Waves a poem by Paul Hooker WavesThe past is the present experienced as longing.—Rubem Alves, The Poet, the Warrior, the Prophet.At night the old man comes back to the wavesswelling, sparkling in the moonlight,failing, falling back to swell again.They never... Continue Reading →
Ghosts a poem by Paul Hooker GhostsBy blood and by choice, we make our ghosts; we haunt ourselves. —Diana Gabaldon, Drums of Autumn. You are not alone here.The mirror cracks and shattersIn myriad tinkling falling sliversThat whisper like a Judas... Continue Reading →
Poetry Breakfast 