Poetry from Stronger Than the Current
This chapbook is a sequel to Mark Thalman's first full length book Catching the Limit.
The cover is painted by the author!
How to contact Mark: firstname.lastname@example.org If you would like an autographed copy of Stronger Than the Current please send me your mailing address. I will send you my mailing address, so you can send me a check for $12. The good news is I will pay for the postage on the book.
The Daily Forecast
Early mornings, after the fog has risen,
I watch for wild goats
from my kitchen window.
If they meander
along the high ridges,
the day will be clear and sunny.
When the herd comes down
to graze in the meadow,
count on rain.
Spotting them somewhere in between,
I make my best guess, depending on which way
they happen to be going.
However, if they hide in the woods,
a big storm, a heavy fist,
is about to hit.
To predict the weather, I don't need
a barometer, radar, or satellite dish.
The goats are seldom wrong.
Published in Half Drunk Muse
Arlington, Oregon, 1956
The railroad and highway snaked along the river.
Up the slope, huge oaks shaded yards
on blistering summer afternoons.
In the evening, sun dropping below
the crest of the gorge, the entire town
would fall into shadow, while the far side
of the Columbia still baked.
Mom said, “This is the last time
we will see this place . . .
When the dam is finished
everything will be under water
like the castle in your fishbowl.”
I had visions of salmon
swimming down streets,
and slipping through
Tugging her sleeve,
“Will they move the trees?”
“No,” she said, and fell silent.
Published in Windfall
Late July: Harvest
Inside a small thicket, surrounded
by ripe wheat, a doe and fawn sleep.
Through afternoon heat, a combine,
a giant beast, rumbles steadily toward them . . .
The deer stay low, ears folded, eyes closed
against the whirlwind of noise, glinting steel.
Not until the sun and moon briefly share the sky,
do they rise and step cautiously
to the edge of the field, fading
i n the dimming light,
the warm breeze pungent
with hay and fallen plums
from the abandoned orchard.
Published in Trajectory