by Warren Gaston | Nov 15, 2022
“Poetry is a way of holding experience, not holding on to, but holding.” Anne Michaels Canadian Poet Something was over. The war, I was told. People were happy. I was two. Whatever war was, it was good it was over. I was right to be happy. We all were. Our side won....
by Warren Gaston | Nov 12, 2022
The clerk called me “Sweetheart” as I paid my bill and checked out of the grocery store line. In reply, I apologized for my poor memory. “I’m sorry, our affections were so long ago I do not remember our trysts or your name.” Actually, I said, “Have a nice day,” cliché...
by Warren Gaston | Nov 7, 2022
A day before the mid-election, I sit in my garden enjoying late warmth, as the last brittle leaves drift down. Suddenly a strong gust blows through the yard. A civic maple tree, bare of withered opinions, pitches toward the house, stays, then corrects, returns to...
by Warren Gaston | Oct 31, 2022
The rain cloud says to the river, you too need to be filled. The river says to the sea, you too need to be filled. The sea says to the rain cloud, you too need to be filled. The human says to the earth I need to be filled....
by Warren Gaston | Oct 27, 2022
A poet is one for whom the universe has waived its right to remain silent.
by Warren Gaston | Oct 23, 2022
This poem begins with licking a postage stamp which implies I wrote the letter before 1989, my moist tongue tasting the last postal glue, The friend I was writing to thirty-three years ago died ten years ago. The letter expressed the pleasure we took in the range and...
