Poetry 

Home
Gallery Events
Workshops
Newsletter
Poetry Events
Info for Artists
About Northwind
Contact us

Regional
• Arts Calendar
• Artists
• Arts Links

2409 Jefferson Street
Port Townsend, WA
360-379-1086

Gary Blankenship

Gary Blankenship is a retired manager who, he says, “dabbles in poetry and publishing.” He is CEO of Santiam Publishing, and publishes the online journals Mindfire Renewed and FireWeed, both at www.mindfirerenew.com. Gary has been published on the Web and in a variety of paper publications, including in the Tanka Journal of Japan 2005 anthology, the Tanka Society of America newsletter, and the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. His volume of Chinese-style poetry River Transformed is available at http://people.lulu.com/users/index.php?fHomepage=108254.

Between Ridges, Canyons

A raptor soars above empty lands,

species unidentifiable—

a speck against the clear desert sky—

lands empty except for tower, post and pole

along distant ridges and the march

of house and trailer up ever steeper slopes.

Talons, unfettered, dive toward prey

only he and turkey vultures can see.

I watch, uncertain of the difference

between hawk, falcon and rook.

Our lunch sits untouched, iced tea

visited by hornets—or is it wasps?

Magpies squabble over the remnants

of a dead crow in an open fire ant nest.

Before a Teacher, a Student

I’ve harvested bitter weeds and broken rush,

my knives sharpened with ancient stones.

I’ve fed cats, studied the lyrics of crows,

and searched a gated corral for lost oxen.

I hold my left hand in front of me,

it does not clap.

My ears ring from sounds of broken pottery,

my eyes dim decipher the difference

between blue and green, forest and tree—

The question unanswered, the hills empty.

I pruned an apple tree to its trunk,

its new fruit wormy.

Follow a bent old man through tall grass,

and, trousers soaked, gather barbs.

Wang Wei’s Lu Zhai from One Who Can’t Read Chinese

Though the mountains seem empty,

voices, speakers unseen, reverberate.

The last sunlight enters forest shadows

to rebound green from hanging moss. 

Addressed to Po Chu-I: Unsent, Unstamped

Another walk to the mail box, disappointed again:

another poem about dead ants, frustration showing.

To find a reader in you dead over twelve hundred years

more likely than in finding one in any now alive.