that keeper of cool
that proselytizer of poems
gone thirty years
by the time we meet
No matter.
Bob bops into my brain
fills me with fine instructions on
the folding of sorrows
Deep inside, my frantic self calms
some thing small but vital clicks into place
just as this morning’s birds begin
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 