rolled up snow fences
along the Eastern edge of all the fields
they wait, curled and quiet
brown sticks sleeping (furled instead of un-)
like creatures about to bloom
Winter’s last crop
rolled up snow fences
along the Eastern edge of all the fields
they wait, curled and quiet
brown sticks sleeping (furled instead of un-)
like creatures about to bloom
Winter’s last crop
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
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment