My arms have mutinied against me brutes! My fingers fidget like ten idle brats, My...#Death, #Poetry, #World War
Move him into the sun Gently its touch awoke him once, At home, whispering of...#Poetry, #World War I
My arms have mutinied against me brutes! My fingers fidget like ten idle brats, My...#Death, #Poetry, #World War I
To write regular verses destroys an infinite number of fine possibilities, but at the same...#Poetry, #Writing
To be a poet is to place pleasure, beauty and sensual delights front and centre,...#Debauchery, #Poetry
Most people read poetry listening for echoes because the echoes are familiar to them. They...#Poetry, #Reading
