RSS Feed

January 4th

year after year, I put away the holiday
as do the neighbors who line our street
with Christmas trees at the curb
I sweep the floors, begin picking up words—
small words, short moments,
haiku with their gorgeous spareness,
one lit candle on a clear desk,
how the smallest joys
hold the day aloft—tiny poem,
unlikely purple bloom in the garden,
or looking out the bedroom window
last night, smiling because
one neighbor’s tree
is still lit

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

A Hundred Falling Veils

there's a poem in every day

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

%d bloggers like this: