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Northern Verses: Poems of Alaska and the Yukon
Northern Verses: Poems of Alaska and the Yukon
Northern Verses: Poems of Alaska and the Yukon
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Northern Verses: Poems of Alaska and the Yukon

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The idea for this book evolved out of what he saw as a need for a new Christmas poem for children. His poem was titled The Christmas Girl. Nothing of much significance in that genre has been produced since How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Efforts to sell the poems idea for a children's book fell on deaf ears in the publishing world but other work gradually spun off its writing. He found he liked writing rhyming prose, especially in poems about the North country where he lives. So here is Northern Verses, including The Christmas Girl.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 5, 2015
ISBN9781594335259
Northern Verses: Poems of Alaska and the Yukon
Author

Dennis Lattery

Dennis Lattery arrived as an eight year old, fresh off the boat, at Juneau, Alaska, in April of 1949. Born in Vancouver, British Columbia, with the exception of two years United States military service in “The Lower Forty-eight,” he has lived continuously in Alaska since that time. His writing career began in 1976 with an article published in Selected Alaska Hunting & Fishing Tales by Alaska Magazine. He has been published since then in a number of national sports magazines and has produced a book about growing up and living in the Forty-ninth State. Dennis and his wife, Sharon, live in Chugiak, Alaska. His daughter and son-in-law live in nearby Anchorage. He can be reached at lattery@alaska.net.

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    Book preview

    Northern Verses - Dennis Lattery

    Miner

    BILLY JOHNSON’S PARTY

    It was Billy Johnson’s birthday

    And Dawson friends had planned a feast.

    On the first boat from St. Michael

    Came a pair of cloven beast.

    The plan they made was simple,

    They would have a drink or two.

    The boys providing liquor

    And the porkers barbeque.

    They set up the party area

    Behind the Malamute Saloon

    With a fire pit for the cooking

    And tables well festooned.

    Long before the cooking started

    Party staff were on their way

    To various states of inebriation

    Despite the hour of the day.

    John Biggs was cooking master,

    He had lots of cooking skill.

    He set about butchering portions

    He could handle on the grill.

    Right in the middle of this process

    Distraction came to intervene.

    His knife slid off a meat bone

    And cut off a finger clean!

    It was a lucky thing that old Doc Green

    Had been included in the revel.

    He was a fair old country doctor but, right now,

    As plastered as the devil!

    They rushed Biggs to Doc Green’s office,

    John too soused to feel much pain.

    I’ll make medical history, the doctor mumbled,

    And reconnect the thing again.

    Back at the birthday party

    The cooking was resumed

    Another chef stepped in the fray

    And the barbeque consumed.

    Early come next morning

    A terrible mistake had come to light

    Doc Green had sewed a meaty pork bone

    Onto Biggs’ stump last night.

    Since that fateful cook-out,

    One question continues to linger,

    For sure a feast was had by all,

    But where was Biggs’ finger?

    BREAKING TRAIL

    Established trails folks seek and like to travel

    Are popular and sought with great renown.

    But in my view just like the fabled headgear,

    Too many jewels can spoil the crown.

    The ease of a well constructed pathway

    With a foot bridge crossing every creek

    Represent both the comfort and the security

    Which most average hikers seek.

    But I prefer to find myself a new path

    To secret spots that few have seen.

    An open ridge, a path that only moose know,

    Through berry patches where the bears have been.

    I have myself a private little waterfall

    And picked blue flowers that have no name.

    But I’m not sure that I could locate either

    If I chose to go that way again.

    But this is the way that I prefer it,

    To move about and breath a solo breathe.

    I’ll keep my little trails a guarded secret

    And never love my chosen paths to death.

    BOATING WHALE PASSAGE

    There are few things I can recollect

    No matter how I try

    As vivid moments in this life of mine

    When I suspected I might die.

    One such awful moment that I recollect,

    A terror in its class,

    Was in the dark aboard the Sally T

    When we hove up to Whale Pass.

    Whale Passage is a narrow channel

    With rocks across its eastern mouth.

    Whale Island sits on the north side

    And Kodiak Island to the south.

    Nautical charts for here are quick to note

    That danger is extended

    And when boating through this narrow Pass

    Prior experience is recommended.

    To make things all the worse that night

    An ebbing tide flowed from the west

    Opposed by a potent northeast wind –

    Conditions were not the best.

    Nick Troxell was captain of the boat that night

    At the wheel of the Sally T.

    The Seiner was fifty feet, or more, in length,

    And as trim as a ship could be.

    Nick owned a remote tract of beach-front land

    And I had bought the place.

    I was hauling goods aboard his boat

    And he would vacate his cabins space.

    He had fished these bays and inlets

    And he knew them very well.

    The weather it was very foul that night,

    At least …as far as I could tell.

    As we steamed into the Passage mouth,

    Between Shag and Ilkognak rocks,

    I began

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