tom gribble

Morning West of Aliquippa

A barn owl slowly, drowsily
Gives over its world to me
Blueberry pancakes, finger link sausage
And coffee brews the fabric of the kitchen

Kitchen

A window was full of a maple’s sway
The sun lapped on a shelf’s edge
Where two China cups imported
And darker than blood nested
Their mouths drank
The deep moans from lilies

Tom Gribble says: “I write poetry to punish myself for a life poorly lived. I write it to slow me down and to make me go fast. I write verse to prevent me from becoming a memoirist. I write lines to pay tribute to the many greats like John Haines who told me, “Don’t be in a hurry,” like Stephen Dunn who said, “Get that boy something to eat,” (I don’t know why that inspires me, but it does), and like William Stafford who wrote in the last of his days, “For Tom.” I’m bound to bring words together for the risks they demand of me.”

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