One house in the dark, still
light-strung
We pass three joggers
then three once-Christmas-trees waiting
at the curb
But time moves on
All along Main Street
they’ve taken down the wreaths
that hung from each lamp pole
Our whole town, except for that one hold-out house
plain and simple
again
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 