Through the day and into dusk,
six oaks guard the old family house
burning by the still river. Firelight
bounces off the unshuttered windows.
An urge of wind presses against
the panes, and the clink of glass rims
scatters from the back patio,
symphonic and relentless.
Everything we did in that house
—words rushing through the air,
hands pushing away the shadows—
rises towards the coming stars
with the light ash from the fire pit
like a flock of birds let loose.
Still the trees stand silent, on guard,
the highest limbs nodding slowly,
even as the sky darkens from pewter
to black, and a gull banks over the hill
calling to no one and everyone.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
Hearts of Gold
Synopsis
by
Frank P. Whyte
Portland, Oregon is known as the City of Roses. Of course that’s an odd name for a city whose mere mention conjures images of driving winds and torrential ra
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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