MTPR

poetry

Kathy Jones

"What Does Not Return, is a rare account of the experience we have come to call, rightly, care-giving. With ritual attentiveness, in small, deeply considered gestures, in words exchanged at the altar of grief, she shows us what it might mean to honor and celebrate what is given to us and what is taken away." -- Melissa Kwasny

Missoula Writing Collaborative

On August 20, 2018 at 4:30 p.m., board members of the Missoula Writing Collaborative installed the kiosk stand and laptop containing the Missoula Children’s Poetry Map in the children’s section of the Missoula Public Library. The digital map features more than 500 poems written by fourth-grade students about places in Missoula. Accompanying the poems are colorful drawings and recordings by the students. The poems cover well-known Missoula landmarks: the M and L trails, the North Hills, as well as lesser-known areas, such as Skyview Park, Rainbow Hill or Moose Can Gully. 

The map was a collaboration between Caroline Patterson, executive director of the Missoula Writing Collaborative, Ken Wall and Kyle Balke, President of Geodata Services, and Greg and Chris Robitaille of Xplorer Maps. It was funded by a $25,000 National Endowment Our Town Grant as well as a $10,000 grant from the Llewellyn Foundation. The Missoula Public Library and Missoula County Schools were also partners.

BkMk Press

"I think my voice. . .comes partly at least from things I’ve been told not to do in poetry. I feel like forever, throughout my life as a poet, I’m the type of person who if you tell me not to do something I will find a way to do it. But I’ll want to do it well so I can prove that the person who told me not to do it was wrong." --Henrietta Goodman

Zan Bockes

For the Lost

 

You’ve been turning right

at every corner; the sooty night

 

tangles your hair.  If the moon were out

you’d be making wishes, but doubt

 

strings lines across your eyes,

makes neon signs a disguise

 

for gold.  The wind is so cold it cuts

like dry ice wires, struts

 

and whips the newspapers down

the street in rolling stampede.  You drown

 

your teeth in Old Crow, bite

the sorrow on your tongue in two, tight

Red ruby embers burn,

Degradation in the form of creation,

It twists and winds and turns. 

-- Derek Hann

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