I was but a boy when I first learnt to read Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass was but a dream I was just a lad when the pages tuned in me and meaning became the precipice of being I was my Father’s son when I first reached the sand and words of pragmatism could be … Continue reading The chosen word
I have to print it out to break it down I have to read again to understand I separate the lines to see them flow and build a construct and watch it grow If everyanything* can be done and we make a life from one block – two then somebody’s something we grow to behold … Continue reading a poem
Does a poem need a picturea tapestry of threadlayers of a fabricin your stead for what came before it – the tapestry of mindinterpret as it’s seenor as it’s read like a quilt – a coveringa line of stitching – all in sincdoes the poet rely on morethan merely what the pen may bring the web of inspiration … Continue reading Does a poem need a picture?
sensualism 