Four Poems published in the 2010 Salmon Creek Journal

These four poems were recently published in the 2010 edition of the Salmon Creek Journal, which is a reality-based, paper magazine, and very cool, BUT the editors, in order to fit more material into the book, didn't keep my stanza structures or line breaks, so some of the poems read a bit wonky in there. Here are the poems in their original, poet-approved forms!

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"Crow"
Richard F. Yates
5 Jan. 2009

A crow
standing on the back
of a little pick-up truck
staring right at me
through the windshield of my car
is barking about something

I hear the noise
but can't catch
the meaning

The rationalist in me
assumes it's squawking for food

The weirdo in me
believes it's a mystical moment

That the bird
is trying to impart
some vital information
a warning
or a message from some loved one
channeling through this creature
from beyond the grave

But I don't understand
and sit here watching
tilting my head like a confused puppy
and making notes in my little book

until the bird gets frustrated
and hops away

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"Lighthouses"
Richard F. Yates
5 Nov. 2006

Are there any lighthouses
that are not haunted?

I would hope not

Think about what a lighthouse is for:
keeping boats from losing their way
in dangerous waters
and sailors from socializing
with the fish

I like to think that lighthouse keepers
in charge of the safety
of who knows how many sea travelers
would be a dedicated lot
unable to let a simple thing like death
get in the way of performing
their solemn duty

A dark night
waves wrestling with a wooden fishing boat
assassin rocks just under the surface of the water
like trolls waiting under a bridge
anticipating the crunch and crackle
of their stone teeth cutting through hull

And only that thin beam
the shining eye of the lighthouse lamp
keeping our desperate sailors on course

I would image that all lighthouses are haunted

Especially those
where the light has gone out

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"I Have Stories"
Richard F. Yates
9 Dec. 2008

I have stories
that I've told
to no one
Written them in little books
closed the covers
and hidden them in a box
A treasure chest
waiting for an adventurer
to come find it
here
in this cave
And I'm the dragon
guarding my horde
secretly wishing to be slain

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"The Face of the Moon"
Richard F. Yates
1 Nov. 2007

Evenings I stroll the lake
a man-made affair
called Fowler's Slough
a hundred years agao
now known as Lake Sacajawea

Cool air from the approaching night
mingles with the warmer water
of the fake-lake
invoking water spirits
dancing wisps of steam
that catch the light of the awakening moon
and shimmy with the subtle breeze

Upward she climbs as I stroll
The glowing false light
sometimes disguised as a rabbit
or playing transvestite
and smiling down a masculine grin

Her face is huge
a pale yellow-blue
moving closer to me
much brighter
much larger than ever before

Too bright
too large

A phrase creeps into my mind:
Orbital Decay

How few evening strolls are left to us
before the headlines read
THE END
before her beautiful face is all we can see
before her body embraces the earth
and we
the forgotten children
are swallowed once again
by the deep waters
above