Cold months ahead.
Stack wood, sweaters, books
to prepare.
The deciduous among us,
those chatterboxes—
as they say goodbye,
keep reminding us—
add paint and colored pencils
to those winter stacks.
We’ll need to make our own color
once they leave
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: Poems by Mary Kendall
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
Puff Of Smoke Poems 
A beautiful well-growmed journey. Great pace, transitions, destinations. Well well done. I admire.