the first few minutes echo
till my house remembers
all the hours before
when you were not here
then it shrugs its shoulders
rafters creaking with the effort
and settles into itself
tapping its foot impatient
but kindly as it waits
for me to catch up
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 