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,...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 1, 2022
Canto I Let’s say you woke up one morning to a world completely to your liking. You liked the news, yesterday’s, the week before, the year, centuries, and quite likely you will like tomorrow, aka the future, and the future’s future after that. To your horror you...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 9, 2022
I am sitting at my desk writing checks to pay bills, as the kitten we foster plays with my feet, tugs at my pant cuffs, needles her way up my leg with hypodermic claws. I brush her away from the game she has made of my extremities. “My body is not a toy,” I say in an...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 8, 2022
“Do your work,” I said to the candle as I lit the wick. “Give warmth and light,” ‘I cannot,” replied the candle, “without losing myself in the flame.” “Do your work, candle,” I repeated as the candle melted away. “Do your work, man,” was the last thing I...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 7, 2022
Feeling barely felt. Thinking barely thought. Saying barely said. Doing barely done. My day is filled with partial accomplishments. Being remains, the only success. . In distilled moments I am grateful,...
by Warren Gaston | May 31, 2022
My daughters assume I am thinking, when in the early morning they see me sitting in my garden chair doing nothing. I don’t blame them for thinking I am thinking. That’s what it looks like. If someone is awake doing nothing, they must be thinking. But appearances can...
