Multnomah at Night by Carolyn Adams

From downstream, 

a cold push, a rush. 

Continents of water 

displacing. 

Grandmother bones  

of basalt hold it back 

only by inches, 

funneling thunder 

until it falls. 

Somehow, 

the night clock moves on. 

Animals manage sleep  

nearby, others stir  

in hunting hours. 

In the wild spray, 

ferns hold  

poised swords, 

lichens cling to 

protective stones. 

The cathedral grotto, 

in spite of other silences, 

shatters with  

dark crescendos. 

Carolyn Adams' poetry and art have appeared in Panoply, Amsterdam Quarterly, Visitant, Bryant Literary Review, and Trajectory, among others. Nominated for a Pushcart and for Best of the Net, she is currently a member of the Executive Board of the Oregon Poetry Association, a staff editor for Mojave River Review, and a poetry editor for VoiceCatcher. 

Stream Violets by Carolyn Adams

No one planted these little suns. 

Untended, they spill artlessly, 

inches high, on the forest floor. 

Vulnerable to the lightest step,  

they drop soft gold  

on leaf clutter and dross. 

Their yellow tongues 

lap pools of light 

from small cavities  

in the underbrush. 

I crouch to touch them, 

brush dust from their lips, 

turn them up to see me. 

Knowing there’s so much I want 

to ask them.  So much 

I want to say.  

Carolyn Adams’ poetry and art have appeared in Steam Ticket, Aji Magazine, Topology, and Beatnik Cowboy, among others. She has been nominated for a Pushcart prize, as well as for Best of the Net.  She is currently a staff editor for Mojave River Review, and a poetry editor for VoiceCatcher.