, Too)

Photo courtesy of Winding Waters Rafting

Where the Water Was

Where the water was
Words for hope

I can’t stop thinking about the mud -- you know how dark it is,
how it is full of roots and wrigglers when the river goes on home -
at least to its latest channel. (and anything could change at any
time, it's best not to forget this.)

but still, how can mud be hot and cold, hard and slick,
open and unnavigable, all at once? the sun doesn’t
have much to say about it - just cranks up the shining,
doing what summer sun does best.

it is that time of year – you know the drill, it’s called
drying everything in sight. So after the sludge - the ground
cracks, like winter boots after long hard wet service,
with no particular attention.

then orchard grass and weeds sneak through. it's all another tangle,
and no place for a hike when the winding water wanders back
where it belongs, where butterflies sip the dregs, while
yellowjackets lie in wait.

now deer pick their way through, and worms and grubs
and moles and voles move below. tomorrow mud becomes rock,
then soil, then disappears; and forever the river goes
down, and down, and down, and clear.

Z.G.

Imagine ... (Your Poem Here)

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A Pair of Place Poems

Minam
Once, "Eh-mee-ni-mah..." was a peaceful place
.. several tribes gathered for early roots,
..... steelhead, whitefish, bighorn sheep or wapiti.
The old rockshelter was welcoming
... the campsites handy to wood and water.

Drovers, homesteaders and land speculators
. found the hidden valley following indian trails.
Tu-eka-kas posted his boundaries,
...traded friendship for peace . . .
.....and was rewarded with "the thieving treaty."

Wagon roads, toll bridges, railroad and log mill,
. a town and a fish hatchery to restore salmon runs,
.... then a highway later... and most folks
...... actually speed up to miss the historic vestiges.
Only a few fishermen wander here, now.

The rivers still flow by this place, sometimes high
. often-times as low as the legends, history and memories.
A canyon full of echos and dreams, illusions and delusions,
. it is still a quiet place to gather a few berries,
..... dig a little couse... watch the eagles or a bear.

R.Anderson, Wallowa

Corral Creek

A trail connects the lower Imnaha canyon
. to the upland prairie and forest.
The old people used to winter deep
. and crowd spring to the prairie
... for roots, game and an expansive view.

There is a pre-history and a history
. almost forgotten in this place
.... but... the scarred old pines remember.
The people... laughed, played
. and gathered sweet cambium here.

Once, a raiding party of Tukuaduka came
. looking for plunder, horses, women
..... and left their bones deep in Ni-mee-poo land.
Though congress has noted such events
. most people have forgotten.

The setting here provokes visions
. of exotic terranes, rich resources for life
... and depths of time in a widening space.
I... come here to dream, watch for falcons
. and listen for ancient echos.

R.Anderson Wallowa

Riffles

Chico

Chico...

This place, far upstream of Joseph's birth cave
. lies where steelhead still must choose
. amongst three natal streams.

Several trails of the old ones cross here,
. where trails lie across open ridges
. and old camps were on dry benches.

Old Gray... lived here, the last of her kind,
. foraging skunk cabbage, couse, chipmunks and moths
. watching for the steelhead that came once a year.

Griz, other big carnivores and first peoples
. were not compatible with homesteaders and sheep-herders.
. Old Gray survived traps... for a long time.

I, too, have spent time in traps and waited for fish,
. foraged upon these hillsides, watching for sheep-herders.
. A fine place to meet a sunrise... or a sunset.

-- R.Anderson, Wallowa, OR

River Rocks

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celebration, sent a note to staffordpoems at fishtrap.org