Tag Archives: Poetry

The Angler Chants

Upon a rock-strewn western strand Storm-driven waves thunder in Rhythmic crashing I count the series Three small, one large, the twelfth the largest The fog begins to form. Far east a dark hatted wheelchair Claims arcane control of the winds … Continue reading

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Reed-Throated Wisperer

While I, From that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as once A clear articulation in the air, But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof -Ben Johnson’s phrase- and find when June … Continue reading

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