holds the air
as summer never will.
Bird’s song, traffic, children in the trees,
muffled, tucked away by
storm windows, closed doors, falling snow
in concert, singing to the world,
Hush, now
and Here, hold this:
a mug of cocoa
a cup full of quiet.
holds the air
as summer never will.
Bird’s song, traffic, children in the trees,
muffled, tucked away by
storm windows, closed doors, falling snow
in concert, singing to the world,
Hush, now
and Here, hold this:
a mug of cocoa
a cup full of quiet.
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
