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    The Down Towne Poets, a monthly reading held in Dan and Sarah Goyette’s Down Towne Coffee House, in Talent, was started in 2005 by Deborah Thornley, who moved to Tucson in 2007, leaving the program to be coordinated by Dave Harvey. Co-host Carol Brockfield and he have continued to ... Read all of this item.

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  • Christopher M. Wicks self-publishes volume of sonnets

    Christopher M. Wicks of Silverton, having attained the number of three hundred sixty-five in the number of sonnets which he has written since he began experimenting with them at the age of eighteen, has self-published a volume containing all of them, in chronological order of composition. His book is available ... Read all of this item.

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  • Ocean’s Laughter by Tricia Knoll, reviewed by Carolyn Martin April 24, 2016

    Reviewed by Carolyn Martin

    Ocean’s Laughter
    by Tricia Knoll
    Kelsay Books, Aldrich Press
    Hemet, California

    ISBN: 13: 978-0692541852
    2016, $17.00, 102 pages (on Amazon)
    twitter:@ triciaknollwind

    Ocean's LaughterThose who know and love the Oregon Coast will experience a delightful shock of recognition while reading Tricia Knoll’s Ocean’s Laughter. This rich and varied collection about Manzanita – “an emerald of temperate rain-forest on the Pacific Coast ring of fire”– reveals a poet who has not merely observed nearly every inch of beach, type of sea life, and coastal weather event, but who – as a resident – has experienced them intimately for twenty-five years.

    The result is a virtual guidebook to the history and mystery of a world that is forever changing. In her poems and prose poems, Knoll engages us with stories and myths of “first people” (the Nehalem Tillamook and Clatsop tribes), ... Read all of this item.

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  • Featured OPA Contest Winner: Amy S. O’Hearn April 30, 2015


    were meant to climb over and woods dense with underbrush and muck our domain. We hacked through prickly bushes, trampled long grass, collected burrs on our clothes and in our hair, clear cut canopies to lay bare the soft earth, and sat for hours stripping bark to carve the skin that lay beneath. When that grew tiresome, we traipsed to the lowlands to construct a catwalk of doors over swamp and shape an inner sanctum within its towering reeds, until the day my father forced me to lead him to my brother’s towering collection of pornographic magazines. A tower quite impressive in the way it leaned so markedly to the right yet remained standing, almost as tall as I was at 8 or 9. I try to envision my father’s reaction, but all I can see is the tower of glossy magazines, his own stash transferred by my brother from ... Read all of this item.

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