I Have Piles Of Poetry Books In

For Me, Poetry Is The Music Of Being Human. And Also A Time Machine By Which We Can Travel To Who We Are And To Who We Will Become.

Where I Lived - Winter And Hard Earth.i Sat In My Cold Stone Roomchoosing Tough Words, Granite, Flint,to Break The Ice. My Broken Heart -i Tried That, But It Skimmed,flat, Over The Frozen Lake.she Came From A Long, Long Way,but I Saw Her At Last, Walking,my Daughter, My Girl, Across The Fields,in Bare Feet, Bringing All Spring's Flowersto Her Mother's House. I Swearthe Air Softened And Warmed As She Moved,the Blue Sky Smiling, None Too Soon,with The Small Shy Mouth Of A New Moon.

The Moment Of Inspiration Can Come From Memory, Or Language, Or The Imagination, Or Experience - Anything That Makes An Impression Forcibly Enough For Language To Form.

Better Off Dead Than Giving In; Not Taking What You Want.

I Like To Use Simple Words, But In A Complicated Way.