Poet Laundry

Green winter notes in January bleed into February-- scent of pine, lavender,            honey in my tea. We slice lemo...

Image via Amazon Yes, it's a real place, and we stayed near it for a night. Well, almost. We stayed until shots rang out...

Townsend's Warbler, the Pileated Woodpecker, Varied Thrush. Red-breasted Nuthatches, Black-capped Chickadees, Che...

write me a song with your eyes like you do hang up your helmet, your axe, come home to me © 2015 Jennifer Wag...

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - winter garden tiny grave beds (tu)lips are whispering, “ come, sp...

image © 2015 jennifer wagner a red blossom, bloodied burqa,              voice                         buried sto...

I won't play your eggshell game. It's a drag and you can't hold me hostage anymore from who I am, fr...

A father wakes up before everybody else and sets the world whistling. Except on Saturday, when he's supposed to...

morgueFile Snowflakes pressed in indigo, spit-shined for a coming new year. I know you will read this. I know you will n...

Whores and lepers. Sheep shit and fish guts. The real gospel is gritty. The real Jesus is dirty, naked, and unashamed of his great, hu...