Listen to the wind as it shares its journey
from Puget Sound to Alderny.
It brings the sound of whispering woods
and beauties in their knitted hoods.
Who and what the blowing brings,
all is told with wings and rings.
Listen to the wind as it leaves its home
and winds its way to freedom roam.
Bones of broken mysteries
buried away in fading histories.
Never heard outside one’s tribe,
as all the bad we try to hide.
Listen to the wind as it sings its song
of good and righteous, evil and wrong.
It makes its way from here to yon
without a care for now or anon.
Objective in its path from here
and now, to nearly there.
Listen to the wind.
Wear a salmon on your head,
the wild Orca said,
make it a big chinook
or perhaps a steelhead.
It's very avant-garde;
it makes a fashion dent,
and kittens think the smell
is heaven sent.
A salmon hat is a cultural fad displayed by orcas, where they wear dead salmon upon their heads. It was first observed in 1987 with southern resident orcas and was a relatively short-lived phenomenon. In 2024, the behaviour was observed again with orcas in Puget Sound. The motivations for salmon hats are unclear, but other orcas will mimic the behaviour once it begins. One hypothesis is that orcas wear salmon hats to display high food availability, or that the same individuals that originally started the trend revitalized it. It may also indicate playfulness. ~Wikipedia
In sad memory of the dead
With nothing more that could be said
At the edge of town as the sun went down
I put a bullet in my head
How could I've known what lied in store
My life shattered forever more
Out near Puget Sound where my true love drowned
Her body washed up on the shore
She was an angel sent to Earth
Filled with joy and infectious mirth
A miracle found and parental bound
Four months away from giving birth
With nothing left of me to save
My soul ever her dying slave
In the cold dark ground where no love's around
Lies my heart in a shallow grave
In the heart of the evergreen state where mountains touch the sky
You’ll find the PNW Poetry Guy under Mt. Rainier’s watchful eye
With the South Sound’s rain-soaked landscape boasting tall fir trees
The PNW Poetry Guy’s verses are penned in the cool misty breeze
From Seattle's shimmering skyline to Tacoma’s tide-flats
The PNW Poetry Guy honors his roots wearing many hats
Observer, consumer, and admirer of the beauty mountains to sea
The PNW Poetry Guy inspired by an Emerald City spirit so free
Mossy paths winding through sprawling foothills in the Cascades
The PNW Poetry Guy enjoys the forest-covered steep hiking trail grades
Through the Puget Sound whispers to Ocean Shore’s rhythmic songs
The PNW Poetry Guy writes among scents of coffeeshops, fish grease and bongs
City Center, Montlake and SODO are special places energizing Seattleite’s hearts
The PNW Poetry Guy at the stadiums and arenas as our teams do their parts
Sure, we have problems but through diversity and inclusion they are addressed
The PNW Poetry Guy is proud to be born and raised in the majestic Northwest
have to prohibit
ferry on an exhibit
that reached its limit
sleeping on top bunk
on ferry would see a monk
donut he did dunk
on ferry agreed
should be place where they will feed
all of those in need
colored ferries pink
even bathroom with a sink
also missing link
would be hard to do
much attention ferry drew
painted new ones blue
trip long and not short
ferry sailed from port to port
needing an escort
smelled salt in the air
ferry was beyond compare
collectors item rare
pilot in control
would be sure to save our soul (SOS)
was their greatest goal
was there we had met
on ferry where water would set
we did get all wet
beauty all around (place always astound) (did surround)
rode ferry in Puget Sound
to home had been bound
07/28/22
have to prohibit
ferry on an exhibit
that reached its limit
sleeping on top bunk
on ferry would see a monk
who did take a dunk
on ferry agreed
should be place where they will feed
all of those in need
colored ferries pink
even bathroom with a sink
also missing link
would be hard to do
much attention ferry drew
began painting blue
distance seemed so short
ferry sailed from port to port
needing an escort
smelled salt in the air
ferry was beyond compare
collectors item rare
pilot in control
would be sure to save our soul (SOS)
was their greatest goal
was there we had met
on ferry where sun would set
we did get all wet
beauty all around (place always astound) (did surround)
rode ferry in Puget Sound
to home had been bound
See if you can try and out do me.
Polly Castor does an awesome job linking
up artwork with poetry. She is to be commended
should be commended
which is what we intended
way story ended
Ah, King Biden, thou dost lie to me!
When thou blamest Putin for everything from sea to sea!
Dost my head look like it’s made of wood?
Your thieving son, Hunter’s, probably could!
Why not tell our kingdom of the three houses in Delaware you own?
Of course, on CNN, these facts....shan’t ever be shown!
