for fifty years he thought
he knew her, his wife, mother to their sons
till they arrived here,
the pink cottage
Here is a new chapter–where
he is a famed photographer of beaches
Where age and bad knees and
this tropical yearning fulfilled turned his love
to a mermaid,
muse of every photo
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 