window
window
the late afternoon
light is the color
of gratitude
wouldn’t you say
as the shadows
grow longer and
the coming chill
pulls us closer
what else is there
but thank you
Peace,
Milton
window
the late afternoon
light is the color
of gratitude
wouldn’t you say
as the shadows
grow longer and
the coming chill
pulls us closer
what else is there
but thank you
Peace,
Milton
one step removed the advantage of living through holy week after the fact is we know what is coming we read the events as connected sequence if this then that we have turned the unexpected into ritual meaningful repetition but still repetition we know what’s coming but the rituals seem empty because of the scares…
question It”s Opening Day . . . (well, the Red Sox start tomorrow) I have moved from coffee shop to brewery trying to catch the metaphor. Is it as simple as the pitcher misses the strike zone, the catcher misses the tag, and I miss my mother, who has been gone half a season and…
weather report my father once told me I should become a weather forecaster “you can be wrong everyday and you’ll never get fired’ it’s going to snow all night six to twenty inches they say a reminder that we’re all guessing when it comes to the weather by morning the snow will be deeper than…
The day has been long, not because of anything other than the passing of time, I suppose. I worked at the computer store and came home tired. I have searched for words for a couple of hours now and found them already written by others. I offer three poems that spoke to me tonight, all…
failer it’s been thirty years since we first watched Phil Connors keep waking up in Punxsutawney trying to figure out how not to live the same day again and again and again he failed failed failed . . . someone calculated that it took about thirty-four years of February seconds for Phil to get to…
the first poem I learned was for my father and was the first poem he ever learned: missing has anybody seen my mouse? I opened his box for just a minute just to make sure he was really in it and while I was looking he jumped outside I tried to catch him, I tried,…
These poems are beautiful, Milton. Thank you!
I love “Coming chill pulls us closer…”