I only allow myself one (two)
poems per morning,
doling out this treat of language
to make it last.
After a poem (two)
I put the book down,
look out past the candlelight
to the dark, then lightening
world, the spray of snow on
my neighbor’s roof,
and dream of Wales.
there's a poem in every day
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice: Poems by Mary Kendall
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
Puff Of Smoke Poems 