Poems

Original Poetry by Warren Gaston

In the Meantime

In the meantime between nothing and nothing~ I am eating a slice of blueberry pie. I am on the phone with the gas company. I am scratching an itch behind my ear. I am raking fall leaves from my garden. I am watching the news on tv. I am thinking of something I have...

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Corrections

Climbing Mount Everest in flip flops is a bad idea. Less than ten feet up you realize your mistake. You can turn back, send away for boots and wait, or you can fly to a south Florida Gulf coast beach where boots would be the poorer choice and flip flops would be...

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The Journey

I arrived arrived at my destination the easy way. So don’t expect me to know where I am. I took a bus. I took a train. I took a plane. Someone else brought me here. All I did was get on board. I did not walk the long way from the river to the coast. I did not pass...

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Being Born

When I recovered from bright light,           they assured me I had only two eyes. When I recovered from scattering sound,           they assured me I had only two ears. When I recovered from the scent of antiseptic,           they assured me there were roses. When I...

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Lunar Landing

I look up at Apollo's moon with droll psychology. How can a moon that's walked upon be free of lunacy? _________________________________________________________ Commemorating the first human visit to the moon, July 20, 1969, 50 years ago.

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Seasons

Six months ago it was cold where I now sit, it was cold, and water fell as flakes of snow. Now it is warm, and yesterday’s rain gathered in garden pots and puddles. Six months from now, water will fall as snow and I will not be sitting where I am sitting now....

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Bryce Canyon, Utah

The force of vast silence, long drawn over time, roughs the red rock smooth wakes hoodoos from geologic dreams. A choir of standing stones, outstanding from the cliff sings abrasive anthems to the sculpting wind. The old ones whose skins have fallen human shaped from...

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I Believe

I used to believe in God on Sunday mornings, Wednesday evenings, and Saturday afternoons. Now I believe when a rare wind blows a song through the flute of a terrestrial heaven, and I recognize the tune before I know the source.

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