by Warren Gaston | Aug 28, 2023
In the first chapter of Genesis, the Bible’s book of beginnings, God did nothing but wait. God lingered. God stayed alert for emergency. (God was curious to see what would emerge.) God noticed the stirrings of urgency, something needed to be released, unconstrainted,...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 25, 2023
Friends on a lawn, in a woods, on a sandy seaside beach, in spite of roots, stony ground, irritating ants, itches, and scrap-thieving gulls, blankets are spread and a Rorschach of conviviality plops down, unfurls, expands. Friends, both old and young, each one both...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 24, 2023
To be yourself, you must be one. But which one? There are many. To be yourself, one must be two. Or more. Like God.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 23, 2023
Poets do not let history’s wounds heal too quickly or too soon. Those cavalier with historical facts only reinjure the wound. . Poets use no bandages, no casts or slings, no gels, unguents, or ointments, they pull scabs, scratch irritations, they use salt, not salve,...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 11, 2023
Something needs to be said, needs a mouth to say it, needs tongue, needs teeth, needs breath. needs a volunteer volcano needs a woman needs a man for the molten word to rise, flowing rock to shift the shape of long imagined thought. ...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 10, 2023
So many things are so many things. Is there one thing that is just one thing? If so, name such a singularity.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 7, 2023
“To live in the present moment is a miracle.” Thich Nhat Hanh In the life of presence, there is no hurry, slow is fine, fast unfashionable. Speed will not buy time, neither will efficient tools nor labor saving devices. Time is no longer of the essence. No...
by Warren Gaston | Aug 5, 2023
Rain off and on all night. In the morning I sit in the dripping world. A sane bird sings the waiting day awake.
by Warren Gaston | Aug 1, 2023
Poets write history’s pain, but not to heal wounds too quickly or too soon. Those in a hurry to abandon facts only prolong the sting of the hurt. Poets use no bandages, no casts, no slings, no gels, unguents, or ointments, they pull scabs, scratch irritations, they...
by Warren Gaston | Jul 29, 2023
The wren, nervous at the feeder, pecks looks pecks looks picks a life seed looks for lurking jays. feeding while feeling not safe a jitter of glances
