My Body Was Braille For The Creeping

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 Have Always Thought Of Poems As Stepping Stones In One's Own Sense Of Oneself. Every Now And Again, You Write A Poem That Gives You Self-respect And Steadies Your Going A Little Bit Farther Out In The Stream. At The Same Time, You Have To Conjure The Next Stepping Stone Because The Stream, We Hope, Keeps Flowing.

Poetry Is Language In Orbit.

I Have Always Thought Of Poems As Stepping Stones In One's Own Sense Of Oneself.

History Says, Don’t Hope On This Side Of The Grave, But Then, Once In A Lifetime The Longed-for Tidal Wave Of Justice Can Rise Up, And Hope And History Rhyme