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.
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
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
