by Warren Gaston | Nov 17, 2024
When does so much and so many become too much and too many?
by Warren Gaston | Nov 16, 2024
The flowers of grief are bitter and sweet. They taste of storms, marigold pollen, fire, home, and distances. The bee flies far from the hive on its twofold task of nectar and pollination. The flower blooms its spring-long sigh then shrivels in summer’s heat. The honey...
by Warren Gaston | Nov 14, 2024
It’s quiet in the library, few decibels among Dewey’s decimals. Bone insulated brains with holes allowing smell, sound and light willingly concede to facts and refined opinions. We read in agreement with rules that create a culture of hush, promoting an enrichment of...
by Warren Gaston | Nov 8, 2024
All day long I g*d, attempting good, I g*d, attempting love, I g*d, righting wrongs, I g*d, my wrongs, our wrongs, mending and amending harms, insults, offences, recovering damages, I g*d. Sometimes repairs work. Sometimes repairs impair. I’m not that good at good. At...
by Warren Gaston | Nov 6, 2024
There are moons, most yellow, some blue, slivered, half, and whole, all lit with another light, the sun, which is down, still shines, loaning light to night
by Warren Gaston | Oct 28, 2024
I fell asleep and remembered my mother’s dying. She lay head high in the tilted bed a sled for the long slow slide into sleep. The sheets, white, a field of snow drifting and silencing. Deer thin as arrows hungry on the hill that was my mother’s body their...
