by Warren Gaston | Jul 31, 2022
Do not go far from the sea and from the earth. Do not go far from the moon and stars. Do not run, slowly walk, through cloud rain. Do not build thick windowed walls against wind. Do not turn your back on the sun. Do not hide in Edison’s light from night’s...
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,...
