ODE TO KEATS
A feverish heart
Of roiling blood
Stains poet’s start
When beauty stood
Where loves abound
What truth be found
A LETTER TO A WRITER
The Inquisition might be a very good example; that I feel still goes on today although in much subtler forms; as when your sister sits across a breakfast table, in a public restaurant, and discounts whatever you have said with a stern but, more so, sour look on her face. All possibly due to a narrow channel of thought that does not even begin to fulfill their guarded, greedy self involved agendas.
I feel stronger today and more rested; not positive but hopeful that I will move towards obtaining the already spent rent needed to satisfy the nasty letter: sanguine feelings I am bolstering with a nice strong cup of breakfast blend.
Our situations may be of qualitative service to us, let’s hope sooner, than at the end of the day.
Please, please… take this time to tell your stories and to share them from a confirmed and affirmative place, no matter how imaginary the round table, in that corner room below the turret, (cupola), in the castle of your mind.
Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.
– William Shakespeare
Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?
– John Keats
Good writing excites me, and makes life worth living.
– Harold Pinter
Art hath an enemy called ignorance.
– Ben Jonson