Proper Poetry

Raised up from clay to velvet beds, clean polished faces winking wealth, cut gems adorn decrepit heads and nestle skin past youthful heal...

Goldfinch dip down from the frosted bushes to perch on the feeder but the blackbirds ignore the bread thrown out on the lawn for them, only ...

Not where you've been and what you've seen nor who you've known or what what you own and certainly not what you've earne...

Leda and the swan do not offend me although their progeny were problematic; if Midas' wife is happy being bullied, it's not my bu...

I hate old folks yet have to see them everywhere: clogging up the buses, littering the parks, impeding daytime shopping when they should b...

Man's triumph is that he can think; his tragedy - he knows he'll die.

As I walked out one midsummer evening away from the city and up on the Downs, the sky was still blue and the sun still shining and the wa...