• Poets of Oregon: Keep in Touch

    Dear fellow poet,

    We know that many of you are evacuating, preparing to evacuate, or at risk of having to evacuate. Even those of us who are not in such danger are suffering from heavy smoke, and we are all anxious about friends near and far.

    Please feel free to update us via a Member News post: use this form

    Or email your webmaster: use this form

    We don’t need personal details. We just want to know you’re safe.

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  • Posted: August 24, 2020

    August Wilson Red Door Project

    Dear Family, Friends, Acquaintances & You,
    I am, 87 years old, August 30, 2020, with more to do than time allows. You don’t have to be this old to have these thoughts, but imagine being 87? What, on Earth, do I want to do next?
    This morning I have a ...

    August Wilson Red Door Project

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  • The Barbie Diaries by Dale Champlin, reviewed by Paul Telles

    The Barbie Diaries by Dale Champlin

    Just a Lark Books (November 17, 2019), 65 pp $14

    ISBN #: 978-1708450267

    Available at: dale@champlindesign.com

    Is it possible to say anything new about Barbie? Since her introduction in 1959, the PVC fashionista has been reviled and revered, loved and loathed. Her literary footprint includes adoring preteen blogs, scathing doctoral theses, and an authorized biography from Random House.

    Still, I’d be willing to bet that Oregon poet Dale Champlin is almost alone in considering Barbie a fit hero for epic poetry. In her 2019 book, The Barbie ...

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  • 2020 Spring Contest Winners: Poet’s Choice: 1st Place Winner

    June 3, 2020

    Baby, It’s Cold Outside

    (a Vivianne sonnet variation)

    Barbara Blanks

    As embryos we each explore the wall

    of womb that holds us. It’s the first place joy

    is felt—mom’s heartbeat like a lullaby.  

    Cocooned in touch, that’s how we interact.

    We’re chastised just as soon as we can crawl

    or walk. Just look! Hands off! That’s not a toy.

    We’re told to view, to listen, smell that, try

    a taste of this—but touch … and hands are smacked.

    And so begins our isolation. All

    those inhibitions finally destroy

    instinctive comfort found in touch, deny

    the core of who we are. Our lives contract.