Author Archives: jonwolston

Crunching wet gravel, three yellow bitches chase sticks. The rain starts again.

Leading an ox team, Ms Elderly New Hampshire graces Old Home Day. She stitched her own Uncle Sam costume at four score and six years of age. After the parade: The Odyssey, on cassette— library discard. My buddy Kelley, another … Continue reading →

Out in the blue rain two loons sail past each other as if not speaking.

It dawned on me she was a piece of work. My neck fell asleep and woke up tingling again. Outside automobiles huffed and puffed in the streets. There you have it, I said to myself, pure and simple. Surly jets … Continue reading →

Just let me be a poet, mom. I’ll write a few about Lake Squam. You’ll be proud one day I hope. Sorry. I am such a dope. I’ve toughened up my Buddha abs to fend your not-so-subtle jabs. The way … Continue reading →

Troy leaps off the rocks into the swirling black lake, barking in the spray. The wind blows tattoos. Two puppies watch then race along the gray shore. Soon three labs paddle in unison around the raft— two yellows, one black, … Continue reading →

Diving for sunfish above the stone jetty: ten merganser ducks. Six split off, coast north the wind behind them, four more soon following, their necks glinting red in the sun through the trees over Red Hill. Not so choppy today, … Continue reading →

Stop all this nonsense! The white lake melts every year… broken by the spring.

As the breeze picks up, whop! an acorn on the roof… the green lights glide north toward Sandwich Bay. Dusk in August is so still. The red lights drift south. (from Paradise Root-stock, Stonington Publishers, 2008)

So far as I know the only gents in the world with brick outhouses were Tom Jefferson of Poplar Forest, VA, a sitting president (who had two of them—one for each term) and novelist Henry James on his Rye estate … Continue reading →