Sammamish Haiku
The first nine of the following twenty poems appeared in the City of Sammamish Ten-Year Comprehensive Plan in 2015, with artwork by Anna Macrae (click to enlarge the image shown here). Each poem is featured on a separate section divider, as shown here, and is repeated at the top of the following page. After the
first nine poems are eleven additional poems about Sammamish, the city where
I’ve lived since January of 2003. Five of the following poems (“ghosts,” “a walk in the woods,” “pine lake sunset,” “trail work party,” and “all that’s left”) also appear on “Washington Poetic Routes,” an online poetry project by 2018–2021 Washington State poet laureate Claudia Castro Luna (when you visit the site, click the dot that represents Sammamish, just east of Seattle, where you can also listen to an audio recording of the poem). “Sammamish” is of Native American origin. According to the Sammamish Heritage Society, the name is “derived from samma,
meaning ‘the sound of the blue crane,’ and mish,
meaning ‘river.’” Sammamish is a great place to live, and CNN Money magazine agrees, numerous times ranking the city as one of the top-15 places to live in the United States, such as the #9 ranking in 2018, with Forbes magazine ranking Sammamish #1 in its 2012 list of the friendliest towns in the country. And in 2015 Sammamish was the #1 city in the entire country with the highest percentage of households earning $100,000 or more. I’m glad to live here. Enjoy these poems! + +
ghosts of the Sammamish— morning lake mist bear sighting— an email alert makes my phone beep blown in the breeze, snips of ribbon for the new library a walk in the woods— my children dancing atop the big rock shadows lengthening over the skatepark— first leaves of autumn home in the pines— my neighbor waves across the fence lingering sun— the farmer’s market peppers redder and greener soap box derby— someone’s front wheel a little wobbly council meeting— beads of condensation on the glass water jug pine lake sunset— today was the day you asked for my hand all that’s left of the beaver dam . . . the lake named after it the Seattle skyline distant to the west— awaiting fireworks trail work party— the goats have eaten all the underbrush farmer’s market— just the kids listening to the musician snow day— my kids make angels in the neighborhood park block party— the kids’ lemonade is the best ever making all the traffic worthwhile— hometown fireworks road work— the commute to Microsoft longer today concert in the park— our kids come home with beach balls Halloween night— a boy says he’s dressed as the former mayor |