As February nears, poetry returns. This one is from one of Port Angeles’ finest, Jerry Kraft.
I was on my lunch break one cold afternoon when I had life-changing realization. It hit me like a spoon that cracks an egg, and my yolk seemed to spill and fill up the world–indeed, become the world. I would apologize to you if you found my words confusing, but I don’t find them confusing myself, and in a moment you’ll see why I have no worries about being misunderstood.
Bottle neck of beauty rolling up the
yellow-tiled tunnel to the express lane.
Dimitri stood on a door step in a suburban neighborhood on a quiet Sunday afternoon. He pulled a piece of paper from his…
Emily had always assumed that someday she would grow to be a wise, old woman with refined tastes; as if the knowledge of fine wines and fine arts would simply come with gray hair…
Our literary maven, Heather Logue, went to The Off Hours’ Winter Reading on Thursday night, and lived to tell about it…
Good day, all, and welcome to the Seattle Star!
There are a few things you should know about us as we begin the process of rolling out our site, the first being: We are still under construction. Think of what you’re seeing as a soft opening for a restaurant. Yes, we’re open for business, but not everything is as it should be for it to feel whole.
I do not want to be
remembered for my urine.
In this I differ from
the chowchow and Welsh corgi
who yearn to soak the earth…
There once lived a young scorpion
Who was always sick from her own poison…
Whenever she’d strike with her tail,
The back of head would get impaled.