Poems
Original Poetry by Warren GastonFall Jazz
Improvisation, a trio of oak trees, jamming off-beat- in the offing season arrhythmic syn co pa tion syn co pa tion random patterns, dropt acorns on the woodpile, on the rock pile, on the gas grill, snared on grass, a...
Courteous
stone dropt! in water water always courteous clears out of stone’s way then sensing void water rushes back
Wedged
Between backyards, pine trees shelter deer wandering wedged in a fenced forest. I also wander wedged in a construct of ideas, the invisible walls of my bordered world. ______________________________________________________________ This afternoon I looked out my...
Time Harvest
This day, frail dust, bright with all the suns we have harvested, ground into flour, baked into daily bread, devoured. This is it, frail dust, today last chance, to absorb the happenstance of light, how it dances on the sill beneath streaked glass, how it lives brown...
The Myth of the Tooth Fairy
If you want easy money, lose teeth. That’s what the myth of the tooth fairy seemed to be saying to six year old me. Was this a tale told to children to make the first signs of aging more palatable, the initial loss in a life history of losses, the first chapter in the...
Palmyra
Hear this, ye smashers of idols, defacers of icons, mutilating vandals, warring against the still present paradoxically human polyvalent past. Thugs at the palm cool oasis, can you not honor these vibrant ancient people at work and play in the glory of Palmyra,...
Blowing Off Poetry
A man with a stein of stout sits down to read a poem, but first he takes his frothy beer and blows away the foam. The words are poetic, the stanzas melodic, the rhythm made to rhyme, the metaphor is romantic, a rose in wintertime, words basic but not dumb, a semantic...
The Tour Guide: ‘Geworfenheit’
“I am a Muslim,” our guide announced over the loudspeaker as our tour through Istanbul began. “I am a Muslim because I was born in Istanbul. If I had been born in Rome I would be a Catholic. If I had been born in New Delhi I would be a Hindu. If I had been born...
Uncle Vest
I had an uncle we called ‘Vest’ who lived out in Arizona. He would make rare visits to see my mom, his younger sister. There were twelve years between them and a continent and several worlds. “Why Vest?” I asked him of his uncommon name. “You’re mother called me...