Poems
Original Poetry by Warren GastonOn a Shore
On a shore in west Montana the universe grinds on a stone. Waters rush, sturdy grasses rustle. Farther out, bright-eyed iridescent trout hunt trap-mouthed for plump, delicious bugs flashing in the sun. Nearby, stolid mountains affecting sleep, await orders from deep...
Mar Vista, Los Angeles, California 4/15/17
On a hill above Los Angeles I look out over a city of windows. Miles away hidden behind glass, a man, after washing supper dishes, stretches out on the couch for a nap. A woman tip toes around the room not to wake him. They are among the city’s better...
Vegetable Injustice
Our vegetables travel long distances covered with flecks of American history, sweat beads on cabbage leaves, blood stains on lettuce leaves, the sun burning field skin, drives broccoli through soil. Human DNA sticks to celery stocks, stories shine in the sheen of bell...
The Dead
The dead do not live as long as they used to. Our memories have become substandard housing for the dead. We forget our beloved ancestors, lose the scent of their songs, tear down their barns, pave their fallow fields, cap their wells, improve our inheritance into...
The Fauve*
First, impressions of the river- beach-city-tree world, soft on the eyes, soft in the eyes, Monet’s pleasing pastel haze. Then, wild animal ecstasy, Le Bonheur de Vivre** recommended by Henri Matisse, prismatic king of the beasts. Luxury Peace Calm*** became...
Feedback
How do you like it thus far, this poem, not much to go on, I know, but for me to keep writing. I need assurances. I need feedback. So far, is the poem strong or weak? Is it worth my pen scratching paper-thin thoughts on thin paper? I once saw a sparrow attempting to...
The Future
The future is hardly ahead. The future sneaks up from behind. The future is made of yesterdays. Unless you have had yesterdays you will have no tomorrows. If you are not attentive today, you could get a little behind on your future. Remember, the future is in arrears....
Pelican Courage
Quickly this fledgling bird figured out life in a sky-sand-sea world, risked the first breakneck plunge toward waves, mastered the submerged reversal flip, drained salt water from its up-thrust fish-full beak. After that, the dive was a matter of course. Survival...
Echoes
Do echoes get tired of coming in second, of waiting to resound, of being last, always last, always last? I imagine not. not not never. Their essence is reverberation and rebound. Take that away from echoes and we would never hear John the Baptist’s righteous call...