Poetry / Poets / Writers / Writing

Libran, Late Night, Wine and the Deluge by Harry Calhoun

A cognac priced at twice at what I usually afford. But it’s my birthday. And I carry the grape-distilled filled snifter onto the porch for a moment to smell the mushrooms, laundry, earth and the delicious wet dog odors of rain, pouring sloppily and inexactly into this poem, and the scents swirling around my head … Continue reading