Poesy of Portland, or poetry about Portland, no matter where you are in the world! Interested in submitting a piece? Email it to pdxme.com@gmail.com including the date it was written to be posted on this page!
July 31, 2009 - by Amelié Rousseau
This week has seen quite the heat wave in the Portland area, causing a surge in power usage as well as a surge in poetic creativity! A friend of mine, Amélie Rousseau, responds to the rising temperatures.
Beating the heat at SW Broadway & Madison, Summer 2007.
Portland in Heat
Portland in heat:
A blushing rose, propped up in its ornate vase: wilting.
Rectangular fans silhouette the windows and doors in SE Powell, the west hills, Sellwood, and St. John’s.
“Why pay thousands for air conditioning?” they say.
“It’s only hot in Oregon three weeks a year,” they say.
Tonight a tiny frog darted under my garage door.
Why should it want a night in this concrete hole?
I covet the frog's cool swamp to my hot sheets.
Portland in heat:
A boat waiting to sail: yearning.
Sea legs lost until the river breeze cools,
Only then can it fill its sails again. Freedom.
Stumptown Roasters at Ace Hotel
July 24, 2009 - by Daniel Ronan (published 7/28/09)
When home in Portland, I go to cafés. And to the local ones I go. My favorites include the previously mentioned Broadway Café and the "Downtown" location of Stumptown Roasters. The World Cup in Powell's is not that bad, nor is the one on NW Glisan and Floyd's Coffee Shop in Old Town is a good place to get some work done.
As far as coffee fixes in Eugene, I spent Friday afternoon at Full City Café pinging for my Portland roast. Some imaginings came to mind. Reminiscing about Portland is a daily occurrence, and this blog makes it all okay. Voilà! A taste of PDXpoesy!
Sound
The sweetest sounds I have ever heard have been in cafés.
The ones, sitting pressed against the wall, the coffee tastes so good,
The local, ready and open, cup in hand.
One day, the local will be with me.
The Sketch
She sketched the cityscape with meticulous care.
Today would be her best work.
Each item she took out of her pouch, each with it’s own purpose,
Each working for the sketch.
June 25, 2009 - by Marshall McFarland
Marshall McFarland
When I started the PDXpoesy of PDXme, I didn't how I would approach posting other people's poetry. How would I introduce it? What would be its subject matter? I would think Portland. But no less, a good friend of mine here at the University of Oregon, and a graduate of Lincoln High School, Marshall McFarland, has given me a taste of Portland as I live out my lazy summer days in Eugene. I leave it to Marshall, an avid photographer and poet to introduce himself:
Marshall: I've taken over 45,000 photos. My inspirations include Sally Mann, Diane Arbus, Salvador Dali, Edward Weston, Imogen Cunningham, Louis Greenfield, Zebidiah Andrews (a contemporary Portland local) and many more. I enjoy all photography (portrait, nature, fashion, journalism, abstract, studio) but I feel more and more drawn to the life style of a fine art photographer - having work displayed in art galleries. My plan is to finish my BA, get a Masters of Education, and teach high school while pursuing a career in fine art. In my future also see working in 3rd world countries to build bridges, help build communities, play soccer with children, and see and share God's love.
Photo and poetry on the jump!
Street performers perform at "Last Thursday" on NE Alberta. Photo courtesy of Marshall McFarland.
The work you see here: I took this photograph on Alberta St. at 'Last Thursday' on June 25th. Last Thursday is a wonderful event where anyone can set up a plot on the street to sell their art. This may include anything from LCD lit skateboards to bundles of lavender to earrings made of recycled clothing (yes, recycled underwear included). The poetry is inspired by the photo's location in Portland.
Find me here.
Sips of Portland's Best Refreshment
Portland
Sailing on her spirit
Holding his umbrella
Bathing in the bubbler
Made in Oregon
Climbing cranes in the Pearl
The homeless are honest
Need money for beer
The donuts delightful
The magic is in the hole
Sylvan Salmon
Ainsworth Alberta
Broadway Burnside
23rd 6th
Roses.
Play.
Bridges.
Stay.
Breathing
Watching
Smiling softly through drunken lips
Light
Union Station as viewed from the Rose Quarter, June 2007.
Me, My City, or City I Yearn
I grip a city I yearn.
A city that I cannot read about,
But I can feel it.
I can’t live it,
But I can envision it.
I can’t demand it,
I can only dream.
I can’t work for it,
I can only think.
And believe.
I grip a city I yearn.
A city that is me.
Jobs (a haiku) - (ironically written after the above poem)
If only I could have one.
That could enable me to live.
Down with capital.
March 23, 2009 - by Daniel Ronan
Train Stops
On so many trains I would like to ride, with you.
So let’s ditch the car and parking and just ride.
So many tickets to buy, schedules to check, but every moment will be with you.
No more fleeting stoplights to wait for your caring eyes,
Heaven knows, many have died that way.
All we need are our backpacks and wallets.
And maybe a packed lunch, but you and me, we’re taking all the stops.
Streetcar
It slides through downtown, a metal box of nostalgia.
A house filled with people.
Pensive readers, musicians, loud talkers, and homeless, all are of one family, one home.
Each may have his stop, but every will have his ride.
Nostalgia no more.
Tickets
If tickets had a price, I’d buy them, but they don’t take Martian dollars, so I am at loss. Train hopping I go.