This is an eclectic tapestry of prose, poetry, and doggrel that I have composed over the years. Some is serious; a lot of it is merely word play; different styles of writing using word imagery. Anything that I had on my hard drive and couldn't find any other use for was fair game for this page, so don't get your hopes up.

I have recently placed some poetry by other authors up as well, for you, gentle reader, to purvey; the links on the top are things I've written, the links on the bottom are by authors with a little more renown.
Enjoy.

My Words
These are some of my words; they are personal, they do have meaning. Not wanting them to go unseen and unremembered, they are being shared, gentle reader, with you.

hazy light
cold
whistle
looking glass
Clouds
Simple

Strange Wanderings
Haiku
Doggrel
Poetry

Words of others

Sailing to Byzantium

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
--William Butler Yeats
E.E. Cummings - pity this busy monster manunkind

Thomas Hardy - Hap, I look into My Glass, and A Broken Appointment

Percy Bysshe Shelley - Ozymandias

T.S. Elliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Rudyard Kipling - If
Rudyard Kipling - The Last of the Light Brigade
Rudyard Kipling - Mandalay
Rudyard Kipling - Recessional
Rudyard Kipling - Tommy

William Carlos Williams - THIS IS JUST TO SAY
Kenneth Koch - Variations on a Theme by Wiliam Carlos Williams

William Butler Yeats - Sailing to Byzantium
William Butler Yeats - On a Picture of a Black Centaur by Edmund Dulac
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