last night, 8:30,
dusk
the dog and I sat on the front porch steps
he leaned on me and we watched
the moon rise over the treetops
on our quiet street
where everything whispered, evening
last night, 8:30,
dusk
the dog and I sat on the front porch steps
he leaned on me and we watched
the moon rise over the treetops
on our quiet street
where everything whispered, evening
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