Last night,
fog turned streetlight
to ribbons of gold
flecked with silver mist
shining so bright
on an ordinary Monday night
that it stopped me
in the middle of my quiet street
This quiet night
This quiet reminder to breathe
and to see
Last night,
fog turned streetlight
to ribbons of gold
flecked with silver mist
shining so bright
on an ordinary Monday night
that it stopped me
in the middle of my quiet street
This quiet night
This quiet reminder to breathe
and to see
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