by Warren Gaston | Sep 17, 2021
While I was sitting in my garden chair rain began falling in my neighborhood. A meteorological event. The elemental compound water, formula H2O, two atoms of hydrogen to each atom of oxygen was dropping from the cloud dark sky. A chemical occurrence. Or to put it...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 15, 2021
I treasure a book titled Hell Broke Loose written by and given to me by my friend and poet Warren Gaston. The horrors of the Holocaust expressed by a non-Jew brought me to tears. His poems capture both the cruelty of the Nazis and the hopelessness of the Jews. Being...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 14, 2021
I lost my old address book: streets, names, numbers, yours among them, my beloved well-wrung friend. When phoning you I did a zigzag digit dance across the dial pad, your number retrieved from both mental and muscle memory, a finger poked pattern, stored as factual...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 12, 2021
My city is under attack. There are no enemies in sight to be seen. Chimneys are still stacked, brick on brick. Roofs are intact. All the walls are upright. Lawns are mowed and weeds are pulled. Newspapers are retrieved from driveways each morning and mail from the...
by Warren Gaston | Sep 8, 2021
After death, you won’t know what it’s like to be dead. You can only know while consciously alive and then by imagining. Do you remember a late summer day 27,362 years before you were born? Being dead is like that....
