Roger's Poetry Page

This has become my sounding board for poems I'm working on. Some of the poems here that get developed to the point of being good wind up being included in a Stable Hill Press publication. But many of them are just rough ideas.

The poems are listed in reverse chronological order.

the Cottage (December 3, 2021) Yet another ode to a coffee shop. This time the Coffee Cottage in Newberg, OR. One day to be added to the coffeehouse collection.
together (November 30, 2021) Yes, it's been a while :D This was written for Mona & Lisa Wagner for inclusion in my latest chapbook. They deserve so much more than this but I'm not one for writing epics.
Blue (November 28, 2021) This ended up very different from how it started. But very much better.
the box was full once (April 21, 2011) The course project for my poetry class. The first I've ever written as a planned process.
In Passing (January 3, 2011) For a friend.
Here Stands a Glass (December 30, 2010) The quote at the top of the page continues: He waited hopefully…“Well.” said Pooh after a long wait, “I shall begin ‘Here lies a tree’ because it does, and then I'll see what happens.” And so I decided I would try the same approach and have been writing a series of “Here lies a…” “Here stands a…” etc. This is the first that has been good enough to put here. Hopefully more will follow.
aquarium (September 3, 2009) Don't think I need to say anything about this one. So I won't.
The Beet and the Rutabaga (March 3, 2007) I actually wrote this some time ago, but just now am getting around to putting it on the poetry page. I tried to think of some clever title for it without infringing on Veggie Tales but I couldn't think of one, so I used the old first line standby. This isn't so much a serious poem (obviously) as is it just for fun. There's nothing wrong with a poem that makes one smile now and then. Right?
Captured (February 2007) You know how sometimes you're searching for a word or a name and it keeps flitting across your brain but you're not quite quick enough to grab it? Yeah. I've had entire poems do that. And now they're gone and I'll never know how they went.
Bemused (February 2007) This started out somewhat different and went through several changes. Not sure if this is the last.
haunted (October 10, 2005) I unearthed this one from my journal, reworked it bit, and I think I like it. May make changes, but probably not.
Catherine (April 23, 2005) Boy has it been a while! This one I've been working on for about two years, and it still isn't finished or right. But at least it's getting to the point where I can put it up for input. So if you have any, please let me know.
12 (Summer 2003) I originally wrote this sometime in 2003. Then in the process of putting it on the web page I made a huge “oops” and overwrote both copies. After all the workshopping and revision it had undergone I certainly wasn't going to rewrite it. I just counted it as lost. Then just the other day I found that I had actually printed a copy and put it in my poetry book. So here it is again. Welcome to the world as it was when I was 12.
almost midnight (July 30, 2002) I actually wrote this last winter (obviously) and it sat dormant in “storage” because I couldn't make it work the way I wanted. So after a considerable cooling off period I pulled it out and reworked it, and I think now I like it. Eventually this page will have a nifty background photo more appropriate to the poem, but for now it'll just have to be in black (or blue) and white.
astronomy (May 23, 2002) One night I was sitting in Starbucks and suddenly began to wax metaphorical.
Cobwebs (April 12, 2002) I'm putting this here so I don't lose it and so I remember to work on it. I've got the basic idea down but the wording still needs a lot of work, I think.
Table in the Corner (March 31, 2002) And to think I got all this from a sweater. Tried to concentrate on imagery rather than content and I think that's exactly what I got: some rather nice imagery.
What if (March 24, 2002) I really don't know why I'm posting this; it was just an idea that I started kicking around last night. Apparently I really think about strange things sometimes.
Statistically Speaking (March 23, 2002) A whimsical little compilation of mostly meaningless statistics, and some not-so-meaningless.
The Vacuum Cleaner (February 19, 2002) Well, this isn't intended to be great poetry, exactly. But I had fun toying with the idea. I'm sure I could fashion the same idea into a better poem, but this isn't too bad. I'm excited just to have posted two poems in one week! Go me!
The Phone Call (February 12, 2002) I took the poem below, “disconnect” with me to my poetry group meeting tonight to workshop, and before we got to that point we did a writing exercise wherein a subject was chosen at random from a list about which we were to write something, and the subject turned out to be “The Phone Call”. So even though I already had a qualifying work in hand, I had to come up with another one. This is what resulted (after a little reworking, of course). It's not really a serious work, just a little comic relief.
disconnect (January 23, 2002) This is the first poem of 2002 to actually get put up here. Most of the others so far this year aren't even workshop quality. This one is in it's early stages as well, but at least it has (I hope) potential.
Food for Thought (November 19, 2001) Another that took a while and some workshop feedback to get together. This may or may not be its final form but at least it's more or less what I'm looking for..
closing (November 19, 2001) It used to be that poems just fell out of my head and landed on paper. Now it takes several months of revisits, reworkings, and sometimes workshopping to get it together. I'm still not sure this one is all together, but here it is in its current state.
typo (October 18, 2001) I think we've all been here at one time or another—not really sure who's writing the script but hoping for some major revisions.
candlelight (July 23, 2001) This is one that I had been developing for a long time but just couldn't get the last stanza, so I put it on the shelf. Then tonight I came up with the last stanza and thought, “Now I just need a poem to go with it...wait a minute...I have one!”
