Author Archives: jonwolston

Outside Rick’s Roadhouse four birds in a wheel well dodge the cold rain.

Tumalo whiteout then down through the snowy trees— we ski the weather.

Nuns get my poems and send back their blessing. If I claimed to know why I’d only be guessing. One possible clue is a theme of confession. If you’re red as a beet, do they make a concession? I wish … Continue reading →

Some birds stood around under the Silverado during the blizzard. Their tiny ciphers, so unwittingly impressed, evoke quiet time.

My guitar’s feeling picked on, my piano hammered. In spite of the fracas God is enamored.

I smile at my shredder gobbling your chart, and blush at the animus hobbling my heart. Its late-model choppers cast quite a spell. Titanium’s merciless. Go straight to hell.

Last December our tree man never showed. Now with each howl each wintry blast a mammoth limb menaces us all, cradled by the living ones overhead, just out of reach lying in weight, mottled, shedding its gray bark in death.

Disheartened I bathe in a pool of worries moistening my dry place until the surface deigns to stillness and depth.

My poeticized zeitgeist don’t sit well with scholars. I roast on their spits and rack up the dollars. Who’s fueling who? Who gnaws on my bones? Who’s got my back and who gets my koans? In matters of gnawledge they … Continue reading →

We came upon a fir lot growing by the sea, planted twenty years ago. The burly man in the nursery gave us directions. I grew up on the other side of that stone wall, he told us, before the developers … Continue reading →