I'll write whatever I damn please, whenever I damn please and as I damn please and it'll be good if the authentic spirit of change is on it.

As the rain falls so does your love bathe every open object of the world

The poem is a capsule where we wrap up our punishable secrets.

The American idiom has much to offer us that the English language has never heard of

Sorrow is my own yard where the new grass flames as it has flamed often before but not with the cold fire that closes round me this year.

A profusion of pink roses being ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring.

What power has love but forgiveness?