Gray silk lake at dusk
To the west, sun tipped water
Tilts the world towards pink.
aka: The Happy Bookers
MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME
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
Living in the moment
where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry