Not All Things Are Blest, But The

Slowly I Would Get To Pen And Paper, Make My Poems For Others Unseen And Unborn. In The Day I Would Be Reminded Of Those Men And Women, Brave, Setting Up Signals Across Vast Distances, Considering A Nameless Way Of Living, Of Almost Unimagined Values.

No One Wants To Read Poetry. You Have To Make It Impossible For Them To Put The Poem Down--impossible For Them To Stop Reading It, Word After Word. You Have To Keep Them From Closing The Book.

My Lifetime Listens To Yours.

I Remember Mother Saying : Inventors Are Like Poets, A Trashy Lot

The World Is Made Up Of Stories, Not Atoms.