In the quiet of July
their tiny faces shiver—
purple, white, soft lavender
all the violas in my garden
call this breeze a windstorm
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In the quiet of July
their tiny faces shiver—
purple, white, soft lavender
all the violas in my garden
call this breeze a windstorm
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
Puff Of Smoke Poems 