Apr 4, 2021

it can be the steel of midnight

An autumn wind whistles down the blue sky. All day long I sat here reading poems.


It can be dawn and coffee and the sounds

Of the owl that lives in the tall pines

Across the street

Or it can be evening with the setting sun

In my eyes as I drive west 

(Why do I always seem to need to be west

Of here at sundown?)

And it can be the steel of midnight

Or the strength of noon

What difference does it make

To me, a poor man who writes poems

And sits in meditation every day

Feeling my breath

Feeling my breath

Feeling my breath

Go in and out

May you be safe

May you be well

May that old owl be be well, too


Love is so short, forgetting is so long. 
-Pablo Neruda

All know the Way, but few actually walk it. 

Constantly choosing the lesser of two evils is still choosing evil.
-Jerry Garcia


Ren Powell

Bait the Lines

Hardcore Zen

haiku eye

The Urban Mermaid

HOOT, a monthly literary magazine on a postcard

The Slowdown

clay and branches


Summer's End

Medusa's Kitchen

The Middlewesterner

The Morning Porch/Patio

VIA NEGATIVA, purveyors of fine poetry since 2003


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