I Am Not A Teacher. I Am

Now No Joy But Lacks Salt That Is Not Dashed With Pain And Weariness And Fault; I Crave The Stain Of Tears, The Aftermark Of Almost Too Much Love, The Sweet Of Bitter Bark And Burning Clove.

Lord, I Have Loved Your Sky, Be It Said Against Or For Me, Have Loved It Clear And High, Or Low And Stormy...

Poets Need Not Go To Niagara To Write About The Force Of Falling Water.

All Great Things Are Done For Their Own Sake.

Poetry Is About The Grief. Politics Is About The Grievance.