open your front door
these early spring mornings
when it’s too cold to open.
Open anyway–
to the startled birds
the shivering almost blossoms
the world’s green iced-over heart
slowly warming in the sun
open your front door
these early spring mornings
when it’s too cold to open.
Open anyway–
to the startled birds
the shivering almost blossoms
the world’s green iced-over heart
slowly warming in the sun
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