Sometimes they come back,
the ones who kept walking
out of high school
till they arrived at the doors
to a different life.
Sometimes, after a few months,
Curiosity or homesickness
brings them to us again
the lockers, the tiled hallways
already smaller than they remember.
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: Poems by Mary Kendall
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
Puff Of Smoke Poems 