by Warren Gaston | Nov 9, 2018
Yesterday the future arrived a day early. Tomorrow the past will arrive a day late. That puts me today in an awkward and untimely situation.
by Warren Gaston | Nov 7, 2018
I wanted to hang out with the greats, the shakers, the breakers, the ones who would beat me toward better; So I called L. Beethoven, but he was occupied writing sounds he heard we couldn’t hear, So I called van Gogh, but he warned me saying if I got too close I would...
by Warren Gaston | Oct 30, 2018
To be born is hard and to be hard born is to be thrown into a hardening world. All is congealing, little flex, less flow, the water – frozen, the air – frozen, nitrogen, hydrogen, oxygen icy to the touch. Ideas, once fluid, are steel, cold ruby rivers...
by Warren Gaston | Oct 26, 2018
Some poems say nothing comprehensible at all and the poet is exactly right to direct us to this vacancy. Is this the vacuum nature abhors or is it something – this emptiness, a void not to be avoided? Is nothing a gift, something in and of itself, an opening – a...
by Warren Gaston | Oct 24, 2018
Genesis I saw my father’s house in the country, Adams County, Ohio. He was born there in his parents’ bed after the harvest. written in 1973 _________________________________________________________________________ Today is my father Rev. Fred Taylor...
by Warren Gaston | Oct 23, 2018
In a room of pregnant women, I want to shout warning, words of preparation for those soon to be born. This is what awaits you, this if you’re lucky, peace on the surface, but down deep, confusion and chaos. You will carve choice after choice out of ice and wood,...
