Otherwise known as Lent
For a string of years, near the beginning of March, Deb and I would pack up and go to Whidbey Island. It was a way to shake off winter’s habits—habits of ...
Author: stephen t berg
First time firing a shotgun – a kind of Sunday school poem
It’s Sunday and I’m reminded of the first time I fired a shotgun: single-barrel, old as a tree, and heavyas a weavers beam. The stock, cored-outand ...
Keyhole
Keyhole for my mother and father, now gone, and still here You know how light comes through a keyhole,how it fans out into a dark room,and how the dust motes da...
Discovered poetry – ‘No Memory of a Move’
One thing I love is combing through the little poetry section in Mandolin Books and finding, well, this: a book, published in the 80’s, the spine a bit ye...