Here on the far side of the ocean
that crazy rumor turns out to be true.
Rain fell hard all night.
Wind swept through the trees,
shook everything loose.
We wake this morning
to a world where all the
streets are paved in gold.
Here on the far side of the ocean
that crazy rumor turns out to be true.
Rain fell hard all night.
Wind swept through the trees,
shook everything loose.
We wake this morning
to a world where all the
streets are paved in gold.
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME
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
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry
