Thanksgiving morning is sewn with crystals
draped on every branch.
Sky wears bright blue
with three puffy pink clouds
tossed casually over the barn roof.
Deer accent the wide field beyond.
The two cardinals are almost gaudy,
their splash of color nearly too much
for such a pilgrim holiday.
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
