by Warren Gaston | Apr 21, 2020
If you read a poem and like it, don’t worry. Read it again. If you read it again and still like it, give it a rest, then read it again. If, on the third try, the word ‘like’ does not does not strike you as poorly chosen and wrong, throw the poem away. Don’t read...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 20, 2020
Last evening [4/19/20] a friend of mine gathered a group of her socially distancing friends together through Zoom for 70 minutes of following the poet Mary Oliver’s Instructions for Living a Life: Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. After a...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 16, 2020
I watch a slow drain reluctantly swallow water in my bathroom sink. The water seems to sit, appears to wait. Then, a swirl dips center down into a whirlpool of descent, In the pit of my being, a sinking feeling rises, time’s gravity swallows everything...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 15, 2020
Is it an echo? Is it a broken record? An ever repeating gif? Or a man distracting us from his track record?
by Warren Gaston | Apr 14, 2020
NOTE: written in 2011, If you were me, I’d be in love with you, but since you’re not, then only I will do. It is my greatest pleasure to be the nation’s treasure. With a citizen like me, the ‘people’ need no ‘we.’ I begin my name with ‘the,’ I am definitely an...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 11, 2020
The Magnificat of Mary He has ousted the privileged power players and elevated those with little to lose. Now he feeds those in former days kept hungry while those who benefited from privilege wait their turn. ...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 10, 2020
There’s nobody here At the bar at the church The fire’s gone out The drinks are on the house, Literally – on the house Blood sticky slick Light through window grime Holy books printed on flypaper, On masking tape, On cinder blocks.. People are talking. Are you...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 9, 2020
A rain gloom April day. Not taking the weather as seriously as I do, a bird child hops in puddles on the patio.
by Warren Gaston | Apr 4, 2020
The man in the red hat is small, he is tiny and fragile and frail. He is very large, a Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade inflated balloon, a t.v. cartoon a chest full of helium swell, a bloated and bragging, bloviating shell, hair sculpted with self-aggrandizing jell, ears...
by Warren Gaston | Apr 1, 2020
I stand between my shadow and the sun. My shadow moves. I know I am alive. Or the sun is alive. Or both.
