Today is Thursday, Dec. 8, 2016

READERS WRITE

No Time to Laugh

 By James Doran It is not a time to laugh. A fascist in the White House. It never comes all at once. It trickles down slowly and as the American middle class re-emerges we all say, “This ain’t so bad …” While a gnawing voice goes silent, we laugh, “This ain’t so bad …”  ...

THANKSGIVING DAY

By Tamara Dicus Hillman Mama in her apron, Daddy in his chair, us kids playing ‘round on wood floors that were bare. Turkey in the oven, smell of pies so sweet, family soon would join us to gobble up the treats. Grandma brought great goodies, the aunts and uncles too came swooping in with food galore—...

Thirty Mile

By Patrick Johnson Hot, stifling Sound deafening So dark Smoke intense Confusion, panic Running, scared Deploying shelter No time to wait Why are they going up there? Shouting, they do not hear Drawing shelter over Laying on the ground Can’t breathe Will we all die? The screaming But life continues in the Okanogan   Patrick...

Again

Here we are again. Embers falling People falling Looking for the bright spot Of resilience Rain falling, snow flakes falling Be aware. It’s all here What is important Pull deep from inside Thankfulness.   This poem was submitted by a Twisp resident who wishes to remain anonymous.

Smoke

By Cynthia Mitchell The curtain of smoke parted for a short while, this morning, bringing relief from burning eyes – not to be confused with relief from burning fires. Suffering immeasurable, devastation widespread. Many beings of mountain forests losing more than humans, whose homes somehow rated more valuable, are built on top of theirs. Tragedy...

I am a Flash Flood

I am from houses washed away, mud, metal, water, and rocks coming down on the road. Trees, cabins, and hay barns; other houses are destroyed, too. And it brought a lot of logs down to the road.

Bobcat

By Ryan Brennan Snow falls a silent curtain ice turns the world to glass darkness falls suddenly and black shadows become a deep pool he is out there searching for food or for shelter solitary and seldom seen he remains a mystery then the day comes a blinding glare he settles back in his protective...

The Fog

(With apologies to Carl Sandberg) By Aristides Pappidas The fog comes on elephantine feet. Somnolently looking over the river, with ham-sized thighs it sits where it wants to then reluctantly moves on to visit the next day and the next and the next. Aristides Pappidas lives in Winthrop

Fury of fire

By Ryan Brennan, July 2014

I gaze at the destruction and ruin of the landscape

I can feel the hot breath of smoke beneath my skin

Haunted shapes flutter on the edge of the horizon

Begging us to join their dance of hell

Split

By Sam Owen

between Cougar Flats and Rising Eagle

looking south and east and back to south

weather vane’s tedious turning predicts

which way I’ll drive outta here, cat

squawling in the back of the car