Trees whisper flying dreams
to the blackbird against the
blue sky, the still-furled branches
folded wings waiting for a sign
Listen for the trees to
breathe out, Bloom.
Trees whisper flying dreams
to the blackbird against the
blue sky, the still-furled branches
folded wings waiting for a sign
Listen for the trees to
breathe out, Bloom.
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