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Poetry

e.e. cummings

silently if, out of not knowable night’s utmost nothing, wanders a little guess, (only which is this world) more my life does not leap than with the mystery your smile […]
e.e. cummings

Last Rites, poem

There is always someone better, By margins, meters, measures, Someone younger, someone stronger, with more stamina, more hunger, Vocabulated education, or of better-bred relation, with some idea of etiquette and […]
Last Rites, poem

Poetry Is…

“Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits.” – Carl Sandburg Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  Β  featured photo: I didn’t have a picture of any […]
Poetry Is…

The Reaper

I am the soul of November, Wandering down through the days, Reclaiming the ground for the Winter, to be born again in the Spring, In nights that grow ever colder, […]
The Reaper

The Art of Distraction

Darling dears, oh how they trouble me with all this nonsense and effrontery to every single sensibility to act as though we’re wedded to a cause without the mind to […]

Autumnal Equinox

The City, the weather turning now. The Harvest Moons rising high against the edge of the water. Boats rocking against the piers. Tankers and cargo ships anchored in the bay, […]
Autumnal Equinox

Stoicism

Stoicism Beneath the layers of the artifice of years, The ego, The tough exterior that isn’t, Or, wasn’t. The chip off the old block On my shoulder, I am truly […]
Stoicism