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wood violets nestle down
planted by no one in my garden
small lavender whispers
Down the road, wild pink phlox
scatters itself drops in thick armfuls
loud and bright across the front yard
of our neighborhood’s most
Dilapidated House
one that sheds broken chairs
trash bags plastic toys old tires
from all its doors and porches
another mystery of the natural world
Who knows how the flowers decide?

2 responses »

  1. So happy I subscribed to your poetry blog, my friend! Love starting my day with your beautiful words 🙂

    • Hi! Thanks and what a nice surprise– I don’t run into many of my real world friends here! Missed you and hope to see you at our next shindig. And this poetry blog is a blast–I think you should do it too, with your art— I was talking a while ago with an artist who didn’t have daily time to commit to it, but we were talking about how cool it would be if a visual artist did this with images instead of words, a daily dose of beauty. Do it! It will be so much fun!!! xo


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The Sketchbook


Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

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custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

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