The Other Greg

Posted on May 16, 2021 by Greg Wright

Greg Fisher and I became friends instantly when I transferred into Thorndyke Elementary School in third grade. Greg had already been at Thorndyke through second grade, the school’s inaugural year, and like most of the school’s other veterans welcomed the transfers from Cascade Elementary. A great many of the kids in Mrs. Bruffy’s third-grade class that year stayed together all the way through graduation from Foster High School, but Greg was one of only a handful–Greg, Stephanie Cortes, Jay Savage, Ron Miyatake–that I can say I consistently stayed close to from “beginning to end.” Continue reading →

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Inappropriation

Posted on May 11, 2021 by Greg Wright

An Australian preferred the limerick
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Gas Station Burger: Out of This World

Posted on April 27, 2021 by Greg Wright

I hold you. Clad in papered foil
(or is it paper foiled?) peeled
back, you slyly reveal the arc
of your sagging bun as we sit
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Spaciousness: A Stimulus

Posted on April 16, 2021 by Greg Wright

 

 

 

 

 
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A Posthumous Rehabilitation of Dust

Posted on March 30, 2021 by Greg Wright

In the beginning was the Word,
and the Word was with God…

Wavering candlelight falls
upon a scrap of foolscap
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Robocall: A Monologue

Posted on March 1, 2021 by Greg Wright

A poem begins in delight and ends in wisdom. ~Robert Frost

Hello?

 
 
 
This is usually the part
where the caller speaks.

 
 
 
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Paradise Lust

Posted on February 23, 2021 by Greg Wright

after Wallace Stegner’s “Crossing into Eden”

Five miles in
and 3000 feet up:
a grueling ascent
of a tortured canyon
called Hades—
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Paradoxology

Posted on February 8, 2021 by Greg Wright

Your commitment to Truth will not produce truth,
which demands not resolve, but a ceded heart.

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The Paths of Righteousness

Posted on January 28, 2021 by Greg Wright

When a shepherd’s flock seeks another’s fold    and the pastor loudly brays
about his followers being sheep, they are not    the ones who have lost the way.

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August

Posted on January 27, 2021 by Greg Wright

The ponderosa stood proud and lissom,
its bole aglow in the evening sun.
Perhaps thirty years it strove blueward
against drought and frost, and time—
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