It’s exciting to see the Western Slope of Colorado hosting its second regional poetry festival of 2011. After this spring’s greatly successful Karen Chamberlain Poetry Festival in Carbondale (honoring a former poetry editor here at MG and presented by the Thunder River Theatre Company), Sandra Dorr and the Western Colorado Writers Forum is featuring The Language of This Land in Grand Junction, Oct. 7-9. Colorado Poet Laureate David Mason will be one of the lead performers.
Robert King has been an important voice for poetry throughout Colorado. His on-line directory of state poets — the Colorado Poets Center — is an essential listing of over 140 poets, bios, photos, contact info, poem samples and more recently a quarterly newsletter that keeps poets in touch with publications and poetry happenings around the state www.coloradopoetscenter.org
King is also a very fine poet, and his latest work was this year’s winner of the Grayson Books Chapbook Competition. “Rodin & Co.” is an outgrowth of King’s fascination with the famous sculptor after a visit to the Rodin Museum in Philadelphia. Included herein is a poem from the new book. For more info, visit King’s personal website: http://robertkingpoet.com
— Art Goodtimes
Western Slope Poet Laureate Art Goodtimes is a 4th-term San Miguel County Commissioner, co-chair of the Colorado Green Party, fungophile, basketweaver and spud farmer. http://goodtimespoetlaureate.blogspot.com/
Send poetry submissions to email@example.com
Winter Carnival, 1979
Deep in my heart there is a party barn.
The band has run a cable from the dorm
And now everyone is dancing, drinking,
Laughing, flirting, yelling, not really thinking
About Monday’s classes or graduation.
And why not? Most real sadness is yet to come.
Which is why cocky boys pour beer down the stairs
Then surf the suds on their bare chests in February,
For this is Carnival, and there are girls to impress…
And what did you expect? A city on a hill?
— David Rothman
Poetry Director, Western State College MFA in Creative Writing
Only innumerable surfaces, undulations without end.
He’d execute a contour of the body
sometimes by candlelight, each muscle’s edge
found as light flamed up around the flesh
rolling through dark, a series of horizons,
a single planet always arriving,
the human form with its “infinite
number of outlines” he loved, who watched these men,
these women, move in the light, their darkness
slowly lost, one shadow at a time.
— Robert King
Light seeps in
one red leaf
in the road
omen of fall
in the garden
belie season’s finale
I give you this:
and go on
— Linda Keller
it steps armored out of the head
and commits itself
itself and teaches us to prize
the self-made wound
by displaying its purple bruise
— Dan Beachy-Quick
In my red bowl, last fall’s
Hawkswing mushrooms (Hydnum imbricatum)
Gathered with whistling kids
Nudge beet greens I plucked yesterday
From my garden in the hailstorm
Which explains the store-bought yellow squash
And miso for stock; nothing ever
Tasted so good.
— Ellen Metrick
San Miguel County Poet Laureate