Small Portions – a typewriter poem

small portions

sometimes the muse

You sit down at the typewriter and put your fingers to the keys and start typing. . . what comes is what comes. This one began with the words adrift in  my head “Small portions”. No idea where that came from this morning. Its the adventure, I guess, of seeing where the words wander to as they tap themselves onto the page.

promenade card


The postcard, altered


About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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2 Responses to Small Portions – a typewriter poem

  1. rain or rubies – beautiful words, Wendy.

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