May 19–25, 2008: Brad Hatfield and Janice Adams

week of May 19-25, 2008

Brad Hatfield and Janice Adams

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Brad Hatfield

Bio (auto)

Brad Hatfield was born in 1957, in Yakima, Washington He graduated from the University of Washington in 1980 with degrees in English Literature and Creative Writing Brad’s lived in Alaska and California, before returning to the Seattle area in 1990 to stay After a hiatus from writing, he has been very active since 2005, with recent publications in the WPA’s Whispers & Shouts, Snow Monkey: An Eclectic Journal; and Switched On Gutenberg He was the 2008 Winner of the Yakima Valley Allied Arts Juried Poetry Contest If there is a consistent theme in his work it is a celebration of the tenets of scientific pantheism Brad is a Vice President of National Specialty Underwriters, sharing the insurance profession (and almost nothing else) with some of his favorite artists: Franz Kafka, Thomas Mann, Wallace Stevens, and James M Cain Brad lives with his companion and their son Grayson in Mill Creek, WA.

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Brad Hatfield and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


As you crimp into an orb
On top the white comforter
Arms wrapped around your shins
Breasts pressed against your knees
Skin mottled pink, gold, and white
Pellucid blue-green veins
Face serene, lips and eyes sealed
Lashes, brows, still made up black,
You are so affectingly beautiful
I struggle to remember when I
Thought I deserved the likes of you.


When the Platypus was first discovered in Australia
And a pelt was sent by ship back to London
This furry, egg-laying, venomous, duck-billed, beaver-tailed,
Otter-footed, amphibious mammal that locates its prey
By detecting electric fields generated in muscle contractions
So thoroughly offended the British scientists conception
Of species, that they insisted it must be a hoax and circled
The table where it lay with scissors and magnifying glasses
Checking for stitches, believing it to be the work
Of some perverse taxidermist (most likely an Asian).


At the bottom of the path
At Denny Creek Park,
Maze of firm, February mud
My four-year-old boy
Lit by streaming old growth
Stops to dig a rock and toss it I gently try to coach him
“Step left, throw right.”
He immediately withdraws,
His habit of late
Some inarticulate need to resist
Anything I might teach him
I continue, bruised, up the trail
Looking for camera shots He lags behind, mulish At a trail bend I look back,
He crouches, grabs
A rock, steps left, throws right,
Another rock, a pinecone, a stick,
A bigger stick, farther and farther
Liking what he tastes of technique,
Of strength, of power I snap the picture as he releases
And follows through.

Janice Adams

Bio (auto)

Janice Adams finds these days that all she wants to do is read and write Seattle, her adopted home, is a good place for both.

The following work is Copyright © 2008, and owned by Janice Adams and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

sweet and mien

marmalade, my confection you
suspended with zest, rind bits
complex, a bite tart
bright blazing sunlit

slippery–stickier than Uhu
more addictive sniff than glue

licked off a butter knife
sweet spread between bread
i will always crave you bittersweet
and never want jelly again


On the 509
he Cadillac-ed past us:
puppy nose elbow out the window
hand flat-heeling the wheel
in slanting glare
he sunset aglow
pinching a tiny picture
against hickey-lipped wind
holding it up like the jotted address
of an urgent destination.

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