Paint & Poetry

Reuss, Dave
I hate this.Goddamn spring.Sloppy streets mockMuddy trails evict you.But then, the sun shinesSo clean and warm, teasing.Dreams of red, sunburned belliesAnd cheap laughs on the Madison.Days where dark doesn’t mean cold. Read more >>
Mike England
Oh Dawn, bringer of light,With eternal vision deliver us from night.And color the world, not black nor white,But ambiguous grey, a beautiful sight! Read more >>
Jelinski, Jack
I love to touch wood that’s beaver-skinnedand worn to glass by flowing water. There are willow saplings that startle.Bent low by winter snow loadbut still rooted to the bankthey get pulled downstream by the current Read more >>
Jack Jelinski
     Sculpted in the snow,From whence they rose to the sky,The wing-tips of birds. The ermine freezesAs the winged shadow passesOver snow on snow.  Read more >>
Sid Gustafson
       In your confounded struggleFor originality, nights lengthen.The snow falls…Heat departs. Read more >>
Drew Pogge
   One snowflake said to another,“You’re a real dick, you know?”Taken quite aback,The other flake replied,“Really? What makes you say so?”  Read more >>
Keeler, Greg
Art by Michael S. Maydak When weather won’t hold and cloudsturn snake down skies too bright to stay,you blame the ducks and think bad ducksthen fisting skyward shout bad ducksat Vs that waver but don’t quit coming.  Read more >>
Jelinski, Jack
Come spring I am starved for a fix.I tremble like an addictfumbling with my head kit:blood knots, surgeon’s loops, clinch knots,longing to get bent, baked, jacked up,amped to find the perfect joltof energyfrom a perfectly drifted nymph Read more >>
Foster, John Clay
Art by Will PopeA young robin stares at the bud of a tree, waitingfor it to open. He thinks it will be in the nextseventeen minutes. “Wait for it, wait for it...”he sings (not being able to say the words withthe normal slow brevity required). Read more >>
Drew Pogge
We’re all falling down We leaves on the lam Spinning like sailors Walking on land And land where we may Any land at all There’s a place for each Bright leaf of the fall Yellow, orange And deep, bloody red Read more >>
Greg Keller
That brown, tailing in the tail of these riffles, strikes my attractor, my sick joke: black hackles then white rubber legs and a piece of red yarn for a butt. Now here he is, wallowing in the shallows, flashing his Read more >>
Beaudoin, Kate
Shakespeare wrote “thy breath be rude,”but I think thy breath has little attitude.Dullness, neglect, but not vulgarity—of emotions you haven’t even slight sincerity.While your chill betrays some tempered winds,your stillness renders still their sin. Read more >>
Foster, John Clay
The last of the geese have frozen over in my backyard,covered in a foot of snow. I dig one out each weekand thaw it in the fridge—with a high success rate;even the runt is able to take flight after a few days at 50 degrees. Read more >>
Carolyn Pettit Pinet
Ahead of me Hardscrabblecracks knuckles against clouds.Behind the Bridgers splaycrags in the oystery air.I move to a tango.Skies and poles glide, cut, break.I am partnered by the windagainst whom I tangle, kick.A flake catches my lash, Read more >>
Foster, John Clay
        The cows watch from the high point of the river,bulls, even buffalo are curious to see what the strange creatures are doingin the middle of the Madison, wading, some floating with guides. Read more >>
Krueger, Susan Krall
A languid horizon beckons the obliging sun to their ephemeral interludethe golden funnel softens as the dancers find their placesmagenta, azure, and crimson swirl in a tryst with cirrus nymphs,slowly the couples spiral toward the yellow-orange funnel of fire. Read more >>
Houston, Alice
This information was published summer 2011. Visit our events calendar for updated events.  Read more >>
Jack Jelinski
In February of 2009 “Mighty Bull Elk No. 9”tried to jump a fence,somersaulted onto his backand was pinned between large rockswith his trophy-sized antlers beneath him.He suffocated to death.In elk years he was in his seventies. Read more >>
Pogge, Drew
Wink, Callan
Sometimes, when the fishing is especially goodwe stop the moment, the boat in the current.Stop casting,and start smiling.We say to each other,damn, it's like we're in Montana or something.Like this is the Yellowstone River Read more >>
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