Haiku #1 (July 23, 2001) Well, it's been a little while. Defying the tradition of haiku that commands evocative and profound thoughts, I'd thought I'd imbue one with a little whimsy.
Once (September 26, 2000) Another one that started with an idea I just followed to see where it would go. I'm really pleased with where it went..
cracks (September 12, 2000) When I was in Washington, D.C. earlier in September, I wrote this. My grandmother died a few days later. What strange timing.
now (November, 1999) My first collaboration. This was the result of an evening with me, Sarah, and a magnetic poetry kit. With some editing. :-)
yesterday we were wildflowers (January, 1999) This piece was inspired by a recent turn of events in my life. Forgive me for being secretive, but I'm not going to explain; I'll just leave the poem open to your own interpretation.
The night I was Carl Sandburg just for a moment but not really. (December, 1998) I'm not sure what to say about this poem. It just found me and I really liked it so I wrote it down.
somewhere on seventeenth street (December, 1998) This is the first poem I've done that's ever gone through the extensive revision, review, and reincarnation that's gone into this one. It's been a long evolving work that may or may not be finalized.
untitled (August 31, 1998) This poem doesn't need much explanation.
Shade (August 27, 1998) I can probably sum up this poem in one word— “huh.” Don't ask. It's one of those that I would really get a laugh out of overhearing some English or poetry class trying to “analyze”. No, I haven't turned goth, but for those of you that are, I hope you enjoy this one.
latte nights (August 12, 1998) As I sat at the neighborhood coffee hangout one night I was simply overwhelmed with the experience of it all. So, as usual, I tried to capture my feelings with words. After all, that's what I do here.
Swing (April 14, 1998) I finally did it. I've been wanting to write this kind of thing since 1983 when I wrote “A Portland Window” (Below), the kind of poem that captures a mundane experience and makes it magic and alive. It's what I like to call “wistful thinking.” It was originally just a description of what I liked about a swing in a letter to a friend of mine, and then I realized the poem was right there staring me in the face.
Eulogy (February 8, 1998) This poem is a graphic, so for those of you text-based browser users out there, sorry.
yesternow (November 5, 1997) No matter how hard I try to outrun the past, I find that it's already painted tomorrow. And tomorrow is always today.
Yo y Yo (May 14, 1997) Another original Spanish composition, written for a Spanish Lit class in the style of Jorge Luis Borges or Julia de Burgos. It's a look at the different sides of the same person, and the conflict between the two. Not as a schizophrenic, but as most of us are. As always, it sounds much better in the original language. But to be nice, I've included an English translation.
Long Way Down (May 4, 1997) I wrote this last night as I was going to sleep. I just let my ideas fall on to the page. When I woke up I was surprised and delighted to find that not only did I love it, but it is the most accurate description of my state of mind and point in life that I could have written. The funny thing is, I don't remember writing a single line of it.
Implosion (January 6, 1997) This is a poem for a friend. As you may know, pain causes me to wax poetic. This is the first time that I can remember that it's been pain felt for someone else. Perhaps it's because I've felt it for myself so many times that I can identify with my friend now.
M (June 1989) 1989 was a rough year for me. I returned to the US from Panama leaving behind the love of my life (actually in Costa Rica). I wrote this as a parting “gift” promising to return as soon as possible. This is the one of several written in Spanish and I have included a rough translation. Rough because poetry is so linguistically peculiar that it defies proper translation, but I've tried to express more or less the same idea in the translation, so it isn't literal.
The Recipe (August 1989) This is one of those break-up poems. It's so cold that it still slaps me in the face every time I read it. It remains to this day one of my favorites of all that I have written.
Ambition (November 1989) Still mortally depressed, I began to consider life without her and realized that I had none. This and the one that follows reflect my hopeless state of mind.
Spring (April 1985) Our high school, as does most I suppose, publishes an annual collection of student submitted poetry, prose, and artwork. Since I was on the publishing committee that year, and my English teacher was the advisor, I was “encouraged” to submit a few works. This was a lighthearted effort for that purpose and probably the most positive, sunny poem I've ever written.
Us (April 1983) One of only two surviving works from my freshman English class of many written for my poetry journal that year (The other being The Dream, below).
The Dream (April 1983) The long poetic version of the K.I.S.S. principle, although I had never heard of it at the time.
A Portland Window (April 1983) This was inspired by the magnificent view of Mt. Hood that can be seen from many Portland windows. I believe I actually composed this during my English class.

There are many wonderful poems written by friends of mine, but these two are included here because I know of nowhere else you can find them.

(Untitled) By Lane Dahlke. Lane has a passion for everything she does. So it's not surprising that for a depressing poem, this is one of the most depressing I've ever read. I share it here not to depress people, but so that people who feel like this can identify with it, and perhaps take some comfort from it.
Sir Lancelot By Eric Tooley. This was written as an in-class writing assignment by Eric when he was in the 8th grade. The teacher insisted he read it aloud, so he did, much to everyone's delight and the teacher's chagrin. I never forgot it.