Each time pause before
this particular answer
How to survive the Long
Cold ahead don’t balk
or break or bother
hiding
Snow Will Find You
Travel with your baggage
packed, your sorrows harvested
Stop emerald spring dreaming
Sing the season you’re given.
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
