faithless and small,
we stumble towards the mountain
hauling our load of words and sticks
a fraying rope tied
to the sled handle
Go ahead, yell.
Maybe someone on the mountain
is listening maybe someone
will hear and shout back
offer encouragement
directions
or hot cocoa
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 