Author Archives: Greg Wright

Groping blindly at an upper shelf I tossed a box of unclean washers upon my concrete workroom floor. They scattered to the four corners.

A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the rights of the people to keep and bear arms of the people to keep and bear harms of the people to keep and fear harms shall … Continue reading →

In Reply to Dr. Berkeley, or Flouting Grice’s Maxim of Quantity I am not aware of hearing anything as I lie on my right side, prone on the red granite gravel bar of the Early Winters Creek ford.

So long.     So long to get     where you want.

I take a crystal tumbler and fill with crushed ice. The yellow and white labeled can comes next, a Canadian dry tonic. The sloe gin is last, a subtle British sunset to end this trying day.

How surprised I am to so often discover mice quickly dead from forearms caught in greedy grabs of Jif.

“This” is a word that letters built. This is a sentence built from words that letters built. This a poem constructed from sentences that words made of letters built.

One James Calendar Irvine Moore was born to a horsebreeding family in Lexington, Kentucky, July of 1840. His christening honored his forefathers.

Vaani the vole who pokes her nose through snow knows Why, while wriggling her toes for the wakening spring. Torin the trout who peeks from the cat-tailed creek knows Why, and anticipates a date with his speckled mate.