This post is number 100. 100 poems written by me and honoured guests, along with a 100 (or more) pieces of art by artists past and present. All enjoyed by many wonderful folks who stop by. To mark the occasion, I think of my grandfather who had a daily practice of doing a crossword puzzle, also sometimes writing a poem. Unfortunately, I only heard about his poetry and never got the chance to read it. The crosswords, though, I often saw sitting completed on his desk when I'd visit. for Walter, my grandfather Mornings after porridge and tea, loving niceties with your loving spouse, you take to your desk by the window, take out the daily crossword, eye for a moment the vibrancy of the roses in your garden, pick up your pen and take stock of the words: little worlds—old, and new—that serve to keep the larger one at bay. in the midday sun window-warmed and dry ink begins to fade
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🍾 to one hundred times more
A beautiful tribute.