Every poet's forced to cease Where stopped by language limits, And wrestle with thoughts that tease; Stuff too much meaning in it. postscript For day 14 of The tanaga. Originally a Filipino form, though I wasn't sure if you were supposed to have a certain number…
And you are why I write My pen ink-poison dipped Unsettling, hopeless sight. May muses thus be gripped, Transfixed as blood flows out Where wing-like pen was clipped. And may I never doubt The force of pouring ink To ease the come-about Of everything I think On paper, writ in…
I know not what I say until it's there Emblazoned and incarnate, soul as ink, As heady as a garden. How I think In pen, perhaps aloud, and words will bear Those thoughts of which I suffer unaware. They weigh upon a heart that's apt to…
I will not reach my best before I die. Perhaps upon my passing, I'll confer A greater worth to all my pen supplied And maybe one or two will be preferred By readers who come after. But not yet-- Oh no, I've miles to go before…