poetry

Monday Poems
11:15 am
Mon July 22, 2013

"The Velocity of Love"

Caught In Passing: Poems, by Zan Bockes

So still we sit
in chairs that mold our breathing,
frightened birds
with feathers slimed in oil,
fish in nets, bodies
pressed against the figure
of their deaths.
We haven't spoken
for an hour. Your last
word digs holes in the air and
hangs.

Beneath this weight, Father,
tell me I'm lighter than light,
that my love for you outruns
the spinning lance
of hate.

If I could speak,
I'd tell you it doesn't matter
how hate is as strong
as the other, how quickly
exchanged for love,

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Poetry and Indian Culture
1:28 pm
Wed July 17, 2013

A Conversation with a Nakoda/Assiniboine Poet

Nakoda Sky People, poems by Minerva Allen

During this program, Minerva Allen talks with TWQ producer Chérie Newman about her role as a guardian of tribal culture. She also reads from her collection of poetry, Nakoda Sky People, and from Stories from the Elders: Nakoda Horse Society.

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Poetry
5:57 am
Mon July 8, 2013

"Nuthatch Sitting on a Bear's Nose"

Robert Wrigley, poet

Really just a small cast iron representation
of the latter, a bottle opener mounted
to the southeast post of the shack's porch,
a Christmas gift from my niece,
and nothing to be stood upon, not even by a bird,
except for the nugget of ice at the end of the snout
that gives it a place. Some think art is lost
on the beasts of field and forest. Not I.
The chainsaw sculpture of an eagle
I fashioned years ago and fastened to a stump,
was sniffed at at length before the coyote

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Monday Poems
10:49 am
Mon June 10, 2013

"Gathering Mint," a poem by Laurie Wagner Buyer

Graining the Mare: The Poetry of Ranch Women, edited and with photographs by Teresa Jordan

He woke quiet, ate potatoes and eggs
sitting alone on a cottonwood stump in the sun.

At noon he took a rifle, burlap bag, and handful
     of dried apples,
saddled the glass-eyed gelding, corralled
     the wayward mare,
whistled one long high note for the hound
     and was gone.

It was late the first summer, river running
     low, meadow grass tassels paled by wind.
I weeded the garden one faded row at a time
     while the goats lazed in barn shade
and the mare paced,
     nickering again and again.

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