I Cannot Pretend I am Without Fear

I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers … Continue reading I Cannot Pretend I am Without Fear

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You Left Something Behind

In the rush to be right, To trust the institution That doesn't even see you So dead is it's eyes You left something behind, Something important You failed to honour a mother's grief That a son is mortician's work No longer mother's

Inconstant Mourner

When you talk about someone famous dying, it is about you. A contemplation is a reflection that he's gone. And you're a good Mourner Sharing cow eyed recollections For the ones you want to be seen To care for You attend to be seen But seldom exchange Kindnesses with relatives

On Nature

Nature is beautiful, but it is without sentiment. ¬†When I walk my dog, Duke, I can marvel at how the light is filtered through the trees, how the fields of grass look like a shimmering sea ahead of me and then watch a fox chase down a rabbit. I don't bear witness to the inevitable, … Continue reading On Nature