by Warren Gaston | May 30, 2018
Clouds fill with gray rain. Hawks wheel over fields. Roses bud on thorny stems. In this beautiful world I am happy. In this beautiful world I am sad.
by Warren Gaston | May 21, 2018
Yesterday, I walked with my head among white blossoms. Last night, rain. Today, I walk on wet blossoms. Turn. Turn. Turn. For everything there is a season.
by Warren Gaston | May 16, 2018
At first glance, ‘Cold Pleasure’ doesn’t look like much of a poem. And compared to Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ or Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken’ it isn’t. It barely looks like a poem, no rhyme scheme, no rhythm. Yet it counts as a poem because it dis-covers (uncovers, reveals) a...
by Warren Gaston | May 14, 2018
In the waiting room of my doctor’s office a man’s name is called and he stands. Another patient recognizes him. Hi Jim. Oh hi Bob, Jim says hobbling toward the exam room door. Are you still on the ice cream committee? Bob wants to know. Yes. Still. Sixteen years now....
by Warren Gaston | May 11, 2018
Death is not coming for me. Death has lived with me all my life. Death sits with me when I write and rides on the passenger’s side for long discussions when I drive. Death tells me he has been many places. Everywhere, I would think, I replied. Yes, everywhere....
by Warren Gaston | May 2, 2018
To the criminals who taught poetry in my high school and think they got away with murder, we know who you are. We have no DNA evidence. But we have photographic evidence of you at the crime scene, my high school yearbooks from 1957 to 1961. Don’t try deny it. You’re...
