the purple asters
in their clay pots
surprised by winter
the flowers and I
had time to sense it
Change in the air.
Instead, we spent our days
faces turned to the sun,
humming.
Who knows? Maybe
unprepared
and startled awake,
Maybe this way is best
for me and the flowers
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 