by Warren Gaston | Apr 1, 2019
When I was in college studying T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land for the first time, I made the mistake of sitting down to read the poem in my dorm room. I opened the book expecting an intellectual challenge and I got one. What I didn’t expect was a physical challenge. ...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 25, 2019
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” William Faulkner Requiem for a Nun Does the past have a future? Which part of the past is present? What part of today’s past will be present when today’s present is past?...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 13, 2019
Warming techno-sullied seas, styrofoamic waves, everlasting straws, pissed steroidal rivers bulking up oceans.. An island gone, then two, a peninsula, Florida, Baha California, Cape Cod, Kamchatka, down under. Hobart’s new citizen fish. Snowy egrets flock deserts. No...
by Warren Gaston | Mar 7, 2019
Snow bends dry winter weeds. I remember my death quite clearly, it will be in the future, like every live person I know. I think on a Sunday, the fourth Sunday in March, the month of my birth, eight decades past my single first day. To be born into time, this I have...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 24, 2019
Sitting in a booth in Irv’s Mountain View Café, Columbia Falls, Montana, 1959, I was faced with choices: food, drink & song, each for a price, a cola, burger, fries, and the jukebox, a high caloric intake for the gut & ear. A quarter for doo wop or good old...
by Warren Gaston | Feb 23, 2019
Our cat Matisse stretches on the floor long, lean, luxurious, as if being pulled by opposing forces nose tugged away from tail just to the snapping point, lengthening, curving until he is a fury apostrophe displaying poise and grace. The pulling comes from forces...
