Poet Laundry

All the best, all the brightest, wishing you all the finest for 2016.

When I was six my grandfather, Harold, died-- though I never called him “Grandfather” and definitely never “Harold.” “ Grampa...

When you write a love poem on the palm of your hand, the kind that's meant to stick, and blow it away like a kiss, i...

In the wild wood there are poems everywhere: forest grouse, bright berries, late blossoms, little sounds our feet make on th...

Author Tania Runyan surprised me by requesting to include a poem of mine in her book How to Write a Poem .  This work is a compani...

He sat in front of me in third grade and turned and stuck his tongue out. His mom later told mine he had a crush on me. I did ...

On the shower wall this morning I saw a baby chick, mouth open. On the other, the curve of a question mark without the do...

Photo © 2015 Jennifer Wagner If smiles light up rooms, yours lights up a thousand rooms in my heart-dark-need for such a b...

He still goes over to his house, sits in his room, says a lifetime of goodbyes to ashes --what's left when the oxygen of h...

Prince and me, circa 1977 He was puffy and fluffy and rarely barked. I was in the car that ran over him the nigh...