by Warren Gaston | Jan 19, 2019
Poetry is the result of stripping insulation from the live wires of words. (5/7/08)
by Warren Gaston | Jan 13, 2019
How does a mirror look at itself? In a mirror, of course, the same as you and me. But what does a mirror see when seeing itself in a mirror? A mirror image . . . only infinite. (4/6/08)
by Warren Gaston | Jan 11, 2019
Poetry breaks things that need to be broken so that new life can arise in the wreck.
by Warren Gaston | Jan 8, 2019
This poem is a complete waste of time. You don’t have time to read this poem. I don’t have time to write it. And yet, here we are, me writing, you reading, occupying both ends of the literary teeter totter, a silent conversation up and down. Like me, you are curious...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 7, 2019
After hearing a doctor commend the virtues of a healthy diet on tv, I read every word on the bread wrapper, and every word on the cereal box to inform myself on building materials I was using to maintain my body. I notified my blue collar stomach of provisions...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 4, 2019
My first mistake of the new year, a slipup back in time, I write the new year wrong. 2-0-1-8 instead of 2-0-1-9. Time has slipped ahead but I have slipped behind. Some habits are hard to shake. I have 363 days to practice chronological corrections, and the same 363...
by Warren Gaston | Jan 2, 2019
written on 12/30/18 This is the inevitable day I’ve been waiting for. The almost end of another year. Twelve months in and very soon out, almost the beginning of 2019. The ‘not quite yet’ between now and then. Next year still a bit off, tomorrow’s tomorrow, looming...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 31, 2018
The earth turns, the sun arcs east west across the sky, the clouds blow whither they will, or so it seems, until the wind kisses your face with cold and you remember the power of what you cannot see. The moon dances a little in the dark among the black branches of an...
by Warren Gaston | Dec 30, 2018
At night in the bathroom after brushing my teeth, I saw water spilled on the counter near the sink. I left it spilled. Deliberately I did not wipe it up. It will be gone in the morning, I thought. Natural forces. Warm air blowing from the vent, and six hours of time....
by Warren Gaston | Dec 24, 2018
It is Christmas and the cold world jangles attempting joy. This is a season of blurred lines: God appears out of character in a baby boy body, a fat elf descends down a hundred million too tight chimneys with gifts for girls and boys, many of whom have too much...
