the effort a pomegranate requires
now transformed by your hands
into a bowl of deep red seeds–
a tiny hum in the way back of your mind
how it feels to know a happy secret
or a delicious new word
like arils
the effort a pomegranate requires
now transformed by your hands
into a bowl of deep red seeds–
a tiny hum in the way back of your mind
how it feels to know a happy secret
or a delicious new word
like arils
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