Poetry

The flowers of lion’s teeth withered. We blew and they lifted. White globes barely held together, holding, then exploding. In hand, wind-downed sticks were scepters. Clover knotted into coronation crowns. All of

Centre of equal daughters, equal sons,All, all alike endear’d, grown, ungrown, young or old,Strong, ample, fair, enduring, capable, rich,Perennial with the Earth, with Freedom, Law and Love,A grand,

This is the debt I pay Just for one riotous day, Years of regret and grief, Sorrow without relief. Pay it I will to the end — Until the grave, my friend, Gives me

The problem with the tropics is the problem with mankind: there is no neat conclusion to the analogy being presented. In the same way, there is no subsequent comparison that makes more sense

I grieve and dare not show my discontent, I love and yet am forced to seem to hate, I do, yet dare not say I ever meant, I seem stark mute but inwardly