by Warren Gaston | Jul 25, 2022
There are churches where the Holy Spirit sleeps in a vase waiting for flowers. The bells don’t arouse him, neither the fusty hymns nor the sexless sermons nor pious feet shuffling toward the meal of bread. But when a bride comes before her nuptials, tickling him with...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 24, 2022
All day far into night, our human work, recognizing resonances noticing relationships, hints, links, overtones, this related to that: milk weed seed, a brown milk cow, the Milky Way.
by Warren Gaston | Jul 20, 2022
Nearby, a cemetery of solid selves, hard pressed and handy, interminable practicality, skills and disciplines I had neither attitude or aptitude to be. So I buried them. Instead, a stream, shores, banks, rocks, rapids, rebounding eddies, pooling fractured light,...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 18, 2022
It is raining. Maybe not. This is a poem, after all, not a weather report. Some kind of report, though, water dropping through sky. Perhaps danger, a slick highway, or beauty, a rainbow, or playfulness, a child splashing mud, a mother questioning a dichotomy, and...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 17, 2022
All of my life I have lived with the word ‘next’ firmly before me. An open door, a time and place to go and do whatever comes – next. And now I wonder, as I could have wondered all along, is this the last time or the next time. I will dare eat Prufrock’s peach,...
