Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Pastimes : A Poetry Corner -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: ManyMoose who wrote (1212)	3/29/2005 9:44:22 PM
From: ManyMoose	Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 1582

Along the Alaska Highway The night the pigs disappeared from Johnny Friend's corral at Watson Lake there were no answers. What could climb a fence as high as that and be so neat? In all these years we have not learned. More mysteries have crowded in, deaths and other silences that make us think of what must fill the space between the stars. Now in the second quadrant, in the year of solar storms, night sky burns. You tell me how, when you camped at Watson Lake, you might have heard the Sasquatch. The map of years says little-- a red line bending north, you there, me here. These names-- Swift River, Jakes Corner, Destruction Bay-- are the only places. The true coordinates are locked in blood. Tell me again the sound you heard, tell me again the height of Johnny Friend's corral at Watson Lake. Sheila Nickerson, Poet Laureate of Alaska, emeritus randomhouse.com