by Warren Gaston | Jul 2, 2018
So much of who I am, I am while sleeping. A liberating lawlessness ascends with the descending dark. The guardians vacate the premises leaving me alone in my unconscious skull. The librarian goes home and leaves me among books. The playwright goes home and leaves me...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 28, 2018
a thin sliced raw beet held up to the morning sun cathedral window
by Warren Gaston | Jun 22, 2018
In Memory of George Reash So this is what it comes down to, after a long life friendship, our final offerings of affection, strong hugs as you befriend mystery. Now your body turns away from what it knows toward the unfathomable we can never know but simply trust with...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 7, 2018
I admire your synchronized angular effort to make your way not very far into the world. Your forefeet and back feet attach, release, push and pull your immense will up the north slope of my sleeve. Your pale green florescent torso contracts to launch your hind half...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 6, 2018
Mosquito, what interest do you have in me, a reader of poems in my garden chair, my coffee cup, my pen, my blue marker. There’s nothing here for you and nothing in these sanguine words so edifying for me. Go join the bee buzzing at the bloom, hover with the...
by Warren Gaston | Jun 3, 2018
My standing in the world suggests secret rivers, red arteries – blue veins, are cascading over bones.
by Warren Gaston | May 30, 2018
Clouds fill with gray rain. Hawks wheel over fields. Roses bud on thorny stems. In this beautiful world I am happy. In this beautiful world I am sad.
by Warren Gaston | May 21, 2018
Yesterday, I walked with my head among white blossoms. Last night, rain. Today, I walk on wet blossoms. Turn. Turn. Turn. For everything there is a season.
by Warren Gaston | May 16, 2018
At first glance, ‘Cold Pleasure’ doesn’t look like much of a poem. And compared to Homer’s ‘Odyssey’ or Frost’s ‘The Road Not Taken’ it isn’t. It barely looks like a poem, no rhyme scheme, no rhythm. Yet it counts as a poem because it dis-covers (uncovers, reveals) a...
by Warren Gaston | May 14, 2018
In the waiting room of my doctor’s office a man’s name is called and he stands. Another patient recognizes him. Hi Jim. Oh hi Bob, Jim says hobbling toward the exam room door. Are you still on the ice cream committee? Bob wants to know. Yes. Still. Sixteen years now....
