Seventeen syllables
for your birthday
I will always
remember
safe to say
sadness can be counted
contained in a shape
then poured out
after words the nearly empty
jar holds this
slender layer of sludge
good for growing green days.
The rest? Clear glass again
shining in the sun
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 