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Letters of the Week

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Editorial note: We didn’t ask for poetry. But poetry is what we got.

Re.: Unsolicited poetry

SMOKE                                                                                        

The curtain of smoke parted / for a short while, this morning,

bringing relief / from burning eyes– not to be confused with / relief from burning fires.

Suffering immeasurable, devastation widespread.

Many beings of mountain forests / losing more than humans, /whose homes somehow / rated more valuable, /are built on top of theirs.

Tragedy measured in lost lives / of firefighters—

Wolves, Bears, Moose, deer / and other creatures, / coming in second.

An eerie beauty in the smoky sky /creates artful sunsets / and a momentary relief

from an ancient fear…

– cynthia mitchell/rucryst

 

Re.: The Wine Issue

Kudos to you RVM! Thank you for featuring Cowhorn’s Spiral 36 in your wine issue. Cowhorn is an amazing vineyard, and farm, deeply rooted in biodynmaic philosophies, hence their Demeter biodynamic certification, which really is “the gold standard.” This definitely comes through in their superb wines. Cowhorn is quite possibly THE best vineyard in southern Oregon.

– Chad Derosier

 

Re.: Unsolicited Compliment

Thank you, what a great newspaper for our region! It has really expanded and come into full bloom since the beginning issue!

– Janis Tipton

 

Re.: Unsolicited PSA

I am a 65-year-old man who has survived mercury poisoning. My symptoms were profound and debilitating fatigue; my body would not cool in the summer, nor warm in the winter. My thermostat went haywire. I was 30 pounds underweight. For 10 years I was repeatedly misdiagnosed until eventually I was led to a acupuncturist in Ashland who pinpointed mercury coming from the amalgam fillings in my teeth.

Recently, I was watching my 10 year old grandson play soccer. They played on synthetic turf. Each footfall kicked up a puff of black dust. I was overwhelmed by the off-gassing caused by the material the field was made of. I looked around at the cheering, excited people and I could see the Grim Reaper sitting quietly amongst them.

Later I Googled “synthetic turf toxicity” and learned the fields are made up of ground up tires which contain a cocktail of cancerous substances such as lead, arsenic, mercury, benzene, and the list goes on and on.

I want to alert someone to this problem. Maybe not tomorrow but someday in the future some of these kids playing on those fields will pay. It will manifest in different ways: MS, Parkinsons, cancer, lupus,auto immune disorders. Who knows. It’s a ticking time bomb.

– Canary in the coalmine

 

Re.: More unsolicited poetry

The moonlight has ears that can hear me speak.

Every time my summer silence quakes, my mind rolls out in waves of awe.

Sometimes moonlight cuts me off, steals my lane and drips silver links to my window.

I am guilty of poking my finger through your dreams as if you were made of paper.

Cats roam and reflect your sheen on their black sleek coats.

Steal my heart / make waves shiver / crash me like a ship stranded in paradise, destroy me like the Berlin wall.

The coins in my pocket rattle and jingle together like pieces of pipes fighting ruthless in a gang war. I am blowing through forlorn streets with a restless burn to prowl and graze through fascination.

I see you come shining down / your light shrieks at cars and plants a bomb.

They explode together like a duet singing a chorus of battered flames inside a incredible, human heart ache.

Bring me closer.

I am listening.

Bruise the high hills / sparkle trees / bloom through cities / dance with windshields /cruise alleyways and splash your light across it all.

I am entranced by cat coats gleaming my eyes like an answer to a difficult question that is / so profound I have no reply but to bless you.

You watch lovers confess to each other, their secrets hang like an anchor down your face.

I have kept a close eye on you. / all my life / you follow me / driving a crisp, white

Hennessey Venom GT

1.1 million dollars flying out careless rolled down Windows.

Hit the throttle / threaten me with warp speed.

Let’s aim for a tree and turn leaves into illuminated rain drops sprinkling down insights from the heavens.

Let’s pick up your favorite friend and hit the town.

We could travel down to New Orleans where / Night life is a Mardi Gras extravaganza screaming riots / on streets and balconies, bras and panties gleaming from the light posts.

We could traverse rooftops and blind the owls.

We could slip between the perfect cleavage and live right there, perfectly lit and completely absurd licking tanned girls with waxing brilliance.

Do not wane yet?

We are not done.

We cannot crumble here.

We fly on / entranced by the entire planet / in all its terrible and fantastic beauty.

You spell reflections / with delicious rhythm

You sing on hoods like a Hill Billy gangster spitting out lines that only mesmerize.

Hit the throttle.

I’m down to shine.

– Scott Lee

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