I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
Has patience ceased to be a real virtue? Can we no longer endure a long wait? The claim that waiting is quite hard is true
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
The sound of new life A song, a scream, a sign of Existence endured
Mechanical routine processes souls Into dull, grey copies of each other Language sustains mechanical control Of thought, and we ought to seek another
Genuine conversation does lift us Out of the ordinary, mundane world Provided that the matter we discuss Is something other than the nonsense hurled
Nothing is more ordinary than dawn Nature clearing her throat to sing the day But before the mundane is seen and gone Permit a brief, contemplative delay
For auld lang syne, be Serpentine: shed what is dead Become a fresh self
Homer described what he could never see: Ulysses the beggar and the suitors cruel Your rosy fingers and the wine dark sea
May this be a year To be enjoyed, not endured Written with kindness
This is the wonder you choose to perform? Having acquired esoteric truth With light and tools enough to things reform You proudly show you're red of claw and tooth?
They say you are a genius, but you smell Like the old well behind the sacristy; None of the stories the other girls tell
What a precious gift To read and write for pleasure With nothing to grade
Do you ever get the feeling that our age is one In which the phrase, “Any fool can do this!” Has been construed as a sort of challenge, motto, or even
