my father’s thinking fails him
again and again he forgets
while deep in the night,
Snow.
and as it falls, snow
turns the landscape
to a whisper called beautiful
a comfort
while much is taken
the world recalls
its winter work
my father’s thinking fails him
again and again he forgets
while deep in the night,
Snow.
and as it falls, snow
turns the landscape
to a whisper called beautiful
a comfort
while much is taken
the world recalls
its winter work
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