It’s said you have much charm and charisma?
Did you learn such grace, in the halls of Burisma?
Your progeny’s laptop, some purport has never been found?
It drowned, one moonlit night, I heard in Puget Sound.
4-1-2022
The fish swam around
curious what he found
A brand-new ranch house
floating in Puget Sound
Nothing for him there
so he just shrugged
Unlike the poor humans
their home waterlogged
Now Flowing Tears Exist
by James Horn
While in Seattle will sit in a park;
Listening to sound of a lovely lark;
As I stared out into Puget Sound
Where sailboats were all around.
Night did approach with its dark;
And reality existed ever so stark
Mother had died to my surprise;
Tears would appear in my eyes.
Loved mother through the years;
God wiped away my flowing tears,
And surely seems like we will cry;
Discovering our mother would die.
Weaved through my hair with a comb;
Her and I stood near the King Dome;
Tide came in and out started to turn;
Death of my dear mother I did learn.
James Thomas Horn
A Canadian Love Song
Like JFK with Edgar Hoover,
I'm completely ill at ease:
it's as if I'm in Vancouver,
but I speak no Cantonese.
A Mountie's boot must have its stirrup,
they say Brooke Nevin needs a fattener:
tooth decay loves maple syrup
(look what it did for William Shatner!)
I yearn for something quite profound,
my very own deep inner need,
just as Puget boasts its Sound
and Calgary its Stampede.
Like "foo" means nothing without "fighter",
an ice rink's bare without a puck.
Mike Myers lacks a decent writer:
I think I need a cute canuck.
I hope one day I will be ready
(when Justin Bieber gets a life!)
- Jeanette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy -
to woo you as my Winnipeg Wife.
If I had more than my share of gold.
Ranked favorably with Mr. Gates,
I'd travel forth to see the world,
Try all the lavish food that sates.
December would find me cruising south
And taking all my friends along.
We'd sail the seas and live in style
And without worries sing our song.
Spring would take me back again
To the snug house he built for me.
I'd walk the boundaries of my land
And give up all thoughts of the sea.
No riches could entice me to
Move from this home built with much love.
We nestled here for many years
Until God took him up above.
I love each tree that he had planted,
Each blade of grass so fresh and green.
Most of the time our climates mild,
The skies are blue, the winds serene.
Wealth cannot make me leave this spot
Here in the lovely Puget Sound.
My home between mountains and sea
Lies where I'm always homeward bound.
October 27, 2015
Fires are springing up all over and blazing across the land.
The brave firemen working hard are severely undermanned.
The wheat crop, rippling in the breeze, is beginning to look dry.
Each July day has opened with a brilliant, bright blue sky.
Its the hottest July recorded in usually rainy Puget Sound.
My pretty lawn has withered and my perennials have browned.
We've not had the usual showers in the quiet of the night.
The leaves on my majestic Oak appear as though they were hit by blight.
Our red sunset holds no warning to which sailors must take heed.
There is no promise that tomorrow will bring the rains we need.
Forgive me Lord for grumbling when you sent the endless rain
And I promise I lwill never grouse about dark skies again
Written July 30, 2015
Sunset, quiet, except
for happy birthday to neighbor's child,
virgo, and all that means, purity
of morality, inability to scheme,
whatever else the stars dictated.
Woodpecker climbs oak, Connecticut.
Not ten years ago this mountain was
completely forested, untouched
since early arrival of Europeans.
Now my parents' home and others stand
in new clearings. The birds
do not seem to mind. Sing,
and deer occasionally visit, from where?
Out of the pre-historic past.
That I must die
is my every third thought.
On my hands and knees, cold sweat,
my own body murdering me.
I meet death with the philosophy
I lived in life. Acceptance
of the loneliness, the unregarding
beauty. There is that shoreline
along the straits to Puget Sound,
in mist, the generations
of sea birds nesting on the water.
can you taste the w i n d . . .
evergreens . . . junipers . . . furs
love upon the tongue
In memory of Chief Seattle of the Duwamish League of Puget Sound
David Meade
Live Generously
Right now, in the Northwest town of Seattle,
Seahawks egos must be higher than the Space Needle.
On the west coast, it was just a little after seven,
when the Seahawks faithful felt they entered seventh heaven.
After what happened at the Super Bowl outside of New York,
numerous fans in Washington are popping a champagne cork.
Others must be loading up on whiskey, wine, and beer.
For what happened tonight, they have a good reason to cheer.
To celebrate, many of them were getting ready
long before that blizzard of green and yellow confetti.
From Tacoma and Olympia all the way to Puget Sound,
I’m sure there are many happy fans that can be found.
Related Poems