In off the moors, down through the mist beams, god-cursed Grendel came greedily loping.

Once off the bush The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour. I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot. Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not. -Blackberry picking

I drink to keep body and soul apart.

Now it’s high watermark and floodtide in the heart and time to go. The sea-nymphs in the spray will be the chorus now. What’s left to say? Suspect too much sweet-talk but never close your mind. It was a fortunate wind that blew me here. I leave half-ready to believe that a crippled trust might walk and the half-true rhyme is love.

I don't miss teaching. I'm learning to take my time for myself.

I can't think of a case where poems changed the world, but what they do is they change people's understanding of what's going on in the world.

There is risk and truth to yourselves and the world before you.