I Am Not A Playwright. A Playwright

Anyone With Gumption And A Sharp Mind Will Take The Measure Of Two Things: What's Said And What's Done.

Then As The Years Went On And My Listening Became More Deliberate, I Would Climb Up On An Arm Of Our Big Sofa To Get My Ear Closer To The Wireless Speaker.

Poetry Cannot Afford To Lose Its Fundamentally Self-delighting Inventiveness, Its Joy In Being A Process Of Language As Well As A Representation Of Things In The World.

The Bogholes Might Be Atlantic Seepage. The Wet Centre Is Bottomless.

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.