Our buds are growing into earphones And still failing to protect us From noise and demands, requests or distress. Online I find a chemical protection suit with tape double-wrapped, And double storm flaps over zippered access, On top of… Read More ›
They did this for any number of years. She would tell him, often with tears, She was suffering—at her job, in her Personal life. He would say or try As diplomatically as possible . . . “Were it me, …. Read More ›
Featured here are a few of the many drawings I have made in some harmony with the drumming circle in Woodstock, New York. I have not been trying to “capture” the people in portraits, but to draw in rhythm with… Read More ›
Dedicated to my mother, Lyle Warner, and to an up-and-coming young artist: Adelaine Muth Along the side of the road I found a silver goblet Which had been used as an ashtray. The local museum was holding… Read More ›
Returning – the long flight to the capital, then to the beach The palm trees, the taxi, the dirt road, dogs asleep, The long benches and table warm in the shade of the house. Each, that irretrievable afternoon, happy there… Read More ›
A retirement poem? Or for Americans more generally? After Dickinson wrote two thousand poems and that didn’t quite work – Though, yes, it worked spectacularly for readers born after she died – After she had baked so many loaves… Read More ›
Or what one learns if one rents a car and it gets a flat tire? It wasn’t just a thought of A’s graying CEO, The bright idea of some young bugle boys at company B – There was… Read More ›
