by Warren Gaston | Sep 3, 2016
A cry is the first song. A laugh the second. A groan the third. A yawn the fourth song. A sigh the last. Each sound, a song from the mouth of life.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 21, 2016
It is blue. It is green, not pearl white, not golden, and infinitely brief. 2000
by Warren Gaston | Aug 21, 2016
The snake, black beauty, four feet dead, broken, still in death, curves of serpentine grace. My wife, oblivious, stepped over the enemy of Eve, a root among rocks, a silenced fang. I saw the snake, froze in fear, or was it fascination, could not step over it, stuck...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 20, 2016
Paradise: City of Angels (8) Soaking in a dictionary of whirling wet words, nouns and verbs pulse poems into the mind, a warm storm of metaphor and rhyme.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 19, 2016
Paradise: City of Angels (7) Flameless moon, cool to touch, you burn a hole in the black night sky, you set fire to the tinder of my soul.
